As the cab pulled up to Steve's apartment, Becca searched the parking spots along the curb. She did see a motorcycle, but it was one of those small, colorful ones.

Steve had bought a new Harley after totaling his S.H.I.E.L.D-gifted motorcycle on some mission. Which she had absolutely not wanted to hear the details of even if he could have told her; all that mattered was Steve not sustaining any injuries from the crash or whatever had happened. He had showed her his prized purchase with all the enthusiasm of a frontiersman presenting the house he'd built for his bride. Not a totally unfounded enthusiasm, as he had gone and picked a model with space for her too, so they didn't have to squish onto one seat. And she did have a good time speeding around New York on a joyride, but then Ally had come home as they were returning, and the two had gone on about motorcycles until Becca was so bored that she had put on a movie and let them talk.

She would have been excited to see his motorcycle now, however, because it would mean Steve was home. Oh well. She could get settled in, see what he had in the fridge, maybe pick up some groceries. He might not be come back today, but she'd tuck her suitcase under his bed just in case. Then, he would still be surprised when she came back.

Becca tipped the cab driver and rolled her suitcase to the front door. She had two keys, one for the front door and one for his apartment. Of course, she used the wrong one first and it nearly got stuck, a sign that getting to the apartment would be a ride on the struggle bus. The elevator had an OUT OF ORDER sign, which she stared at for a good ten seconds in the vague hope that the sign would disappear. It didn't, so she had to lug her suitcase up four flights of stairs, thinking all the while of the possibly unnecessary things she'd packed which weighed down her suitcase. Not to mention, hauling a suitcase up stairs was awkward no matter how much it weighed, constantly smacking against her legs and forcing her to take corners at weird angles.

Finally, Becca reached the fifth floor landing. There were only two apartments on this floor, Steve's and his neighbor's. She knew only that his neighbor was a woman and a nurse, as Becca had never met her. She knocked on Steve's door in case he'd parked his motorcycle around the block, but when he didn't answer, she opened up the door.

Walking into Steve's apartment was like walking into a showroom. Everything set neatly in its place. Enough space to make the apartment feel extra roomy. Art hung tastefully on the wall. Throw in a few of the classics between the non-fiction on his bookshelf, and bam, display ready. The only thing throwing off the balance was the hodgepodge of different eras occupying the room. A record player resting on a cabinet, but a blu-ray player beneath the tv. A print of a Grant Wood painting on the same wall as an original Modernist piece bought from a street artist in Greenwich. And on the mantelpiece sat two pictures, a black and white of Steve's parents on their wedding day – graciously returned by the New York City Historical Society – and a glossy image of her sitting on the grass in Central Park, smiling wide with an eyebrow raised in amusement.

No doubt the confusion of styles and exacting neatness would be off putting to some people, but the space was so very Steve that Becca didn't mind in the least. Besides, give it a few days, and she's have blu-ray cases piled out of order beside the TV and dishes left in clever places. Not that she went out of her way to make a mess. In fact, she made an effort to be more tidy than usual in Steve's apartment, but the disorder just sort of happened.

Becca tossed her purse on top of her suitcase, planning on making a bee-line for the bathroom, but something caught her eye because it didn't fit. She crossed the living room and reached up, touching the bits of plaster and brick, which crumbled beneath her hand. There was a hole in the wall. A little taller than her head, but tilted at a downward angle. She turned, following the pinprick of sunlight. Like a laser pointer, the sunlight directed her to a spot on the wood floor with a faint pinkish hue. She crouched over the spot, and touched it. Not wet, but the stain had a shape like a small puddle. Holy shit. Was this blood?

Steve had been shot. The realization hit her like another bullet had come through the hole, lodging in her chest with a sharp pain and knocking the wind out of her. Her hand flattened against the floor to steady herself. She hadn't heard from him since they'd Skyped, so she'd assumed that he was busy. He couldn't be…

Heart hammering, Becca got to her feet. Steve acted like he was bullet-proof, but he wasn't. No gouge on the floor. The bullet had to be lodged in him. Where? She stepped into the path of the pinprick of light. Almost shoulder height, which would mean mid-chest on him. Or back. The room swam, and Becca realized she'd stopped breathing. She gasped in a breath, and beneath the sound of her own unsteady inhale, she heard a floorboard creak.

