Becca was about ready to hop a taxi to D.C. herself and do some snooping. She had called Natasha, who basically told her to stay put and hang tight (surprise, surprise), and spent the rest of the day digging through footage of Steve on repeat and pacing. She watched videos taken from all different angles with grainy phone cameras and good ones. She looked at screenshots, made them bigger and smaller to analyze every detail.

The person in full Captain America gear was definitely Steve, from the build of his body down to the thickness of his eyelashes. So she had to wrap her head around why he would show up out of the blue after two months to decapitate the top brass at the NSA and participate in a car chase that had resulted in a reported six deaths and fifty-three injuries, during which several witnesses stated they saw him throwing his shield at a cop car. If he had been after the cops, that'd be one thing. Those cops could've secretly been Hydra. But she knew that Steve would never endanger civilians.

He wasn't himself. The thought which chimed on repeat in her head reminded of her of how Steve had talked about Bucky. She searched, but for all of Hydra's files that had been dumped onto the internet, few mentioned the Winter Solider. The name popped up and vanished, no details. He was the grim reaper, a figure that needed neither introduction nor explanation, but where his name appeared death followed.

And now, Steve had emerged seemingly from the nether sphere with no explanation, and on his heels came death.

The situation wasn't quite the same, of course. With Bucky, it seemed like Hydra had gone out of their way to keep him a secret weapon. Steve was front-page news. While keeping Steve's presence undetected would've undoubtedly proven harder than with Bucky, Becca didn't think that was the only reason for the difference.

This attack spread panic and fear, sending shockwaves out in a way that the Winter Soldier never could. Because no one knew Hydra was behind this, not for a certainty. It looked like a superhero – the golden boy, the righteous spirit of America – had killed several government officials in cold blood. Whoever was behind this attack had a plan, a smart plan.

She stopped her pacing at the knock on the door and sprinted over, practically smacking her face against the surface in her haste as she peered through the peephole. Thank god.

"Who is it?"

"Jasmine rice," Natasha replied, using the latest in their rotating series of passwords.

Becca let her in. "Hey. People are saying there was a car chase, and the car drove straight into the river." She had tried calling Natasha back once she'd read that detail, but hadn't gotten an answer.

"It can run underwater." Natasha took off her jacket and tossed beside the door. "The car was S.H.I.E.L.D.'s."

"Which means it's Hydra's now. Has anyone found it?"

Natasha shook her head.

"Fuck." Becca breathed in deep through her nose to vent her frustration. A missing submersible car was better than Steve drowning in a car. "What else do you know?"

"The man Rogers killed, General Alexander's schedule was forwarded to a private e-mail address. It was only accessed once, but my contact will have people sent to scout out the location."

"Okay. Good."

"The two soldiers with Rogers are –"

"Sergeants Fisher and Yeaboah," Becca finished. "They went AWOL years ago, but people around them said it didn't make sense that they'd left."

Another reason that she thought Steve might have gone through whatever had been done to Bucky. These two sergeants had similar stories to his. They were the golden boys, proud to serve their country and protect their fellow soldiers. Then, poof. They had vanished into thin air never to be heard from again. Until today.

"Sorry," she added. She had gotten better at deciphering Natasha's subtler facial expressions, and Natasha was definitely giving her a look. "You were saying?"

"They're being looked into as well."

"By your contact." Natasha nodded. "I'm never finding out who this contact is, am I?"

"I could tell you…"

Becca lifted an eyebrow. "But then you'd have to kill me. You know, this is the third time you've used that saying. At some point I've gotta start wondering if you're being serious."

Natasha flashed one of her mysterious smiles, a further part of the joke. At least, Becca was ninety-five percent sure it was a joke. But she couldn't let herself get off track.

"Why do you think Steve did it?"

Smile fading, Natasha said, "I think there are a few possibilities. It might not be him. There's technology that can change a person's face."

Becca wrinkled her nose. Steve had told her about the face mask technology Natasha had used to get into the Triskeleton, but he hadn't said anything about mirroring someone's body. She supposed a full-body cloaking device could be possible or another person could have Steve's body type, but it seemed highly unlikely. She had seen him enough to be confident in her ability to recognize an imposter.

