"Anyone who trades LIBERTY for SECURITY deserves NEITHER liberty nor security."

Her heart RACED, catching itself within the constraints of her throat; her lungs ACHED, debating whether to freeze or shiver in breath. Fingers TWITCHED, hardly hanging onto the now tear-stained letter—anxiety filled the air around her, constraining her to one position within Steve's apartment.

He was gone.

" Dolly,

This isBuck I'm sorry I couldn't save hi (all crossed out)

Bucky's gone. He died a hero, trying to defeat HYDRA by my side, but I couldn't protect him

I did the best I could. He died byHe died a quick death, Dolly and he still loved you 'til the end.

- Steve "

Gone. GONE forever, lost, left behind with no proper goodbye. There was no growing old and living a life after the war. …But that's what war did, it brought only pain and suffering to both sides. The fighting wouldn't stop until one side fell to submission, on their knees and begging for the end. And Bucky had become one of the casualties of this fight, left in his own SHIMMERING red stained coat to go on into God's hands.

Dolly's shoulders tightened as tears burst out in both grief and rage—sobs escaped her lips, there was no holding back, for no one was there to witness her soul shatter. Like a child, she continued letting out each cry with floods of tears dripping onto her chest and the carpet—her head hurt, it pulsed at every sniffle and crack. Her chest BURNED for air that refused to enter, forcing her to gasp for life.

What was the point? Steve was gone, who knows if he'd come back. And Bucky. Bucky was gone.

Grief grasps heavy at her heart, pain stings at her palm by her fingers digging through skin; emotions were not held back, and shouted at her to release her sadness and pain. RELEASE IT for ease, for any kind of solace she could manage to get at. Dolly's hands reached into her hair, pulled at the first chunks her fingers could wrap around, but took care in not damaging or PULLING out any strands. This was her way of resisting, resisting the TEMPTATION to harm anything within her grasp, to let out her fury, her pain, her grief.

Why hadn't anyone stayed with him? Did Steve stay until his last—? Was he left alone in the cold winter's choke?

She cringed as she toppled backward against the bookshelf leaning against the wall, choking on heartache and shaking violently along her legs. It was only two weeks ago she got a letter from Bucky saying he'd be home. That he'd be home and he'd embrace her as soon as he stepped off the ship.

All of that. All that anticipation, destroyed.

Dolly released the pain within her through her mouth and scream—until her vocal chords ran raw and her torso begged for air. A STORM ERUPTED, the book shelf slammed onto the floor, releasing its ammunition of books across the ratted carpet. The glass vase that sat on the top shelf SHATTERED into dangerous shards littered across the battle field, laying the grounds for what was still to come. Dolly went for the next thing she could; pencils, paper, more books, and small stools, all met their death through the violent THRASHING that sent them flying to the other side of the apartment, commonly meeting their end against the opposite facing wall.

Reality slipped away, the blurs of emotion and weakness revealing themselves amongst their sleeves—one of her only weaknesses, damaged, destroyed, now left her vulnerable. Each desperate gasp for air released a devastating pain through her shivering chest; it did not stop her from throwing everything within her path, including glass china the three saved up for to buy for Steve's mother's birthday before her death.

This continued long enough for fatigue to take over, bringing Dolly to her knees at the archway to Bucky's area Steve kept for him for when he stayed. Her lifeless drooping eyes surveyed her surroundings, her heart skipping a beat at the sight of a stuffed bear.

The bear was a light brown, fluffy, and had a blue military coat on it just like Bucky's—he had given it to her back when they watched the sunset together at Steeplechase's Parachute ride, just before deployment. Tears were long dried, her breathing settling, her body SHUTTING DOWN. There was enough energy, however, to lean forward and reach for the bear with gentle fingers. She leaned back, her shoulders sagging, her breath quivering as she ran her index fingers through the soft curls of fur atop the bear's head.

She swallowed, her stare unfocused on the bear, only functioning to keep her grounded—to keep her afloat from the return of the storm. All the sadness faded to the background, replaced with nothing but something that felt like a numbness of the sorts. She sighed, her voice scratching into the emptiness of the post-war damaged apartment.

.. " STEVE … IT HURTS SO MUCH. "

Dolly shifted, slumping over to the floor, LANDING on the target carpet, hugging the carnival bear against her chest. The areas below her eyes felt sagged, tired, and ready to rest, while her temples throbbed against the walls of her protected thoughts, long gone and damaged. Her lids felt heavy, felt defeated, threatening the dream world to open and attack the army that was Dolly, again and again. She did not fight, and allowed the dream world to envelop her and give her some form of escape.

…Bucky's gone.

Bucky's gone.

"Oh, Bucky."