Becca froze. Stupid. Someone had shot Steve, and someone had cleaned up the blood. And they could still be here. Was Steve's neighbor home? This early in the day, not likely. Okay, pretend you're going to get your purse. Don't let them know you heard the creak. She walked forwards, clenching her shaking hands. Crouch down quick, the couch would be cover. Open the door, run.

"Ma'am?" The confusion in the man's voice brought her up short. Becca glanced toward the bedroom. The man looked to be in his thirties, black jeans and shirt, but clean cut. His hand rested uncertainly on his gun holster. "Ma'am, how did you get into this apartment?"

A trick? But his uncertainty seemed genuine, and he might have answers. "My boyfriend lives here. I have the keys." Becca could barely hear her own words, they came out so faint. "Do you know what happened?"

The man looked her up and down. "You're dating Captain Rogers?" This only seemed to confuse him more.

"Yes," said Becca, frustration lending strength to her voice. "Do you know what happened? Why is there blood on the floor?"

"Uh." The man glanced around, and Becca got the feeling that he'd been expecting someone else. At the very least, he definitely hadn't been expecting her. "Ma'am, I'm Agent Gardner with S.H.I.E.L.D." He flashed a badge. "I'm gonna have to ask you to wait here while I make a call."

Whether S.H.I.E.L.D. being involved should be a relief or not, Becca was getting angry at his attempts to evade her question. "Tell me what happened!" she demanded. "At least let me know if Steve's alive."

"Yes, ma'am, as far as we know," Agent Gardner conceded. Not exactly reassuring. "Now, please wait here." He pulled a walkie-talkie from his belt as he walked past her out into the hallway, leaving the front door ajar behind him. "All units stand down."

Becca sank onto the couch. Steve was probably still alive. S.H.I.E.L.D. was involved, so he had backup of a sort. "As far as we know," Agent Gardner had said. Did that mean S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't know what had happened to Steve, or was it just this particular team that had been left in the dark? She rubbed her sweaty hands on her pants. She could call Steve. Or text him. Find out what was going on.

She started to get up, but hesitated. If he was in the middle of something, her contacting him could be a distraction. That's why she usually waited for him to contact her first. Plus, if she said anything, he would know she'd been to his apartment and worrying about her might ruin his concentration. Unless he was bleeding out somewhere. Alone.

After further debate, Becca got her cell phone out of her purse. Send a message. Short. Easy to read. She brought up his number and stared at the blinking cursor until the screen went dark. She pressed the power button, tapped the screen, chewed her lip until the screen again turned black. That happened a few more times, but she didn't know what to say. Nothing seemed to be enough.

The front door swung open all the way, and Agent Gardner came back in. He no longer had a look of confusion on his face. "Ms. Stroud, I've been asked to bring you back to headquarters." He picked up her suitcase as though to show her there would be no debate.

Becca wasn't going to argue over leaving. She didn't want to stay in an unsafe apartment. However. "I can carry my suitcase."

Agent Gardner turned, suitcase in hand, and walked out. Becca had to hurry to snatch her purse before it fell off the top.

"You still haven't told me what happened," she pointed out. "I know it's all supposed to be top-secret, but can you tell me anything?"

"Director Fury was shot and killed in this apartment last night," Agent Gardner stated, easily as if he was reading an announcement from a news headline. But Becca was stunned. This was crazy. Fury had seemed so badass and invincible. Fuck. Well, at least it hadn't been Steve.

The moment she thought that, Becca felt terrible. Fury might've been harsh with her, but she'd deserved his suspicion at the time. He had tried to help Steve. As the director of S.H.I.E.L.D., he'd helped a lot of people. It was a shame that he'd been killed.

Agent Gardner continued, "We believe Captain Rogers might have information about the director's death, but he's gone missing. We're hoping you can help us find him."