"Or he could be under the influence of Loki's scepter, which has gone missing."

It took her a second to remember what Natasha was talking about. An alien scepter that could control minds resting in the hands of Hydra. Nothing could go wrong there. Why did S.H.I.E.L.D. even have that scepter? She had assumed that it, like the Tesseract, had gone to Asgard with Thor.

"But that theory's not looking too good, Natasha admitted. "It's hard to tell because Rogers has blue eyes already, but the scepter gives the person's irises a blue glow. Neither of the soldiers seemed to have it. Which leaves one more option."

"That Steve's the next Winter Solider," Becca finished for her. She could see the confirmation in Natasha's eyes. "What's your gut tell you?"

Natasha considered before admitting, "I've dug up some files on the Winter Solider. A lot of the scientists mentioned are still in the wind. And when the FBI raided the safe house where some of the equipment Hydra used in the experiment was supposed to be, it was empty."

"I knew it!" Becca exclaimed, slapping her palm against a wall. "Okay… okay… Steve told me he got through to Bucky, and Bucky's been the Winter Solider for years, right? Steve's only been with Hydra for two months."

"I don't like were this is going," Natasha interjected.

"I haven't even finished."

"You don't need to."

Becca chewed her bottom lip. She had thought a lot about this as she'd worn a path around the apartment. Under the spotlight wasn't a place she liked to be. Steve had made the experience tolerable because he took up most of the light, leaving her half in the privacy of the dark. When the Hydra videos and S.H.I.E.L.D. surveillance had turned every media spotlight onto their lives, she had felt like dropping off the face of the Earth. But she hadn't, under Steve's protective shadow.

Well, she had all the privacy she could ever want in this little apartment, but she couldn't stay. She couldn't duck her head and slink back to her mundane day-to-day either. Calling attention to herself might scare the shit out of her and it might be dangerous, but she had to do it. Steve was out there, and he needed her.

"I have to try and reach him," she stated.

Natasha folded her arms, her body leaning towards the door as though she might jump in front of it. "You'll make yourself a target."

"Good. I want him to find me."

"They might not send him."

"But they might." She held out her hands imploringly, begging Natasha to understand. "I can't let him be the Winter Soldier. Innocent people are gonna keep dying. And either he's gonna get himself killed, or someday he'll snap out of it and the guilt will crush him."

"And if he snaps out of it and finds out you're dead?" Natasha asked pointedly.

Becca shivered, a ghost of the blade stabbing into her throat. It was a risk she had to take. For Steve, but also for herself. He wasn't the only one who could be crushed by guilt. "I have to try. I'm not letting you keep me here. You can come with me or you can stay. It's entirely up to you."

Natasha stared at her for a long time. Becca hoped she would respect her decision to leave, and she wouldn't blame Natasha if she chose to stay behind. Natasha had done a lot over the past two months, tirelessly following leads, sifting through mountains of information. In fact, Becca had only seen her laying in her sleeping bag once. She was always the first to rise and the last to bed, insisting she didn't need much sleep. When she left, Natasha would likely continue the routine.

"What's your plan?" Natasha questioned.

Not an outright condemnation, so Becca would take it. "I need to get in touch with Devika. Technically, she's Steve's press agent, but I'm hoping she'll help me out. And I'll do whatever she thinks is best, but right now I'm thinking…" She took a breath, stomach roiling with nerves. "I'm thinking I'll have to hold a press conference."

Natasha's frown thinned. "That could endanger a lot of people."

"Not if we do it like last time. Just gather a few reporters, a few cameras. All very hush-hush. No one will know until I go live."

"And then?"

"Then I talk and hope it reaches him or someone in Hydra. Maybe it'll open a line of communication. Maybe it'll get their attention on me. Maybe Steve will see it and start to remember. I don't know." That he hadn't seen her torture videos while they were plastered all over the country didn't inspire a ton of confidence, but it was a plan. Or the semblance of one.

The constant hum of the laptops, so familiar that Becca barely noticed the sound anymore, filled the room as Natasha thought it over. "All right. Let me take care of a few things, and we'll go."