"Gee, honey, you look like you haven't slept in days!" Margaret Ankins leaned over the bright red glittered diner service counter, inches away from the slumped Dolly, lost in the golden hash browns staring back at her from the breakfast plate. Margaret's features shifted, concerned about the brunette—Dolly usually took the time to look presentable when going out. This time, she just put on the nearest cardigan and dress on the floor to get out for air. She wasn't even matching! Brown and black was a no-no.

The diner waitress snapped her fingers two, three, four times before Dolly's dull brown-green eyes slowly met the other woman's blue ones. The hazel shine to Dolly's eyes had dulled out, revealing more to Margaret than the rainy sulking attitude the woman had from the moment she stepped in.

"Dolly, sugar. You're my best friend, you've locked yourself up in that little tiny apartment for weeks! You gotta' get up and get through life, hun. I know it's hard, but you can't leave yourself like this; you need to take care of yourself." She paused, looking over her friend's vacant expression. "I'm trying to help you… When did you last go to work?"

"—I called in sick. Flu." Dolly hardly let out a mumble, making it difficult for Margaret to decipher what she had said. She opened her mouth, ready to respond, but was interrupted by the duties of work.

"Hey, toots! Gimme another round a' coffee ova' here!"

Margaret rolled her eyes dramatically before whispering at Dolly 'to stay put' while she went to grab the black coffee mug to serve the customer—he was a daily, and she loathed serving him and his rude attitude.

Dolly hardly noticed she'd left or that her hash browns had gone cold. She reached for the fork to her left with her chapped fingers, curling two of them around the body of the fork, resting another two under the body, and the thumb against her index finger (no one taught her how to properly hold a pencil, let alone a fork). The hash browns cracked at the metal picking through it's flesh, revealing the pale-yellow potato shreds underneath the golden ones that had endured the fork's assault. It occurred to her that she was starving, her stomach shriveling, desperate for sustenance.

Cautious, worried her body would deny the food, she took small bites of the potatoes, scattering the darker pieces to reveal the pale-yellow pieces to eat first. The plate slowly revealed the white shine underneath the food, a sign of progress over the last two weeks, an accomplishment in its own.

Being joined by another, however, halted her progress. A woman, chic and ready to take on the way, sat beside Dolly—her hair in perfect curls, striped sailor-influenced button up nice and ironed, and her Ladies Misses' Skirt free of any stray hair.

" 'cuse me, may I have some coffee? Black, two sugars."

'I'm the only one sitting here, why not sit on another stool—away from me?'

Dolly glanced over at her to take note of her appearance, of the bright red lipstick, and of the way she held herself to much higher standards compared to Dolly. It made a dip in her stomach ride up and down in a feeling of disappointment, or how she let herself get to this state. Her gaze shifted over to her plate, allowing the thoughts she'd compressed over the last couple of weeks flow out of the gates. Perhaps she neglected herself too much, took a fall. Bucky wouldn't want her to do that, he'd want her to be successful and lively.

… But she wasn't ready.

As thoughts flowed, wave after wave, throughout her vast mind, she found herself accidentally scratching the bare area of the plate with her fork, creating screeching noises audible to the woman beside her. To her demise, the woman spoke to her.

"Are you okay, dear?"

Empty eyes looked over at her, hesitant to show any weakness—vulnerability would only leave open risk for danger, emotional or physical. With her strength, built up, she managed a brief smile.

"I'm fine, thank you."

"You don't look it. Come now, what's got you in such a bad mood?"

"Uhm… no, really, I'm fine. Really." Her voice shook, failing to listen to her mind, allowing a crack to let out - the line that kept it all back ripped and tears followed, Dolly's hands immediately ran up to wipe away.

"S-Sorry, I'm just—just… I'm having a b-bad day— "

"Hmm... it's always easier to talk to a stranger when it comes to bad days. No leaning, just an outlet to vent to. —Now, dear, let it all out."

- 2014 -

Three next generation helicarriers synced to the network of satellites she was working on that were designed for targeting and DESTROYING. She adjusted the monitoring systems, and whilst tinkering, she stumbled onto a file containing a list—a long, complex list that had names of many individuals living within the world's surface. Tony Stark, Stephen Strange, Bruce Banner. A list of FAMILIAR names, of recognizable names, and names of innocents living their lives, targeted by factors such as their SAT score and health records. She knew people would be killed because of this, but this many? RAGE filled Dolly's form, a feeling she felt before accepting the position that only increased—the NEED to protect as many lives as she could, a need to keep them safe, was strong.

Her initial goal: to gather intel, compromise the project. She would not let people die without being charged of a crime. Now, with enough information, her goal was to, above all else, keep the public safe and compromise the project.