"Oh." Becca tried to think how she could be of any use. "Well, I don't really know where he'd go around here, but I can call him."

"Once you're at headquarters, we'll have you make a call."

"Sure. No problem." Becca itched to call right now, but they must have a whole team assembled and phone tracing equipment and stuff. She'd do whatever they asked if it meant finding Steve.

Agent Gardner introduced her to Agent Schloss, who would be driving her back to the base. Becca pelted her with questions to keep her mind off Steve. If Agent Schloss was annoyed by the barrage, she didn't show it, but Becca did make sure to stick to easy subjects. The weather – clear skies for the foreseeable future; Becca had picked a good time to come. Hobbies – Agent Schloss made model houses from scratch (impressive). Movies – a fellow film buff meant instant camaraderie.

S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters wasn't as secret agent looking as Becca had pictured, not that any of the government's bases really were. Although, you had to cross one of two roadways over water to get there like drawbridges over a moat, which made for an interesting drive. And the first time Steve had told her the base's name, Triskelion, Becca had heard Triskeleton, which sounded less like a vegetable and was therefore way cooler. So Triskeleton it became.

Agent Schloss parked the car in a gigantic parking lot beneath the main building and directed Becca over to an elevator. She scanned her badge and the elevator doors opened. "Seventeenth floor."

"Second occupant does not have clearance," said a cool, female voice. Becca jumped, and then hope Agent Schloss didn't notice. Come on. This was like every spy movie she'd seen. She should've known there would be some crazy security A.I. "Please report to visitor check-in for badge."

Agent Schloss replied, "Request override permission, Peirce, Alexander B," and a line appeared, wiggling slowly at a universal tempo which meant they'd have to wait.

Not that she wanted to fill out paperwork or have some guy running a wand all over her body, but Becca was surprised to be able to bypass that part. She had a gun in her purse, which seemed like a serious security breach. They must be as concerned about finding Steve as she felt. And S.H.I.E.L.D. must not expect him to be dating someone who'd open fire in the middle of his workplace.

"So no retinal scanners or anything?" Becca asked. "And here I was hoping for the full Bond experience."

"Not for my level," said Agent Schloss with a laugh. "Only Levels Eight and up get the fancy toys, with certain exceptions."

"Exceptions like…?"

"Labs with secret projects, permission to enter and exit rooms with targets we're keeping in custody. Anything beyond that, I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."

"That's fair."

The wiggling line on the wall turned into a circle. "Permission granted. Clearance override initiated. Welcome to S.H.I.E.L.D., Ms. Stroud."

Okay, that was a little awesome. Becca leaned on the handle of her suitcase, feeling like she'd been invited into the fold of the intelligence agency. She should come up with a code name, even though they didn't use code names in S.H.I.E.L.D., which was totally lame. When else would it be perfect to use "the Eagle has landed" other than Steve jumping into some building? Never.

As soon as Becca thought of him, coming up with a kickass code name lost its appeal. It wouldn't be as fun without him here to make dry remarks about her purposefully ridiculous names and why they'd be impractical on a real mission. He'd better be okay.

The elevator rose, passing floor after floor in flashes that made Becca's stomach do a somersault. She pulled her gaze away from the inside of the building to focus through the glass at the view of D.C., but not before noticing that they were passing other people waiting. Could all of them be going down? That seemed unlikely. Maybe this Peirce guy wanted to get to her so badly that he was bringing her straight to the top.

"Who is Agent Peirce? He must be pretty high up," Becca guessed.

Agent Schloss nodded. "He's the new director."

"Huh." Wow, finding Steve must really be top priority. Not that surprising, she supposed. A lot of people were bound to notice if Captain America went missing. Becca glanced down at her jeans and plain blouse, wondering if dropping into a bathroom to change into a nicer outfit would be an issue. No, she shouldn't waste those seconds when she could be calling Steve.

The elevator slowed to a stop, dropping them off onto a long hallway. Agent Schloss brought them to a room, notable because it lacked any glass. There had been glass everywhere else in the Triskeleton, along the floor, on the doors; all the walls had appeared to be windows. But this room had slate gray walls, a table made of some kind of reflective black material, and four matching chairs.