While she changed clothes and used the bathroom, Becca searched online for Devika's number and was able to locate the agency she had joined. She wrote down the contact information on a napkin.

They didn't have much in the apartment, but what little they did have made the space homier. When it was all packed less than twenty minutes later, the apartment had the same lonely, barren feeling as it had when they first arrived. Natasha said she planned on bringing them back after the press conference, but preferred not to leave anything behind, just in case.

Becca waved at the old lady who she watched daily from the surveillance footage and so felt like a friend. The lady peered at her with suspicion, but cautiously waved back. Man, it felt good to be out of the apartment. She had missed being outside.

They drove for two hours in the general direction of D.C. before finally stopping at a mall to pick up a phone. Becca called the number as Natasha kept driving and was put through to Devika, who was bursting with questions, very few of which Becca could answer. Once Devika had calmed down, Becca explained the situation and her idea. Devika told her she would put out feelers and see what she could do, promising to call back once she had something lined up.

When she did call back, it was almost three hours later. Becca and Natasha had stopped at an Ethiopian restaurant for dinner.

Becca picked up on the second ring. "Hey. What's up?"

"How far are you away from New York City?"

"Um…." She took the phone away from her ear and asked Natasha, "How far do you think we are from New York City?"

Natasha shrugged. "Around nine hours straight drive?"

She pressed the phone back to her ear. "Nine hours."

"Nine hours, okay. I assume you'll need to change, get some food in you. I'll ask if they can reschedule by an hour."

"Who can reschedule?"

"You're going to have a joint press conference with Tony Stark." She was thrown by this total curveball. It must have shown on her face because Natasha narrowed her eyes intently. "Is that all right?"

"I, um… I thought – I mean, I know we wanted a lot of coverage, but I thought you said all the news stations would pick up on the story no matter how many reporters were there."

"And they especially will if Tony Stark is also involved. He'll be talking about how the Avengers are handling everything, and you'll be one of the methods they're employing. Don't worry. No one but him and his press team will know you're coming, so safety won't be an issue."

All Becca could think about was how she had smiled and lied through her teeth to the press before. Now Tony would be doing the same. Wasn't he?

"But that's… not what's happening. Is it?"

Devika sighed. "We'll talk it over later. This is the best way to reach Steve, I promise."

"O-okay." She would have to trust Devika because she didn't have a clue what she was doing.

"Think about what you want to say, and I'll call you once I have everything lined up on my end."

So Becca did think as they drove to the highway that would get them on route to New York, but she didn't know what she should say, or what she could say in front of all those cameras.

When Steve had recounted his fight with Bucky, he had told her he got through to his friend by using "I'm with you 'til the end of the line," a saying that had meaning to the both of them. But she and Steve didn't have any special sayings, no magic keys that would unlock his memory. Asking him to remember a certain moment in their relationship seemed another option, but how did she know what to choose? How could she know which moment he held closest? The day they met? Their first adventure? Their first kiss? Or some fleeting moment she had forgotten altogether?

Fortunately, Devika didn't sound disappointed with her lack of progress when she called. She laid out a whole speech like a game of Mad Libs with blanks for Becca to fill in. The speech stressed that she knew Steve was fighting for control, and no more deaths would happened, and the Avengers had his back, and she missed him terribly, blah, blah, blah. Becca's biggest concern was that the speech rested on a lot of assumptions, bordering on outright lies. When she voiced her concern, Devika defended herself by insisting that the speech minimized public panic and would also remove some of the tarnish from Steve's reputation.

The speech still didn't sit right with Becca. She had put on a show for the press once. She hadn't wanted to do it again. But then, she had never wanted to be part of another press conference again, and she was heading to one likely to be twice as big as the last. She agreed to the speech, made plans to meet Devika in the morning at her apartment (she needed nice clothes and a makeup), and hung up.

Her unease hadn't diminished as she dropped the phone into a cup holder. The sky had turned an inky black, stars obscured by cloud cover. It was late. She should try to sleep a couple of hours, and then she would take a turn driving.

"Sometimes we have to tell lies to protect people," Natasha said over the faint guitar riff on the radio.

