I call this chapter 'CATWS Act II Speedrun'

Chapter Twenty-Six
✭

48 HOURS AGO

"Steve, you can't."

"Why not?" Steve demanded, wheel in one hand and a cell phone in the other. "Why shouldn't I? She has no idea why we weren't there at the rendezvous. I can't even imagine what she's thinking right now…"

He flicked the flip phone open, but Nat plucked it from his hand before he could dial anything. "No. Just look on the bright side; at least we can get updates from her."

They were already well into New Jersey now, on the way to Camp Lehigh. The highway slipped past them in a blur of trees and farmland. Steve was tempted to turn the truck right around and go back to DC, but Natasha was tense in the seat next to him. He wondered what it'd take for her to mutiny.

"I promised I'd be there." And Steve was a man of his word.

He hated that this had to happen. It was his fault, he knew. Steve should've picked a better rendezvous spot, something public but a little less… famous. But it had been the first place he could think of, the first place that Mia would immediately remember, he thought. He probably would've made the rendezvous if it hadn't been for Natasha joining his little fugitive act; not that Steve was blaming her, oh no. He was glad for the help. But Natasha Romanov had very different priorities, and how to attain them.

Natasha had been patient, but only for a short while. She agreed to wait on heading to the bunker for one night, in order to catch up with Mia; when that ended up not happening, thanks to the sudden arrival of Rumlow and his STRIKE team, Steve wanted to retreat and regroup for another attempt. The mall had been a close call, the memorial had been even closer. The next time, they might not be so lucky.

And Nat wasn't going to risk it. Either they were going to get caught, or SHIELD was going to find the bunker first. Neither option was particularly great. So Mia ended up on the short end of the equation.

The best Steve could do was leave a number for Mia to find. Which she did, thankfully, if the voicemail was anything to go by.

Least to say, the day had been a mixed bag.

"I know," Nat sighed, and for a moment Steve believed she understood how much this pained him deeply. Or perhaps she was just trying to mollify him. "I'm not saying you can never call her, just not right now, get it? This cell phone is single use only. One call and we trash it. Save that for when we know what we've found, okay? That way everyone can come together with everything we know."

Steve had to admit, there was a logic to that plan. But he didn't want to say so out loud. It still felt wrong to leave Mia behind. Twice. Even worse now that it seemed like she discovered something important. "It's just… she's on her own, Nat. I don't know how long she'll last out there. We should've waited."

"And risk getting caught with what we already know?" Nat raised a single eyebrow. "You're smarter than that, Rogers."

He cut her a sharp look. "Don't test me."

"I'm not, okay? I'm just asking you to have a little patience. Besides, we're almost there anyways. Thirty minutes until arrival, we take a look around, and then we call her, okay? I'll punch in the numbers myself," Nat offered, giving him an imploring look.

Steve huffed, twisting his grip on the wheel. The leather squeaked in protest, and he sagged back into his seat. "Fine," he grumbled, not at all happy with this.

Nat folded the flip phone away, tucking it into a pocket. She cast him a wary look, perhaps sensing she'd done some damage. "I'm sure she'll be okay, Steve. From what you've told me, and what little I've seen of Mia, she's a capable girl. She can take care of herself."

"That's the thing, Nat," Steve inhaled through his nose, and sighed. "She shouldn't have to."

24 HOURS AGO

"HYDRA died with the Red Skull."

There was no way. Steve refused to believe it. Everything he fought for couldn't have been for nothing.

And yet...

"Cut off one head," Zola said, his image duplicating across the screen. "Two more take its place."

Of all the things Steve expected to find in a secret room in a secret office on Camp Lehigh, this was not one of them. Not 200,000 square feet of 70's-age databanks, whirring in a symphony of spinning reels, powering the entire consciousness of a single man Steve thought died years ago. And yet, here he was, a face on a giant monitor in the center of this monstrosity, surrounded by more screens and keyboards — covered in dust, but recently equipped with a USB port.

Someone had wiped away the dust in order to install it. The clean element had not yet collected more age; Steve wondered how long ago the last visitor had been here.

And who it had been. Fury?

Steve didn't want to believe that Fury knew that this — Zola, HYDRA's echo — was down here, and did nothing about it.

Nevertheless. He and Natasha didn't come to this cold, dark room just to be given riddles and lies.

"Prove it."

"HYDRA was founded on the belief that humanity could not be trusted with its own freedom." Zola replied. His face disappeared to reveal a montage of scratchy imagery. Film reels, newspaper clippings, cut-outs and symbols blinking in and out, superimposed over video and photos. "What we did not realize was that if you try to take that freedom, they resist. The war taught us much. Humanity needed to surrender its freedom willingly. After the War, SHIELD was founded, and I was recruited. The new HYDRA grew. A beautiful parasite inside SHIELD. For 70 years, HYDRA has been secretly feeding crisis after crisis, reaping war, and when history did not cooperate, history was changed."