Becca wouldn't have thought twice about going into the room if everywhere else hadn't looked so open. But S.H.I.E.L.D. was an intelligence agency. Not everything could be out in plain sight. So despite her initial unease, she stepped into the room when Agent Schloss waved her in.

A man had been waiting beside the table, and Becca assumed this was Director Peirce, but he introduced himself at Agent McGuffey. Agent Schloss assured her that Agent McGuffey would bring her anything she needed, and that Director Pierce would be with her shortly.

"Would you mind leaving the door open?" Becca requested as Agent Schloss made to shut them in. "It's a little claustrophobic in here."

"Of course." Much to her relief, Agent Schloss leave the door open a few inches, enough for her to see a sliver of blues and greens through an outside window.

That left her and Agent McGuffey. It would have been nice to be by herself. Becca would've liked to stretch her legs after all the sitting she'd done today from the subway to the train to the cab to the drive here, but Agent McGuffey taking a seat had made her standing awkward. How many S.H.I.E.L.D. agents does it take to look after Captain America's girlfriend? One, Agent Gardner. Two, Agent Schloss. Three, Agent McGuffey. Three, S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, ah-ah-ah. Joking aside, if Steve had been targeted by someone, they must be worried about the same people coming after her.

Becca sat across from Agent McGuffey and made the same effort at small talk. He was a harder nut to crack than Agent Schloss, and she got the sense that he had to make an effort to be friendly. She kept the conversation going regardless to stay occupied, asking his opinion on good restaurants in the area, but her phone going off was a relief.

"Sorry," she said, taking the phone out of her purse. Unfortunately, Becca didn't recognize the number. She glanced up at Agent McGuffey, who watched her intently. "Wrong number." She set her phone aside, although she had three texts waiting from her friends. "You said their chicken sandwich is really good?"

"Yeah. Best in D.C. Hell, probably best this side of the country," Agent McGuffey informed her. "It's got a –"

Her phone went off again. Becca checked the screen. Same number. They hadn't left a voicemail, though. She'd wait until it went to voicemail, just to be sure it wasn't someone random who'd been so insistent on getting through to whomever they thought they were calling that they'd hung up before listening to her message.

"I'm so sorry. Let me put this on silent." Becca turned the volume off, but kept an eye on her phone, waiting to see if the screen would light up.

It did.

Becca unlocked the screen, but the caller hadn't left a voicemail. They'd sent her a text. She frowned at it uncomprehendingly for several seconds until suddenly it clicked. Oh thank god. But why had… Hmm. Well, only one way to find out.

"Could you excuse me for one sec? I've got to return this call."


As Steve drove, he could feel Nat watching him, quick sideways glances while she set up the phone they'd purchased. He would have called Becca on his own phone if Nat hadn't insisted they ditch their phones to avoid being tracked. But he wouldn't have thought of calling Becca at all if Nat hadn't suggested that S.H.I.E.L.D. might use her as bait. Not too long ago, he'd have met the suggestion with reproach. He'd have argued that S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't resort to that kind of tactic; they weren't a terror organization. Now, he wasn't so sure, and he could only reproach himself for being so naïve.

"Where did Captain America learn to steal a car?" Nat questioned.

Naïve he might be, at times anyway, but Steve got tired of everyone acting so surprised that he bent rules. "Nazi Germany. And we're borrowing. Take your feet off the dash."

Nat swung her feet of the dashboard. "All right, I have a question for you, which you do not have to answer. I feel like if you don't answer it though, you're kind of answering it, you know?"

Before she could go on any further, Steve stopped her. "What?"

"Was that how you kiss Becca?"

Steve's knuckles tightened on the steering wheel. He intended to apologize to Becca right after making sure she was all right. He hadn't meant to kiss Nat back, and he hadn't really. But when Nat had grabbed him, pulling him down, an instant passed where he returned the pressure of her lips. The kiss meant nothing to him. He didn't have feelings for Nat. She was attractive, but he wasn't attracted to her. They used the kiss as a cover.