Becca frowned at her. "You dumped all of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s secrets onto the internet."

"Sometimes people are ready for the truth."

Wow, so helpful. She slumped down in her seat. "Steve would never lie."

"You're not Rogers."

"I'm very aware." She was sweating bullets over this speech whereas he always knew the right thing to say in front of a camera.

"And he wouldn't want you to try to be. If you want to reach him, you have to talk to him."

Becca rubbed at her itchy, tired eyes. She made a good point. Steve had gotten to Bucky by being Steve. She had to use the same method. If she got through to him, the public would have no cause for alarm. If. The big if.

Natasha mused, "Although you are a little like him."

Resting her face against the cool glass of the window, Becca remarked, "Except I had to work for this great ass."

"But not the bad humor."

Becca grinned, albeit feebly. They did have that in common.

She managed to sleep until four a.m. when the jolt of a wheel hitting a pothole woke her up. Since she was awake, Natasha pulled off the highway for gas and to pick up some drinks and snacks at the gas station. Becca got behind the wheel, and Natasha fell asleep with the ease of someone used to catching sleep whenever and wherever they could, leaving Becca with the glow of the GPS and the brightening horizon for company as she fretted over the speech.

The skyline of New York City stole her breath as she turned around a curve in the road. She felt like she had taken the world's worst two-month vacation, but at last made it back. God, she had missed New York. The busy streets, the constant blare of noise, even the thick smell of the city. And her friends, her job (if she even had a job anymore), her whole life was anchored here. From the first week living in her shitty little college dorm room, she had known that New York was meant to be her home.

She navigated easily – as easy as one could in the hazardous traffic – to her apartment. Her street was resident parking only, but there was a lot three blocks over where she directed anyone staying more than a couple of minutes. Technically, the lot was also resident parking, but the first-come-first-serve kind with the well-known neighborhood secret that if you slipped the parking attendant a twenty, he'd let you park your car. Or motorcycle, although in Steve's case, he just thought he could get in because she was a resident, whereas in reality the parking attendant didn't charge Captain America the twenty. Becca had never done anything to make him think otherwise.

The apartment was empty, Ally being at work. Becca told Natasha to make herself comfortable, get food, whatever while she showered and changed. And yes, her wounds had healed enough that she deemed a shower to be safe. Natasha had taken the stitches out weeks ago, and while the scarring still looked pretty ugly on her neck and side – the grazes on her arm and leg were healing nicely – Natasha had relayed from experience that the scarring would fade, though never vanish.

Taking a shower with her own shampoo and soaps, Becca allowed herself to relax for a bit. It would've been hard not to. Wrapped in a fluffy towel, she went into her bedroom, calling down the hall that Natasha could have a turn at the shower. She fell onto the bed and promptly sneezed at the fine layer of dust that had formed on her comforter. Everything was as she had left it, from the capped and half-full water bottle on her nightstand to the pile of laundry in her hamper, a pair of pants hanging on the edge where she had tossed them. She had only expected to be gone a week, but two months had dragged on by.

A scrapbook leaning against the wall caught her eye. She went to pick it up and returned to her bed, propping herself against a pillow. She flipped through the pages.

The scrapbook contained all of the drawings Steve had gifted her with when he visited. Some of them were silly cartoons, others still-lifes. Occasionally a single sheet of paper had multiple drawings, doodles around the edges. But a single drawing inevitably showed signs of more attention. The only drawing not in the scrapbook was the first one he'd given her, their cartoon turtle selves, which she'd framed and hung on her wall. She turned from a rendering of a lone flower on a rock outcropping and paused. Gingerly, she took the drawing out from under the plastic cover.

If she had learned anything from being a copywriter, a visual aid never hurt.

Becca set the drawing aside and, after returning the scrapbook to its resting place, focused on picking out her outfit. Which turned into a massive process during which she had to call on Natasha for her opinion. They settled on a navy blue dress with a white belt. Becca wanted to wear a scarf with the dress to hide the scarring, but Natasha talked her out of it by pointing out that the scars might help Steve remember. Still, she couldn't help patting on some cover-up to make them look less gross. She put her hair up in a twist and layered on the usual "paparazzi-ready" makeup: eyeliner, eye shadow, mascara, and tinted lip gloss – no blush; it clashed with her freckles. For a final touch, she added patterned, gold teardrop earrings Steve had bought her for her birthday. They were small enough that Becca wondered if they would read on camera, but she figured they might trigger a memory if they did.