Vietnam. Tiananmen Square. John F. Kennedy. Sokovia. Libya. Civilians resisting, armed forces retaliating. Molotov cocktails, missiles, and snipers.

"That's impossible." Natasha said. Steve didn't think he'd ever heard her sound afraid before. Daunted. "SHIELD would've stopped you."

"Accidents will happen." Howard Stark. His death announced in papers. A red star on a silver arm. Nick Fury.

"You mean," Steve began, his fists clenching at his side. "With the Winter Soldier."

"Oh! How clever!" Zola's laugh crackled with static. "It appears someone has taken a peek at the underbelly! Ah, the Winter Soldier, a ghost of SHIELD. The Fist of HYDRA. I had a hand in his creation myself. One of my proudest achievements. Erskine thought he had spirited away his little formula, but he forgot he had a collaborator. I took his ideas, and I perfected them."

Steve's heart lurched at the portrait of Dr. Erskine when it appeared; his mind made no sense of the mathematical and chemical formulas that followed, but he knew what it was. The Super Soldier Serum. His mind scrambled to keep up with what Zola was saying along side it.

Another Super Soldier? That might explain the longevity of this so-called ghost that had killed Fury.

"He used to be someone else before that." Steve said, fists clenching. "His name was Bucky."

"What?" Natasha blurted, utterly aghast. Only this time, it was directed at Steve.

Steve winced slightly, but ignored her for the moment. He'd never told Nat what Mia had told him; of course Nat would have a reaction to it. She was the only other person who'd knew the Winter Soldier was real. In fact, Nat was the reason why Steve ended up believing Mia… at least partly.

The other part remained to be seen.

"Occasionally," Zola said, his tone dropping. "An artist must destroy a canvas before they can create a masterpiece."

Those ominous words sent a chill down his spine. It wasn't a straight confirmation, but Zola didn't laugh or mock him either. And Steve had known the scientist from a previous life; Arnim Zola was never known to give a straight answer. Clever, but not clever enough to call Steve's bluff.

Natasha's eyes flicked from Steve to the screens, her shocked expression quickly morphing into a calculating one. Her eyes narrowed. "...And have you made any other of these masterpieces?"

"Don't insult me. As if one could ever outdo the original." Arnim sniffed, clearly offended by the inquiry. Once a scientist, always a scientist. "My design, my magnum opus, was meant to be immortal, to last generations past my time. But I was pleased to discover, rather recently, that my masterpiece has sired its own legacy. Long may HYDRA reign supreme."

Sired a legacy? What the hell did that mean? It sent Steve's mind racing, piecing together the puzzle. If Bucky was the Winter Soldier, did that mean he had a child?

One that HYDRA knew about. One that HYDRA would've taken advantage of.

There was only one other Super Soldier in existence that Steve could think of. And she never knew her father. Which could only mean…

Oh, God.

Steve and Natasha exchanged looks; Steve's was pale — Nat's was grim. They didn't have to speak in order to understand what was going on in the other's head.

"And this legacy, who is it?"

"'Who' is a rather generous term. There is no 'who' when it comes to our weapons. Only a 'what'."

Another non-answer. Steve wanted to punch that green pixelated face. "You know what I mean."

"I assure you, I don't. HYDRA does not believe in individuality; the names of an asset's previous life no longer bear meaning in their existence. For that reason, I do not care to learn them."

"How considerate of you." Natasha muttered.

It was clear that Zola wasn't going to answer his question, or was possibly telling the truth that he simply didn't know who Bucky or Mia were. Either way, Steve decided to forge ahead. He had enough to work with now — time to focus on what he was really here for. "So what's their purpose, then?"

"Getting impatient, hm?" Zola chuckled. "HYDRA created a world so chaotic that humanity is finally willing to sacrifice its freedom to gain its security. Once the purification process is complete, HYDRA's new world order will arise. We won, captain. Your death amounts to the same as your life. A zero sum."

Steve's own face, marked by HYDRA, reflected back at him.

His fist connected with the screen. The image smashed. Glass cracked from one end to the other, pixels dying immediately. Steve had to admit, as unbecoming as it was to lose his temper, it felt pretty good.

Until Zola's face appeared on the screen to the right, sounding mildly annoyed, "As I was saying…"

Steve was getting sick of this game. "What's on this drive?"

Zola took his sweet time answering, pondering the question with a sigh. "Project Insight requires… insight. So I wrote an algorithm."

"What kind of algorithm?" Nat asked, stepping in next to Steve to stare at the smaller image of Zola's face. As if she could read the expressionless pixels for the truth. "What does it do?"

"The answer to your question is fascinating. Unfortunately, you will be too dead to hear it."