Through a series of loopholes and security checks, Dolly found her way to the depths of the tracking information imbedded within monitoring and diagnostics. COPY, PASTE, PROCESS. Dolly compiled the information and sent it to her lab computer up on the higher level of the bay—it was a convenience to have her computer connected to her log-in. 40%... 60%... 100%- SENT. Dolly looked to her sides, taking note of who was around within the project room, for she couldn't be FOUND OUT. It could mean the loss of her job, her reputation, or even her own life, if known by the right person. She had to get out of there and finish her task and get the final product OUT of SHIELD's hands, hidden somewhere.

She quickly scanned the newest updates on the project in the main computer file and noticed another quick, important detail—the satellites were to be launched tonight into space for the future scans to track millions of targets. Steve is going to the Lemurian Star tonight… Her eyes squinted, blurring the text within her vision as she thought—she had to ask Fury if he knew about the satellites, about what was going on at the ship.

GET OUT. Dolly bee-lined for the door, through the helicarrier bay, and into the elevator.

"B3, labs."

The elevator bounced, beginning its ascend to the higher levels of the building, the secrets of SHIELD disappearing from her sight and to the bottoms of her feet, below the concrete flooring. B6… B4… B3. The elevator stopped, the doors sliding open with a light ding! RUSHED, Dolly speed-walked down the hall, took the turn, and made it to her lab and punched in the code to unlock the door; the door unlocked and cracked open with a loud thunk! as a greeting.

Dolly slammed the door shut behind her, concerned for any eyes to see her, whispers to leak out, or anyone to ambush her for whatever reason. 'Calm down, Grey. You got this.' Dolly harped at herself, she was panicking, anxiety was pushing her to fill with all sorts of thoughts—being watched, being chased, being COMPROMISED. Dolly let out a shaky, stressful sigh as she slid into her rolling chair and booted the computer from a sleeping state.

"Grey, Emily. Get the programs running with the following file."

"Of course, Ms. Grey."

Thank Tony for her own little computer servant. She clicked on the file she had transferred, pulling it into the processing program to get the little mechanical machines she had on the table behind her to mold and program three drives of the desired information—FLAWED tracking chips, a liability that would bring the helicarriers to their doom if need be. Destroy the army, destroy it from the inside.

Dolly reached for her hair, ran through it, unintendedly loosening the tie she had in the back—stress stirred within her depths, increasing her pulse and pushing beads of sweat down her forehead. Was she doing the right thing? Would she be found ou—stop. You'll be fine.

"All three chips are complete. Anything else, Ms. Grey?"

"Get rid of the evidence, erase this session, shut down. This never happened. …Thanks, Atwood."

FOCUS. Dolly breathed in, standing before Fury's door, holding it for seven seconds, then releasing for eight. Her eyes opened as her hand opened the door to lay eyes on Fury sitting at his desk, watching the screen on his computer. His eye followed the agent's form, not quite expecting her so soon.

"Agent Grey, what can I do for you?"

Dolly strolled into the office, the door clicking behind her, and decided to stay standing in front of Fury's desk, allowing the covered mask of content to fall off and reveal her concern.

"I know about the Lemurian Star and that Steve is going with the STRIKE force team. Does he know the details of this mission?" She assumed Fury was on the same page and knew the details, knew about the satellites, about the potential threat, about the links. What she didn't know quite yet, was that he was aiming for the same goal as she.

"His mission is to save hostages we got word of being there earlier last night. Mercs have been in control and we have important agents on that ship. Anything else is none of his concern."

He was sent but with different intentions. Why? Her eyes narrowed, attempting to SEE through the Director, to see any information she could recover, but her eyes came with nothing. After her years of service, she still never came to trust Fury, regardless of the things she's been involved with, the information she's carried, and the blind trust Fury gave her from the beginning—she never came to take that leap forward, because that kind of trust meant opening in another form, giving out her secrets.

"There's another goal you have, though. You wouldn't be sending in so many people, including Natasha, for just a couple of pirates. - What about the satellites?"

"What about them? They're for the helicarriers. You know more about them than me, so what are you asking?"

Dammit. Tell me what I'm missing. She was missing SOMETHING, some DETAIL that she was overlooking—the project was one thing, but there was something underlying the entire project. She couldn't put a finger on what it was—her ideas were always dramatic and paranoia based, like HYDRA being behind it, after innocent lives to get them out of the pic—again, stop, Grey. She mentally shook the thoughts away, returning to Fury. "This is cruel and brings the people at fear. This isn't what SHIELD was made to be." She paused. Steve had to know about this. If not about the satellites, he had to know about the helicarriers. "If you can't take my word on it, show Steve. Show Steve and see what he has to say – or I will."

"Watch it, Grey. You're not authorized to show him any of that."