She was feeling good about the ensemble – despite Natasha putting on a simple blouse and looking flawless – until Devika showed up and had totally different ideas. She assured Becca that putting on a lighter color would be better, but not too light. However, the dress came off over Becca's head, which would ruin her hair and maybe her makeup, so the idea was scrapped due to time. Then, Devika wanted her to take off the earrings because they would reflect the light. But when Becca mentioned that Steve had given them to her, Devika changed her mind. Becca was about ready to burst into tears when Devika suggested she try a "younger" hairstyle, offering to do it quickly.

Natasha, having watched the exchange, interjected, "Younger? She's dating a guy in his nineties. I think she looks plenty young enough for him."

Becca smiled gratefully, dabbing at the corner of her eyes to keep her makeup from running.

"Yes, she does," Devika agreed, conceding with a nod that the chastisement had been warranted. "I'm sorry if I've upset you, Becca. I know this is a lot of pressure you're under, but it's my job to make sure this conference goes perfectly. I want to see Steve coming back unharmed just as much as you do. Or almost as much."

They moved onto her speech with Becca regurgitating the outline Devika had given her, although she remained uncertain if the wording felt right in her mouth. She stumbled over herself a few times, and the corners of Devika's eyes tightened like she was holding back a wince. Devika cleaned up her word choices and helped her work the drawing into her speech. She even looked slightly touched when Becca brought it out. At least she was doing one thing right.

"Okay, that's all the time we have," Devika announced. "You'll do fine, and you won't have to answer any questions. Mr. Stark will handle those." She looked to Natasha. "You were made aware you're expected to attend as well?"

This was news to Becca, but Natasha nodded.

"That's good," Devika said, gathering her coat and purse. "You'll all be there. With the obvious exception, of course."

Lost, Becca repeated, "All?"

"The Avengers."

And they were – with the exception of Steve – all at the nearly complete Avengers Tower, formerly Stark Tower. Devika parked beneath the building with a pass, and the elevator brought the three women to a room where the heroes were waiting. Becca hadn't seen most of them in person since the invasion of New York. Clint and Dr. Banner she hadn't seen at all. Thor she'd seen footage of in Greenwich when… whatever that was had happened, but she'd had no idea he was back on Earth. His reappearance must be recent or the media would have hopped all over it. She wondered if he had come exclusively for Steve. She hadn't the faintest idea how he knew what happened on this planet. Tony cropped up on the news regularly, especially when he had been presumed dead, but he was also the only Avenger she had seen in person. He had shown up at the marathon she ran last year.

Seeing everyone together in normal clothing was weird, like seeing an actor from a favorite period film walking down the street in jeans and talking into his phone with his fake accent dropped. She knew in her head that they were people too, but when she thought of the Avengers, she thought of them in full superhero regalia. Thor was an alien prince from a mythological planet, and he was wearing a suit jacket with the collar popped. Like, what?

A man stepped forward, the one face in the room Becca didn't recognize, and shook their hands. "Glad you could make it. We still have fifteen minutes. We're getting everyone settled in." So the man was part of Tony's press team. He moved off with Devika.

A heavy silence fell on the group, one that may have been there before Becca and Natasha had arrived, or perhaps their arrival had made Steve's absence bluntly evident. It occurred to Becca as she looked around that the last time this team had met, half of Manhattan had been decimated. Today they met not because of a villain bent on subjugating the plan – standard superhero fair – but because one of their own had unwittingly become a pawn of the villain. But if anyone was going to bring Steve back, these were the people to do it.

"So," said Clint into the silence. "Now that we're all here, anyone have an actual plan for how we're gonna find Cap?"