Although these were the facts, they sounded like excuses to Steve. You didn't go kissing other women when your girl was waiting for you back home. He had seen plenty of men doing just that during the war. He even understood why they'd done it; they needed the comfort, they might never get back to seeing the girl who waited for them. However, Steve didn't understand how they could do it because he couldn't even live with himself for a day as he imagined Becca's expression crumpling, her voice getting small.

"No," he replied. "That's not how I kiss her."

Nat nodded her approval. "Good because I thought I'd have to give you some tips."

"That bad, huh?"

"I didn't say that."

"Well, it kind of sounds like that's what you're saying." Instead of baiting her, Steve knew he should be changing the subject. He wasn't even completely sure why he felt so defensive of his romantic abilities. Maybe because he'd worked hard to improve them.

"No, I didn't. I just thought you might not be getting that much practice."

Steve almost argued that he didn't need practice, except he distinctly remembered Becca making a similar comment when they'd first started dating. "I get plenty of practice. I'm 95; I'm not dead." He indicated the phone with his elbow. "That done yet?"

Nat gave him a smile at the abrupt change in topic, but she held out the phone to him. "Yeah, it's done."

"Good." Steve pulled the car onto the shoulder of the road and put it in park. "You drive."

"So you'll steal a car, but being on the phone and driving isn't okay?"

"I told you." Steve opened the car door. "We're borrowing."

They switched places, Steve walking around the car while Nat jumped the console into the driver's seat. He typed in Becca's phone number as she resumed their drive.

"Keep it short," Nat reminded him. "I did what I could to buy you time, but if S.H.I.E.L.D.'s tracing her calls, they'll get through."

Intent on the phone ringing, Steve didn't answer. Eight rings, and then he got Becca's voicemail. He hung up. She could be busy. Becca inevitably had a full schedule. Even so, his nerves tightened their hold. He called a second time. No answer. He hung up again. Leaving a voicemail wasn't enough; he'd already had that argument with Nat. It might be safer for him, but he needed to hear Becca to know she was all right.

Nat glanced at him and pointed out, "She won't know it's you. Send her a text, but don't make it obvious that it's you. Don't say 'it's me.'"

Gritting his teeth, Steve deleted that very message. "Then what?" He was no good at this undercover part.

"Do you have a nickname for her or a pet name? Something like that?"

"No."

"Hmm." Nat tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. "How about someplace that's important to both of you?"

Steve thought over the places he'd gone with Becca that stuck out and quickly settled on one.

We still haven't tried all the shakes at Black Ice. Call me back.

Tense seconds passed as Steve stared at the phone in his hands. She had to see his message. If he'd been too late – he should have thought of her sooner.

When the phone rang, Steve immediately answered. "Hey."

"Hi! Oh my god, I'm so glad you called. I –"

Steve couldn't remember ever interrupting her on the phone, but he had to this time. "Becca, listen, we don't have long. I need you to get somewhere safe. Somewhere no one would think to look for you."

"Don't worry about me. I'm safe." Becca didn't sound nervous, at which Steve was taken aback, but he preferred this response to complete panic. "Where are you?"

"I can't tell you. Are you sure you're safe? You need to find somewhere you can stay for a day or two." Steve chastised himself for not thinking of finding a safe place long ago. He kept Becca as separate from his work as he could, but she became involved simply by dating him. He should have set up somewhere she could go if he got in trouble, or aliens came down from the sky again, or hell, anything bad.

"Oh, I think I'm in the safest place I could possibly be. I'm in the Triskeleton."

All the breath got knocked out of Steve at once. He had been hoping against hope that S.H.I.E.L.D. would disprove his fears and leave Becca be. They had better treat her well. They'd better be keeping her blissfully unaware in the nicest room in the Triskelion. Someone must be congratulating themselves on this tactical move. The initial drop in his stomach smoldered back up in anger. They would get him to come back, but he meant to make it very clear that using Becca as bait was a mistake.

"Hello? Are you still there?"