"No, I'm not, but you need to share this with him! Give him that much, you can trust him. Show him he's wrong about not trusting you." If she couldn't trust him, she needed at least someone to do it for her, and that had to be Steve.

His brow creased, thoughtful, voice sharp as he dismissed her with the wave of his hand. "I'll share. I'm nice like that."

"Thank you, Fury." Dolly gave a nod, signaling her dismissal before letting herself out of the office and down to the main floor. Before she left, she heard his last remark, swearing he'd said she 'needed to learn to trust, too.' She needed fresh air and a drink, not advice.

A symbol to the nation. A hero to the world. The story of Captain America is one of honor, bravery, and sacrifice.

Dolly grasped Steve's hand as they walked into the Smithsonian Museum's Captain America exhibit, trembling with anticipation. For as long as the exhibit had been open, Dolly had refused to visit it, especially alone. To remember, to relive from the old footage on display, terrified her—she got over her losses, over mourning, and over all her griefs. She was scared to become emotional in front of the public, and repeatedly refused to go. Finally, after weeks of harping, she gave in—Steve insisted she go with him, to take it as a positive journey, to not be indecisive and just go. 'If you see It in a positive light, it'll give you a piece of what was home again.'

"I'm not sure about this…" she muttered, leaning over to the super soldier as they walked to the exhibit revealing pre-serum Rogers. Denied Enlistment due to poor health, Steven Rogers was chosen for a program unique to the annals of American warfare… into the world's first super soldier. Kids were enjoying the height comparisons, gasping in delight at the amount Steve had grown after the Rebirth project. Dolly watched, hardly noticing the little boy that recognized Steve. They wandered to the Howling Commandos display, showing the Captain in front with the Commandos in the back, lined side-by-side. She couldn't keep her eyes of that navy coat—the collar, how it folded over in a fashionable yet function sense, how warm it made her feel to just take the color and sensations in through her eyes. She remembered the photo she got in the post from him of the entire team, shining bright with smiles, except him—always so serious, trying to be the cool one of the group. Aloud, Dolly let out a small melancholy chuckle which brought a small smile to Steve's face—at least she was taking this in a comforting sense.

Battle tested, Captain America and his Howling Commandos quickly earned their stripes… Best friends since childhood, Bucky Barnes and Steven Rogers were inseparable on both school yard and battle field. Dolly's grasp on Steve's hand tightened as they approached Bucky's display, her chest tightened while her heart raced to a feeling she hadn't felt in many years. In far too long. 'A Fallen Comrade.' He was more than that—a friend, support, smart-ass, love.

"Always serious for photos." Dolly's voice was tight, hardly allowing sound to come out from between her lips. Her comment cracked a smile on Steve, which was quick to disappear. They had both lost something that day, and the two weren't entirely over it.

Barnes is the only Howling Commando to give his life in service of his country.

The short lines of film were on repeat, of Steve and the group talking strategy, of the two friends smiling, of Bucky laughing. His laugh, she practically heard it next to her as the silent film played on the small screen, viewed by all the nearby guests. His laugh always brought a smile onto her face, even during the darkest times the three encountered over those years. Even after he died, Bucky was still around Dolly in some way, bringing some sort of smile to her. This happened to be one of the more physical ways.

She just wished he was here with her.

Tears threatened to creep out of her eyes, the emotion of not having Bucky—her Bucky—around anymore, lost somewhere in another world. She held in the burst that wanted to flow from her walls, and murmured to Steve that she needed to use the restroom, to go on without her. TO LET HER RUN. Quick to find the restroom, she went in and to the furthest stall from the door—the furthest to allow her to be heard. She couldn't do this. Maybe this was a bad idea. She was fine at the start, she even felt comfort and warmth from the visit.

It was the video that broke her, allowed her to CRACK. All these years, and she still wasn't ready to GO BACK in time and relive those moments. It made her feel weak, FRAGILE. A muffled sob escaped from her hand that covered her mouth, tears soaking her cheeks—breathe.

She breathed. Five seconds… Hold, seven seconds… release, eight.

The world stilled around her, holding its breath with her, releasing it on her mark. It took multiple rounds before her head began to feel light, relaxed, grounded. Both heart and mind told her not to try again, to just wait for Steve outside the entrance, to dwell into the mechanical airplane exhibit for a different kind of comfort, one she accepted.

And she did just that. Sitting in front of a Mitsubishi A6M5 Reisen (Zero Fighter) plane and watching the pedestrians that wandered by, either excited to see Captain America or the Dinosaur exhibit in another wing. She pushed her mind off Bucky, and came to the present. Here she was, in DC, caught in what seemed like the oncoming of a storm within SHIELD, with her best friends—both from the past and present.