Becca shifted the drawing from hand to hand, gripping the edges so her sweaty palms didn't smudge the ink. Was she going to have to talk? She should probably talk. "Um…" Everyone's attention snapped towards her. A room of reports should feel like a breeze after addressing a room of superheroes. Come on, girl. They're people, just like Steve. Tell them about the plan. Wait, she didn't even have a real plan. Shit. "I –" She glanced at Natasha for support. "I mean, we think he's been brainwashed by Hydra, so…"

Tony's face darkened, an expression so uncharacteristic on his face that Becca lost any further words. "The Winter Solider Project," he practically growled.

Thor confided, "This Winter Solider Project has been mentioned, but I am not sure I understand its purpose."

Natasha picked up from there, and Becca was glad to step back and follow along on the conversation. Everyone seemed to have been briefed ahead of time – which made her feel dumb for her totally worthless pronouncement – but they didn't have all the specifics on what each other had been doing. Natasha laid out everything she knew and all the leads she had chased down, some of which Clint had been a part of. Tony had not been idle either. He had located the missing submersible car and had been hunting down members of the Winter Soldier Project, but none had said anything about Steve.

Fifteen minutes seemed to fly by. The conversation cut off when Tony's press agent clapped his hands. "All right everyone. Thanks for your patience. It's time to head downstairs."

They had to break up into two separate elevator trips, gathering outside of a conference room where a small team flocked to them briefly to straighten clothes and hair and offer last minute sips of water. Becca would have chugged a bottle if she wasn't worried about ruining her lip gloss.

"You'll do fine," Devika assured her. "You'll be standing on the end next to Ms. Romanov. Just remember what we talked about."

"Wait until Tony introduces me. Say my bit. Go back in line. No questions."

"Exactly. Deep breaths."

Becca breathed in deep. She could do this.

They filed into the room. It made her feel a little better to see that Dr. Banner at the front of the line seemed uneasy as well. But then, she got a look at what seemed to be a hundred reporters and at least thirty TV cameras and her nerves rocketed back up five or six levels. Okay, just imitate Natasha. Be cool. Be a statue. And stop fidgeting with the drawing. She made herself lower it in a single hand.

Tony strode up to the mic and talked about Steve, but also sort of didn't. He mentioned what was happening in vague terms and assured everyone that the Avengers would have Captain America back soon. He navigated the topic with the shrewdness of an expert politician. His manner came off so easygoing and light, and yet sincere that Becca felt herself relaxing.

It was crazy. Everyone should be freaking out about Captain America going rogue, but most of the reporters seemed willing to believe that the Avengers had the problem under control. She was torn between wanting to believe as well and wanting to wave her arms and tell everyone that they couldn't sit back, they had to keep looking for Steve.

"I know you're all anxious to ask me questions," Tony said after ten minutes straight of talking. "But first Ms. Stroud has something she'd like to say to Cap." He looked over to her and stepped back from the podium.

This was it. Becca walked forward. The drawing trembled in her hand, the soft sound of paper fluttering through air reaching her ears over the click of cameras. She set the drawing on the podium. She was officially live on TV all over the country. No Steve beside her. She wished he was there to wrap a strong arm around her waist, but if he had been at the press conference, there wouldn't be a need for the conference in the first place.

"Hi," she said. Her voice sounded shaky. She cleared her throat. "Um, first I know a lot of people have been hurt, and on behalf of Steve and myself I'd like to say we're very sorry for what's happened. We can't, um, we can't replace what you've lost, but we can do our best to make sure nothing like this ever happens again. I know that the Avengers and many other people are working tirelessly to do just that, and bring Steve home safe. Um…" Stop saying "um" so much, she mentally chastised herself. "Secondly, as Mr. Stark mentioned, I'd like to say something to Steve."

She looked up at the cameras in the back of the room. And blanked. Completely blanked. She couldn't remember a single thing she had discussed with Devika. She got a panicky feeling deep in her gut, which intensified at the rustling of reporters in their chairs. She was blowing it. Her one chance to talk to Steve and she was blowing it. She glanced over her shoulder. Tony shifted, ready to step in. She looked back at the cameras and down at the drawing on the podium.