"I'm here," Steve assured her in a near growl. "Tell them I'm coming for you."

"Don't. I'm fine. Just tell me where you are so I can send help."

"I'm not leaving you there."

Becca said nothing. The silence stretched until Steve took the phone away from his ear to check that the call hadn't dropped. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nat gesturing for him to wrap up.

"Do whatever they tell you, all right? I've gotta go." Even if S.H.I.E.L.D. knew he was coming, Steve didn't want them to know exactly when. He would be getting Becca on his terms and seeing her out before he said a word to anyone.

"Okay, maybe we can watch Mission: Impossible tonight then. You know I've been trying to get you to watch it for forever."

Steve didn't know how to respond. Firstly, because her musing had nothing to do with their conversation, and also because they had already watched Mission: Impossible together. Becca didn't have a memory nearly as good as his, but she remembered movies.

"It's pretty good. Of course, the plot is a bit familiar, but the action is awesome."

She must be trying to tell him something. Steve considered the plot of Mission: Impossible and why Becca leaned so hard on its familiarity. A man is hunted down by the intelligence agency he worked for after being framed. He almost laughed. Becca was better at this undercover stuff than he was.

"What, is it the hero gets the girl and everything is all right in the end? That sounds good to me."

Nat waved impatiently, mouthing, 'End it.'

"Yeah, but I don't know. I prefer girl kicks ass, fights her own way out, and saves the hero. Less predictable. But we can debate over it tonight, okay? And since I'm here, we should totally go out to that place where we got that delicious chocolate pie."

More code, but this attempt didn't make Steve feel like laughing. If Becca tried to outsmart S.H.I.E.L.D., she would only be putting herself in danger. "I'm not sure I like that idea."

"Didn't you say you have to go? I'll see you soon. Love you."

"Don't do anything until –" Steve heard a muffled thump, which meant Becca had hung up. He wasn't going to let her go and do something stupid. He had to call her back or text her. Something. Anything to make sure she stayed safe.

"What are you doing?" Nat asked when he hit the redial button and brought the phone back up to his ear.

"Calling her back," Steve explained. "She's in the Triskelion, and –" Nat snatched the phone out of his hand. "– Hey!" He made a grab for the phone, but she opened her window wide enough to toss it out. Through the rear window, he watched the phone bounce along the pavement, pieces flying apart.

"Peirce has her, and he thinks you're coming," said Nat calmly. "She'll be fine."

Steve insisted, "Take the next exit and turn the car around." But Nat stepped on the gas and blew past the exit. He channeled his frustration into clenching his hands into fists. "Turn the damn car around."

"No."

"Then pull over and let me out," Steve demanded, reaching for the door handle. "It doesn't take both of us to get to the coordinates on that computer stick."

Nat shook her head. "I need you. You said you had an idea of where we're going."

"I said I think those coordinates are near where I went to basic. Doesn't mean I'll be useful."

"But you could be."

All he would have to do is open the car door and roll out onto the grass. Steve figured he could hitchhike his way back to D.C. in a couple of hours at most. He lifted the handle part of the way, but hesitated. Not because he thought he'd be useful. Nat had hacked into the file without his help, and she could no doubt make sense of whatever was at those coordinates. But he didn't like the idea of abandoning her on a mission. Nat fought well, and she was smart. Still, a team of highly trained S.H.I.E.L.D. agents had been sent after them. Supposing Pierce didn't call them off and he found out where they were headed, Nat might be overwhelmed by sheer numbers.

However, Steve couldn't abandon Becca either. Especially not when she had decided to make a well meaning, but in all likelihood failed attempt to slip free on his behalf. "Becca's going to try to get out on her own. There's gotta be someone in S.H.I.E.L.D. we can trust."

"Maybe," Nat conceded. "But we don't know who they are. So unless you have a new member of that barbershop quartet willing to stick their neck out for you..."

Steve had an idea of someone in the area who might be willing to stick his neck out, but that would mean potentially getting him in trouble. And Steve didn't even know how he would get into the Triskelion.