Still living, still breathing, still SURVIVING, and not only by herself, but with Steve. He had come back to her and filled one of the major gaps she held within herself since he'd crashed into the ice. It made her warm to know she wasn't solo anymore, ever since Clint, Nat, and Steve came into her picture.

"Hey, you doin' okay?"

Steve towered over her, looking at her the way she usually looked at him after he came back home from all kinds of fights (in which he wasn't ever successful). She couldn't help but smile at the look.

"Looks like we're switching roles, Steve—now you're Mother Hen. Yeah—no—I'm fine, really."

He rolled his eyes in a playful manner, taking the space to her right to sit down and look at the various planes hung on almost every side of them. Even this exhibit reminded him of the fight back in the day, with the planes rumbling overhead while the Commandos held camp and rested for the night.

"I'm going to go visit her… think you can get home alright?" Peggy. She knew it was always a big thing for him, even though she's never met the woman. He held her to his heart like his life depended on it, and Dolly knew what that felt like.

"Heyyy, I may not have a Dorito body like you to take down an army, but I can still get by without you, silly. I may go for a walk, first. Say hi for me, eh?"

"Will do, Doll. Will do."

Make sure he's DEAD. CONFIRM?

Confirmed.

Heavy boots steadied, locking against the friction of the concrete road, the eyes of a SNIPER watching the half-destroyed SUV speed his way. The soldier—the weapon—breathed out slowly, raised the magnetic disk grenade gun, and shot. SHOT and CLUNG to the bottom of the projectile in his range. FLAMES erupted after the grenade went off, letting loose the SUV through the air in a pile of smoke; he shifted, turning to the side for a swift avoidance of the danger.

The target LANDED on the other side of the road, enveloped in grey, ready for the pounce. COMPLETE THE MISSION. The soldier moved, his body twisting to the direction of his PREY—he itched for violence, starved for the kill, only increasing in level as distance became closer and closer between he and his prey. Metal mechanics of the soldier's limb whirled and hummed, voicing the threat the man embodied.

The heavy thud of boots approached the SUV, eager to satisfy his requirements—he was going to rip him apart.

COMPLETE THE MISSION.

COMPLETE THE MISSION.

His metal grip tore the weak van door and whipped it to the side; it was only UNNECESSARY and kept him away from his target. The ghost—the machine—bent over and peered into the bent compartment and met with a fresh made hole into the sewer system. The target was still AT LARGE. Gears whirled along the walls of the soldier's mind, constructing an alternative plan of attack—first, disappear. Disappear as a GHOST without witnesses.

Do not question, stray, or defy.

There was no such thing as a failed mission.

Mission: In Progress

Keys dangled against one another, one singled out to fit into the apartment's keyhole; the key was made by Steve for Dolly, the key a custom design, one of a black poodle with a pink collar where the key's unique carving for the lock started. It was her favorite key, for the others along her key ring were all various shades of gold or silver. The key clicked through the hole, twisted the lock, and unlocked the apartment building - Dolly pushed the door open and was quick to closing and locking it before throwing her keys onto the kitchen's marble counter.

This was better than her cubby hole of a place she made for herself within her lab back at SHIELD. Back in her lab, all she had was a cramped corner dedicated to 'personal relaxing,' decorated with rainbow Christmas lights above a thick hammock that was her mock bed. She only had thick camping blankets for her hammock covers, but was suitable alongside her side-sleeper pillow. To separate her lab to her bed, she got a mock bed sheet from the thrift store. Talk about classy.

No, this was better. Steve invited her to stay with him in an extra room in the D.C. apartment he lived in while she sought out an 'official' place of stay—Steve wouldn't leave her alone, saying that her lab was not a place to live in all the time. Like he knew. ...Perhaps he was right. Maybe one day she would have an apartment of her own in which she could share with Steve and perhaps others, like Clint and Nat.

That was only a dream, though.

The apartment was dark, only the city lights seeping in through the window panes, decorating the couch and pictures leaning against the walls a pale orange. Some posters were up—a nice motorcycle art piece, the US Army raising the flag as signaling the end of the war, sketches of inventions under construction by Stark back in the 40's, and even some knew photographs Steve liked from his searches on the internet. Most, however, were still stacked on top of each other in piles in corners or leaning against the eggshell white walls. Dolly wondered if Steve was already asleep, exhausted from the day's work—he wasn't.

"No shield in sight…" Dolly let out a small hushed comment to herself as she walked into the dining room, crossing it to approach the guest room door. The guest room was plain, simple and with little decorations – Dolly did, of course, add a few personal touches to the room to make it a temporary home. Instead of the entire room being different tints of white, from the eggshell wall to the laundry white sheets, she added a sunset ocean view painting on the wall across from the bed and a few lights to hang from the ceiling, pumpkin shaped lights shimmering a bright gold color from last year's Halloween. She laid on her stomach atop the plump winter comforter, grabbing her latest read from the nightstand to her left, Endless Forms Most Beautiful.