Steve had given it to her on his fourth or fifth visit. She couldn't remember the exact visit, but she did know he had gifted the drawing to her around Christmas time because the sketch featured the elements from the song "The Twelve Days of Christmas" as ornaments on a tree. She had chosen the drawing partially because of the wonderful memories from that Christmas, but mostly because of the two turtledoves ornament. The turtledoves had their heads pressed together. The female was just sitting pretty. But with a couple added lines, Steve had made the male turtledove look so unbelievably happy to be there. And what Becca wanted more than anything was to remind Steve that if he came back, she could make him that happy again.

She jumped at the hand on her back, letting out startled gasp. Tony had come up behind her, prepared to take over. But she shook her head. "I've got this," she whispered.

He patted her back awkwardly and retreated, looking only too happy to back away from someone who was clearly emotional.

Becca looked to the cameras. Maybe she wasn't as honest as Steve in her life, but it was time to be honest now. To talk with her heart on her sleeve. She imaging him watching the TV in a room like the one she'd been held in, and opened her mouth to speak.


He looked down at the screen embedded in the table in front of him. His head ached something fierce and his clothing stuck to the cool sweat on his skin from his run and other various exercise routines. The screen had one hundred black boxes in a ten-by-ten square. The boxes disappeared leaving one hundred unique shapes. He looked them over for five seconds before the boxes reappeared. One at a time, a shape popped up at the top of the screen and he tapped the box hiding the corresponding shape. He wasn't sure how long he had been doing these mental exercises. It felt like hours.

When he had matched the last shape, the doctor sitting across from him made a note on the electronic tablet in his hand. The doctor got up and crossed the room to Dr. Henson. She was in charge here. She had been present ever since he had woken up and explained the situation to him. However, she had been distractedly watching something in a corner. She spoke to the doctor, eyes darting back and forth between him and what she was watching.

Eventually, she took the tablet from his hand and dismissed him. She crossed the room, and he could hear that she was watching a video.

"… which is why it shouldn't take too long before Cap's back with us…"

Dr. Henson took the seat the other doctor had previously occupied. Setting the electronic tablet on the table beside her, he could see a well-dressed man talking at a podium with a group of others lined up behind him. She moved the video to one side of the screen and slid out an icon that looked like a manila folder. She tapped the folder and it appeared on the screen embedded in the table. Another tap and an image of a child with dark skin appeared.

"Watch," she instructed, so he watched.

She tapped her tablet for a third time. The image became a five second video of the child being shot in the head.

"How does the video make you feel?"

He concentrated, groping for some kind of emotion. None came. He thought something must be wrong with him. "It doesn't make me feel anything, ma'am."

"That's good," Dr. Henson replied with an approving nod. "Emotion will interfere with the effectiveness of your missions."

He figured that made sense, and his slight concern faded.

She showed him another video, this one of a cat being drowned in a tub. "How about this one?"

"It doesn't make me feel anything."

A woman being raped. "Nothing, ma'am."

An old man crying. "Nothing."

Three teenagers kicking around a body. "Nothing."

The short video clips kept coming, and as they did, he began to find himself distracted by the video Dr. Henson seemed so interested in. His gaze would dart to the tablet when the video clip stilled and all the while he listened to this man talking about a missing hero named Captain America.

He didn't even think that Dr. Henson would notice until seconds went by without a new video clip appearing, and he looked up to find her scrutinizing him. With a very deliberate movement, she turned her tablet around and pushed it in front of him.

"How about this one?" she asked.

He stared down at the screen. A woman was at the podium now. The man had called her Ms. Stroud. She had scars along her throat, lots of them. Her voice had been trembling before, but as she turned her gaze on the camera, she didn't look nervous. The camera zoomed in on her so she appeared to be looking right at him.

"Steve, you probably don't remember me, but you need to listen. Wherever you are and whatever you've gone through, you can fight it. You know what they're telling you is wrong. You know you're a better person than this. You've always made the right choice, and what Hydra is making you do is not the right choice. You know it. They've taken your memories away, but they can't take away who you are."

He touched the side of his head where the headache seemed to originate from. His memories had been removed, but she couldn't be talking about him. He had volunteered to have his memory removed. Dr. Henson had told him so. She had to put him through a real rigorous treatment because the process hadn't taken all the way the first time, which was why his head hurt.