Around them, the room groaned ominously. Metal walls closed in over their only exit. Steve acted fast; thrown his shield, but it was too late. The barricades were already closed, locking them inside.

And that's when things went… wrong.

Very wrong.

12 HOURS AGO

Steve and Natasha had survived the bunker attack.

Their cellphones had not.

All their communication devices had been smashed. Almost getting crushed by three tons of concrete and explosives tended to do that.

Steve was furious at himself for waiting. He had naively assumed that the bunker expedition would go well. But a strategy never survived first contact. They'd been overconfident, and now they were drifting downstream without a paddle.

It had taken the better part of the night, making their way back to DC. Most of it was on foot. Natasha had woken up shortly after Steve got her out of Camp Lehigh — STRIKE had landed immediately afterwards to check for their remains, but Steve was pretty sure they had no idea they'd survived. He didn't spot any tails for several miles before reaching a gas station.

They bought supplies and water, and patched up in the bathroom. Natasha wanted to steal a car, but at this time of night, there were none. And they couldn't wait around for some unsuspecting civilian to drop on by.

Besides, it was better they didn't draw attention to themselves. Steve was highly aware of the security cameras in the station. How beat up they looked. The cashier had given them each a funny look, perhaps alarmed by the amount of ash and dust on their clothes, their scuffed up faces. But the kid didn't ask questions; the expression on Steve's face forbade it.

So they left the gas station peacefully. It was a long walk to Sam's house.

Nat did not want to go there, but Steve was out of ideas. They needed help, and Sam was the only person he could think of. "He's a good man." Steve told her. "We can trust him."

"If you say so," Natasha muttered, apparently not trusting his judgement at all. She'd only met Sam once; Steve wished she had a little more faith.

Nevertheless, Nat stood next to him in the backyard of Sam's house. Steve knew Sam was back from his run; he'd heard the footsteps echoing inside the house, the sound of a fridge being opened, the cap taken off a jug. Natasha didn't believe him when he said Sam was home, until they knocked on the glass door of the back patio and lo and behold — Sam appeared.

They couldn't explain everything to Sam at once. The man was understanding, at least, and let them get cleaned up before they started to discuss things over breakfast. Steve had to admit, the hot shower felt pretty good after almost getting blasted out of existence. The pancakes? Even better.

Of the three plates, Steve's had the biggest stack. At least a dozen.

Across the table, Sam was already eating, waving his fork around as he spoke around a full mouth. "So explain to me again about this whole HYDRA business? Are you saying its been here this entire time, hiding behind SHIELD?"

"That's what it looks like," Natasha answered glumly. She didn't seem interested in her pancakes; instead, she had a peach in her hand. She'd only taken a few half-hearted bites so far.

Steve's heart went out to her. SHIELD had been everything to Natasha. Her hope, her savior. To know it was just as corrupt as the system she escaped couldn't be easy.

"And you two are the only ones who know?" Sam asked, his eyebrows climbing higher and higher up on his forehead. "You're the only ones who can stop it?"

"We think so," Steve said. "At the very least, we're the only two we're sure we can trust. We had Mia, but…"

He couldn't continue, staring down at his glass of orange juice. Suddenly, Steve didn't feel so hungry anymore.

"You don't know where she is?"

The first thing Steve had done when Sam welcomed him inside was to use his phone. He had memorized the number that Amelia had used, and couldn't type it fast enough. But his excitement, his relief, was only met with further dismay.

"Sorry, the number you are trying to reach has been disconnected…"

Disconnected? What happened? It'd only been a few hours…

Only it hadn't been a few hours. It'd been a whole day since the proposed rendezvous. It'd been even longer since Steve had last seen Amelia. So much could have happened. So much had happened. And her last message had been ominous. She'd discovered something important, and now he was worried that it may have had something to do with this problem now.

What had she learned?

More importantly, how was Steve going to tell her what he'd learned? that the Winter Soldier — the man who trained her, nearly killed her, the man she was utterly terrified of, the man who was his best friend — was her father?

"No," Steve said at last, setting the glass back onto the table without taking a drink. "I left her in the Triskelion, and from her last message, it seemed like she managed to escape on her own."

Sam seemed mildly impressed by that, and held open his hands. "Well, sounds to me like she can take care of herself. Maybe she's fine, in hiding. If SHIELD — er, HYDRA — had her, wouldn't they make it obvious? Use her to get you to turn yourself in?"

"Maybe…" Steve said, sharing a glance with Natasha. It seemed odd, that SHIELD would so persistently advertise Captain America as Public Enemy Number One, but say nothing of Amelia, another fugitive. Steve wanted to believe it was some sense of honor, of fairness, that prevented them from chasing after an innocent girl — but Amelia said she'd been chased in her message. Clearly, SHIELD was interested in capturing her too.