… "Evolution of form is very much a matter of teaching old genes new tricks!" Dolly lost track of time, her eyes DEVOURING the content, page after page, about evolution and how IRONICALLY simple it was. Simple to understand once the complexities were worked out. Perhaps that's how her mystery will go – become more simple once some details are fleshed out. Reading the biological piece put itself on pause, as the stereo from the living room snuck into her room from the crack she had open, presenting itself with the tune of 'It's Been a Long, Long Time.' It must have meant that Steve finally came home.

She continued reading, only reaching past two extra pages before pausing, PROCESSING the moment. Steve usually came into her room, checking in with her to see if she was alright. If she was hungry. If she wanted to watch a new episode of Star Trek with him, or even play the video game of the week she got to expose him to new things on a weekly basis. She thought. Her eyes wandered across the book held in her hands, to the covered pillows in front of her, and finally to the crack of the door to her far left. Odd.

Dolly, cautious, slides her legs to the side of the bed, leaning forward with care to reach the cold wooden floor. Concern masked her fear, however, a small rattle was felt within her chest—she was nervous, worried about Steve. Could someone had snuck in? She stopped at the door, her breathing audible, her hand shivering as she reached for the white wood to push open just a bit for her head to poke out. The view did not give her enough to analyze, only revealing the dining room area and a portion of the living room, including the couch—the individual had to be nearby Steve's door, one of the only places she couldn't see, a vulnerability for both when it came to pranks.

Curiosity got the best of her, tempting her to reach forward, step through the threshold and investigate the perimeter. The pads of her feet led her, stinging at every step against the cool floor, toward Steve's room; darkness enveloped her, giving a slight advantage since the city lights did not reveal her location. The caution was not needed at the sight of the visitor—Director Fury sat in the small reading chair near Steve's room, shrouded in the shadows, protected. His posture did not fool her - she knew, regardless of the lighting, that he was hurt in one form or another. This had to do something with Project: Insight – the big topic of the month. She about opened her mouth, her vocal chords pushing to let out sound, CURIOSITY, for answers; Fury put up a hand, hushing her, not putting a hair of effort in holding back her stubbornness. There was something wrong.

There was something definitely wrong.

Especially since Steven Rogers was climbing through a window to get into his own damn apartment. Dolly looked over at Steve, armed with his shield, before nodding over to Fury, who they both turned a keen eye on.

"I don't remember giving you a key."

"You really think I'd need one?" Fury shifted, REVEALING his suffering, failing in hiding it to the extent he wanted. Three seconds, three seconds to fabricate a lie that even Dolly saw through. "My wife kicked me out."

Steve's brows furrowed, revealing "Didn't know you were married."

"There are a lot of things you don't know about me."

"I know, Nick. That's the problem."

Dolly reached past Steve, flipping on the light switch to reveal an injured Fury, beat to a pulp, simply shredded MEAT of the predator who had failed in scarfing him down the first time. She held in a gasp, reminding herself to be silent, CAREFUL. Fury turned off the lights, tapping at his phone the best his fingers could go, and revealing the shining blue light to the two of them.

'EARS EVERYWHERE.'

"I'm sorry you have to do this, but I had no place else to crash." Fury's eye shifted toward Steve's room, the ceiling, and the living room, SCANNING for bugs implanted in obvious potential areas. His eye returned to the mobile, and again tapped away.

'SHIELD COMPROMISED.'

"Who else knows about your wife?"

'BOTH YOU AND ME.'

"Just… my friends." Fury stood, hobbling toward the pair with an exhausted smirk curling onto his lips; he had to have multiple fractures, multiple bruises, he shouldn't have stood up.

"Is that what we are?" Steve continued the charade, masking his ANGER, his CONCERN, behind an agitated stare, commonly held in his stubborn acts with Fury. Play the part, play the role.

"That's up to you."

Time spun. One second, two second. SHOTS FIRED. Three seconds, four. Fury collapses, his body crunching to the wooden floor, staining his clothes and floor with crimson liquid, tainting the area. PANIC. Five seconds, six. COMPARTMENTALIZE.

Dolly ran into action, the two dragging Fury to the kitchen by the marble island, to a safer area, away from the SNIPER'S sights. He struggled, struggled to gasp for air, to speak, to WARN Steve. The director, with his last attempts, hands Steve a silver flash drive. Dolly briefly eyed the drive but returned to aiding in her work, PRESSURIZING the wounds through the tangles of arms.