Reading his mind, Nat said, "You know someone."

"I might. But he's not S.H.I.E.L.D., and no one gets into the Triskelion unless S.H.I.E.L.D. wants them there."

"Who is it?"

"His name's Sam. You saw him last week when you picked me up. He's a good guy."

Nat stared at the road in considering silence. "I think I can get him inside. And maybe get a place for us to meet them. I'll have to call in a few favors."

Steve looked back behind them, where the broken phone had already disappeared in the distance. "If only we had a phone, huh? Maybe if you hadn't strong-armed it out the window."

"They don't make 'em like they used to." He could tell Nat was teasing him because she had that smiling tone of voice.

"Yeah, but tin cans and shoelaces don't do long distance so well."

The following exit, Nat pulled off, driving into a rural area of Maryland. Steve thought they'd have to drive around looking for a phone store, which was downright irritating since they'd already diverted their mission once to pick up a phone.

However, Nat turned into a parking lot of a half-full Dunkin' Donuts, presumably to ask for directions. He waited in the car, watching through a window in disbelief as Nat ordered an iced coffee.

Steve fumed, ready to give Nat a piece of his mind, when she knocked into a table, spilling the coffee all over the people sitting there. Her mouth dropped in an unfamiliar look of mortification. She hurriedly grabbed napkins, cleaning up the spill, but the larger woman waved her off.

When Nat returned to the car, she handed him a phone. Steve had to admire how easily she'd pulled off the theft. But also, he'd make sure the phone was returned. She started the car, shushing him when he protested her driving out of the parking lot and reminding him they were wasting time.

Sam had given Steve his number and an address in case he ever wanted to "drop by." He was sure Sam never thought he'd be calling to ask for a favor. He wasn't even sure if he had a right to ask, but for Becca he'd do it.

Unlike Becca, Sam picked up even though he didn't recognize the number. "Hello?"

"Sam, this is Steve Rogers."

"Steve. It's good to hear from you." And Steve thought Sam did sound genuinely glad to be getting the call, but he figured Sam might change his mind in a minute "Don't tell me. You've decided to take up ultimate fighting, and you're calling to offer me tickets."

"Not exactly. I'm calling 'cause you offered help if I ever needed anything."

Sam paused. "I did, but I gotta admit, I'm surprised to hear from you. What d'ya need?"

"Before I tell you, I want you to know you don't have to do what I'm asking. You don't owe me anything."

"Hey man, Captain America asking for my help, I consider that an honor. So shoot."

Not feeling worthy of any kind of honor, Steve nevertheless explained, "I have something S.H.I.E.L.D. wants, only I'm not ready to give it to them yet. So they took my girl. You know the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters?"

"Sure. Big-ass building smack in the middle of the Potomac."

"That's where they've got her. I don't know where exactly, only that she's inside. Becca's planning on getting herself out, but I don't think she can make it on her own."

"So you want me to bust her out?"

Steve had a sudden image of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents converging on Sam. If nothing else, he could get in a lot of legal trouble. "Like I said, you don't have to do it. It's probably smarter if you don't."

"That may be, but when I asked what made you happy, you told me it's her. That's a good enough reason for me."

"Thanks. I owe you one." Steve was grateful that Sam seemed so willing to help, even after his warning. It proved what he already knew, that there were still good people in the world ready to lend a hand even if things got difficult.

"Don't thank me yet. You got any tips on how to get inside?"

"Yeah. I'm gonna let you talk to Agent Romanoff. She'll give you the details."

Steve handed over the phone and let Nat explain how Sam would get inside. He listened at first, but his mind drifted to Becca. He wondered if she already making her move and what strategy she'd come up with. Knowing Becca, something from the movies. But life wasn't like the movies, and he prayed she wasn't going to find that out the hard way.


Author's Note:

Well, Steve and Becca have got themselves into a mess all right. But will Becca make it out of the Triskelion? That is the question. I'll say this, her attempt is going to involve an action sequence, which I'm looking forward to as I haven't had a chance to write one since Flying High, Falling Hard. See you next week!