"But I know remembering that is hard, so I'm gonna to try to help you. Look. You drew me this." The camera shot widened for a moment, and then focused in a piece of paper in Mr. Stroud's had on which had been drawn a Christmas tree. "In case you're just listening, it's a Christmas tree with ornaments from 'The Twelve Days of Christmas.' The turtledove ornament is my favorite. It's down here." The paper shifted in her hands, and the camera found the ornament that she pointed to with the tip of one finger. "It reminds me of how happy we were on that Christmas. Can you remember? We went to my friend Amy's ugly sweater party wearing matching sweaters with those ridiculous pink snowmen. And you were so outraged that people just wear ugly sweaters once and give them away, so you kept wearing that sweater all week."

The camera widened again, showing Ms. Stroud with a big smile on her lips. She had a nice smile, the kind that would make others comfortable. "Then, we hopped to my friend Kellyn's party, and there was an eggnog chugging contest which you totally won. I let out the loudest eggnog burp on the subway afterwards. I was so embarrassed, but you could not stop laughing. Then, we changed and went to this church you go to when you're here. I can't remember the name, but it's got those two big bell towers. They had a Christmas mass with this choir that sang absolutely gorgeously. I was almost afraid to sing along with everyone until I realized you're about as tone deaf as I am. Or maybe you just didn't want me to feel bad.

"It was late when we got home, but I had asked Ally to fill up the stockings and put the presents under our little fake tree we have. I was so shocked when I realized you'd given her presents to add to the pile. You're not very good at hiding things from me. I put on 'It's A Wonderful Life' while we opened presents. I think my favorite was a signed collector's edition blu-ray of 'Pulp Fiction,' which I'm still not sure how you tracked down or got someone to part with. I don't know what you liked best, but you did seem pretty fond of this book series I bought you with all the important events in world history over the past one-hundred years. You blew through in, like, four days.

"You said we should go to bed since we had to get up early to go to my parents' in the morning, but I wanted you to see the end of 'It's A Wonderful Life.' So of course I fell asleep on the couch. When I woke up, it was the very end of the movie. You'd pulled the blanket from the back of the couch over us, and probably decided to wait to move me in case I woke up and insisted we finish the movie, which I would've. But when I looked up, you weren't even watching the movie. You were looking down at m-me." Her voice cracked, her chest rising as she took in a deep breath. Her eyes had taken on a bright shine of tears. "And you looked so happy." She sniffed and laughed. "God, you're supposed to be the sappy one!" She sniffed again and rubbed a hand under her nose, her smile crumpling. "Please come home, Steve. Please, please come home. I miss you so much." A tear escaped from the corner of her eye, running down her cheek.

It hit him, slammed right into his chest. Rage. Hot, clawing rage. His hands seemed to form into fists of their own accord. He slammed one down hard enough that the table screen cracked. The door flew open, feet thudding inside.

"I love you." Ms. Stroud back away from the podium and hurried offstage, and the same man as before stepped forward to take her place.

The video stopped at a tap from Dr. Henson's finger. She was holding a hand up to stop the soldiers who had entered the room, her eyes locked on him. "How do you feel, Captain?"

"Angry," he replied in a strained voice. The rage inside of him roared, flooding him limbs so they vibrated with energy.

"Why?"

"I don't…." His head was splitting open. He pressed a hand to the side of it. Ms. Stroud's last words echoed against his skull forming a cacophony, and strangely each echo had its own inflection, its own timing, like he had heard the words more than once. "I don't know."

Dr. Henson folded her hands and eyed him. "I do. This woman works with the enemy. She has even killed one of our own. So I'm going to send you on a mission, Captain. One on which you can redeem yourself, and send our enemies a message."

At her mention of a mission, the rage inexplicably vanished. Ms. Stroud's voice quieted. He exhaled in relief, his fists uncurling. "Of course, ma'am. What's the objective?"

Dr. Henson placed her palms on the table and pulled outwards, focusing the image on Ms. Stroud's retreating back. "Eliminate your target."


Author's Note:

I realize this is the second chapter in a row with a short Steve PoV, but more is coming. See you next week!