"Don't… trust. Anyone." Crimson split from his lips, the urge to lose consciousness creeping in more and more each second. Dolly had to keep him awake, had to keep him BREATHING – she whispered to him, to 'stay awake' through chattering teeth. Her instincts were on FIRE, she BURNED at the adrenaline rushing into her veins—to be in the danger zone, to be a potential TARGET terrified her. NOT AGAIN. NO. She would not be found, not be taken away, not again.

She pushed her intrusive thoughts away, reminding herself the explosive banging of the front door was not a threat—in fact, it was a neighbor.

"Captain Rogers?" Kate, the kind blonde Dolly spoke to every morning on the way to work—she knew the 'nurse' was in fact a SHIELD agent, but never questioned it aloud whether she was a watcher or just happened to live there. The mission was covered in secrecy, and she kept it that way—Dolly was adept at keeping secrets. "Captain, I'm Agent 13 of SHIELD's Special Service."

"Kate?"

"I'm assigned to protect you."

"On whose order?"

"…His."

Dolly looked over at Steve, desperate for closure—for revenge on the killer, knowing Fury may not well make it. The face had to be known, had to be pursued.

"Go, go!" Dolly shouted at Steve. He ran into pursuit, the shattering of a nearby window echoing through the commotion, a clear sign he had sights on the sniper. Dolly had Kate assist her to keep Fury going, to keep his cover alive, to keep him alive; agents poured into the apartment, and the trialing journey to heaven's door, the emergency room, begun.

"You're going to be okay, Fury. Listen to me, keep your eyes open." He lost consciousness.

"He's dropping." Multiple doctors and nurses worked as fast as they could, REMOVING the slugs, stitching up the perforations, supplying oxygen to keep him ALIVE and living. Dolly kept track of the levels, handing multiple tools to each working doctor. Buzzing flew through her mind, keeping her on fire, keeping her on her toes whilst trying to keep her boss in the living world, not to fall to the dead.

"Crash cart coming in."

"Nurse, help me with the gauze, please. BP is dropping. – Defibrillator!" Dolly approached Fury's bare chest, gauze gripped in her hands, ready to apply. Gauze covered the bleeding, pressure applied in attempt to CLOSE the river of blood. "Charge to one hundred." This was it, they were on the line. They had to go to desperate measures.

He was dying, and Dolly couldn't change that.

She backed away at the sight of the defibrillator, retreating to her safe zone beside the pulse reading screen, ready to report the pulse from each attempt to PUSH him back to life.

"Stand back! Three, two, one… Clear!"

SHOCKS erupt within Fury's body, shaking him to his core, the body jumping in shock at the amount of energy soaring within. 'Pulse?' The question came, Dolly's stare jumping to the line and statistics to the side. A big NEGATIVE.

"No pulse." She responded, masking her emotion, keeping her professional world in the NOW, her grief and sorrow for the end.

"Okay, charge two hundred, please." He rubbed the two pieces together, static buzzing in between the two plates, ready to release another round of ammunition throughout Fury's body. "Three, two, one. Clear!"

ANOTHER storm rushed its way through Fury, demanding a response, demanded a PUMPING heart as compensation for the job, but did not receive.

"Give me epinephrine! Pulse?"

"No pulse." Dolly repeated stiffly, handing the injection to the doctor. They were going to call it. THIS was what Dolly hated in her job, CALLING the time, recording the death within the depths of her mind and preparing to share it with those close to the patient. Steve. Nat. She was blessed for the window reflecting the scene and not revealing them behind, their faces.

"What's the time?"

Dolly looked to the side at the large digital clock required in every room, required to tell the time Death takes patients to where they were destined to travel to in the afterlife. "1:03, Doctor."

"Time of death, 1:03 AM."

Dolly set down the tools the doctor previously required, shifting to the next phase: clean up. One by one, each tube was removed: IV, oxygen, pulse monitor. Blood washed away to the hard floor, down the drain, revealing the clean dark skin again. Cleaning the director up, making him clean for a final viewing, to roll into the adjacent room for friends and family to see before the future funeral ceremonies—it was difficult enough. To see Steve and Nat, well, was even harder.

It took ten minutes to transfer Fury to another room, revealing his dead form covered in a thin sheet for decency. Dolly brought Steve and Natasha to the viewing room and stood closest to the door as she could, away from the reminder of what had HAPPENED. The BOOM of each slug, the crumpling of Fury's body as he fell to the apartment floor. She handled it before with other patients, but for Fury—for Fury, she couldn't BURY the emotion as fast. No one said a thing, just took a moment of SILENCE to convey their feelings, their remorse; Dolly snuck a glance in Steve's direction, noticing a tint of mystery in his features—he was hiding something. He knew why Fury was targeted, and it had something to do with that drive Fury gave him. It had to involve the Lemurian Star, Project Insight… This wasn't over.

Silent steps echoed across the tiled floor—Maria Hill entered the room, her emotions held along her sleeve, baring responsibility and grief.

"We need to take him." It was time. The time for DEATH to envelope Fury both spiritually AND physically had arrived, to take him through the gates of the afterlife in body and soul. His soul, already gone, Maria to guide his body to join it. Steve walked over to Natasha, urging her to let Fury go on, to allow Agent Hill to take charge over him.

"Natasha!" The red Russian zipped out of the room, silent, COLD, and skeptical, with both Dolly and Steve following in haste. Dolly was sure, POSITIVE, Natasha would give them the cold shoulder for her to allow herself to swallow the night's events, however, her fierceness instead revealed itself as she whipped around on her heel to face Steve head-on.

"Why was Fury in your apartment?" Her tone spoke curiosity but her eyes burned of interrogation, craving an answer.

The two women saw through the Captain's lie, his pathetic excuse as to what he knew and did not.

"- I don't know."

Dolly opened to speak, interrupted by Brock Rumlow, intensive on his request demand that Steve return to SHIELD ASAP. The agent's voice rumbled with a hint of something—something Dolly didn't trust; SHIELD was compromised, and she had a feeling Rumlow was involved. And off Rogers was, called a 'terrible liar' before left alone to his duties. Dolly gave him a brief look, one of CONCERN, of COMPASSION, and gave a quick wave before lightly jogging after Natasha. Going with her meant a stronger sense of safety, away from the crashing waves that brewed up between the STRIKE team and Steve—he could handle that on his own, not with a "weenie" that was Dolly Grey.

HUSH. HUSHED whispers slid between the space separating Dolly Grey and Natasha Romanoff—their speech, unrecognizable. Their emotions, HIDDEN away from the surface, lacking any answers a passerby may beg to get a hold on.

"…— 'll I got was… SHIELD is compromised."

"And Fury needed Steve to know. Makes sense…"

Their conversation was brief involving crucial intel, the remaining drabbling on about Fury's funeral, Nat inviting Dolly for a manicure day, and Dolly's potential choices for a place to live on her own. Medical personnel shuffled by eating their quick protein bar before another job, some jogging by in URGENCY to aid critical in-patients, and others gossiping to one another about who their main doctor was sleeping with. ALL OF IT, all of it could have been fabricated, to release any intense information between one another may mean the difference between being EATEN ALIVE or SAFE and sound.

Inside, a horrible, gnawing feeling pulled deep into Dolly's gut that continued to push her harder and harder—she felt sick. SHIELD was compromised. Dirty. The one group she thought would lead her to redemption was contaminated, infected, and rotted from the start. Her head throbbed, inducing a sharp and hard pain as a warning of what may come if she continued getting deeper into this—she'd only get pain, suffering, and possibly lose Steve again. Too much di—

"You need to eat something; you've been buzzing all day. Let's get something from the vending machine." Natasha's stare analyzed Dolly, aware that her inner turmoil was stirring. The nurse looked up at Natasha and gave a brief smile—she trusted Nat more than anyone, 'cept for Steve.

"Alright."

The two strolled toward the vending machine in mutual but comfortable silence, going down the familiar hall where earlier actions took place. Dolly cringed at the thought, the blood, pushing it away to her darkest parts that never resurfaced without good reason. They approached the vending machine filled with Mentos, bagged pretzels, Lays, Double mint gum, Eclipse, Altoids, and Hubba Bubba with a unique prize sitting four packages back—the USB drive Fury thrusted into Steve's hand before on his road to death.

"Look at what we have here."

"Fury gave that to Steve, so wh—" SHIELD COMPROMISED… Don't… trust. Anyone. "... Duh." Steve wouldn't dare bring it back to SHIELD, not leave it at risk, this was the next great place. He didn't know who to trust, it was an all-for-all playing field.

"Fury gave it to him. Why?"

"I don't know."

A vibration from Dolly's back pocket almost had her jump in surprise, unsuspecting of receiving a text now of day—it wouldn't be from Steve, it wasn't safe. They'd need to talk in person from now on. She slid her hand into her pocket, got out her mobile and swiped it to unlock it, bringing up the text:

SHIELD needs you. This is level one. Contact DOT; Rogers, Steven is a fugitive of SHIELD.

Author's Note: So, glad we're in The Winter Soldier now! A little glimpse of the 'Ghost'. Countdown to his 'official' intro: 1 for Steve, 2 for Dolly. :) I am also reading Endless Forms Most Beautiful by Sean Carroll, and it's quite interesting, I'm glad I got the time to pick it up for a read.

Thank you to everyone to those who favorited or put Hush, Hush on follow. Hope everyone enjoyed, and please review!

Chapter 5 – Freezer Burn

"They're coming for you. You guys need to run— …Steve? …Get out of there, NOW!"