They just didn't want the public to know about it.

It was odd. Steve just didn't know what it meant. "Either way, they haven't announced anything yet, and right now they think we're dead. I'd like to keep it that way, for as long as we can manage."

"We can operate better under the radar now," Natasha added, straightening. This statement seemed to give her a bit of energy, a new light lifting her gaze. Steve could already see the gears starting to spin in her head, the inner workings of the spy in play. "We need a new game plan. The question is, who at SHIELD can launch a domestic missile strike?"

The answer came to Steve immediately. It hit him so suddenly, that he felt stupid for not thinking of it earlier. "Pierce."

He didn't want to believe that a man as straight-laced, down-to-earth as Pierce seemed could possibly be HYDRA. What he seemed. That was the key part. Steve only met the man once; clearly, he'd underestimated the Secretary, allowed himself to believe in the sincerity of Alexander Pierce's grand speeches of peace.

To think Steve had outgrown his own gullibility.

"Who happens to be sitting atop the most secure building in the world," Natasha replied, screwing her lips to one side. That was a problem they could not easily remedy.

"But he's not working alone," Steve replied, looking out the window. "Zola's algorithm was on the Lemurian Star."

Natasha paused, then looked at Steve. "So was Jasper Sitwell."

Steve met her gaze. A look of mutual understanding passed between them. Steve took a deep breath. "So the real question is, how do the two most wanted people in Washington kidnap a SHIELD officer in broad daylight?"

It was Sam who had the answer. Steve and Natasha were equally surprised when Sam dropped a thin file on top of table in front of them. On the cover was attached a large photograph; a desert landscape, with two men taking center focus. Sam, and another man with a young, boyish face, their arms slung over each other's shoulders. Each dressed in identical tactical gear, wearing some kind of backpack or parachute. It was hard to tell from the front. At the very least, it wasn't something Steve recognized.

Natasha recognized the location, the mission. But it was Steve who recognized the other man. "Is this Riley?"

Sam gave a curt nod, his once jovial face now subdued, hardened at the edges. "Yeah."

Steve admittedly didn't know much about Riley, Sam's best friend. Sam didn't talk about him much, and Steve didn't ask a lot of questions. He didn't need to. He already knew full well what it was like to lose a brother to war.

It was, perhaps, one of the few things they never talked about that didn't need to be.

"I heard they couldn't bring in the choppers because of the RPGS," Natasha continued, completely oblivious to this silent exchange. She cast Sam a curious look. "What'd you use? A stealth chute?"

"No," Sam said, and opened the file. He handed them a packet — schematics, Steve realized, when he took it in. "These."

Schematics. But not of a plane. Or any kind of aircraft.

Steve looked up from the file, raising his eyebrows at Sam. "I thought you said you were a pilot."

Sam leaned back and folded his arms, a smirk pulling at his face. "Never said pilot."

And that's when their plans changed.

NOW

Steve had just placed his hand on Sitwell's bald pate and shoved him into the back of the sedan when Sam got a call on his cell phone.

He was even more surprised when Sam handed the phone to him, looking grave. "...I-it's for you, man."

Steve didn't know what was going on. So he took the phone and brought it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Steve," His heart stopped at the sound of her voice. Amelia. "It's me."

"Mia!" Slamming the car door shut behind Sitwell, Steve nearly crushed the man's fingers. But he didn't notice, he was already pacing around the front of the car, gesturing everyone to round up and get inside. The call of her name alerted both Sam and Natasha to the urgency of the situation. "Where are you? Are you okay? I'm so sorry —"

"I'm fine," She answered quietly, not waiting for Steve to finish apologizing. Her voice remained low, and Steve could hear some kind of feedback on her end. A sort of echo, like she was in a large room. "I think. I-it's been… I got away from them. From SHIELD. I'm hiding in a parking garage, just off Exit 290. I-395, heading north."

Steve relayed this information to Sam, who was in the driver's seat. Sam only gave a quick nod before kicking the car into gear and peeling out of the driveway. Natasha braced her arm against Sitwell in the back, who'd let out a cry of shock at the reckless driving. Everyone else ignored him.

As Sam cut through traffic, making a beeline for the closest highway on-ramp, Steve stayed on the line with Mia. "Listen to me carefully, Mia. I want you to stay right where you are. Don't move, don't go anywhere. We're coming to pick you up."

"Okay," she replied, her voice beginning to waver. "Please hurry. I-I don't know how safe I am, I'm… I don't know how long it'll take them to find me again. I barely got away last time."

"We're on our way right now, ETA twenty minutes —"

"Who's we?" Mia interrupted again.

"Sorry. I've got Sam and Natasha with me, you remember them, right?"

"Yes, I remember them."

"You're going to be okay, I promise."

"Okay." Her tone didn't sound particularly hopeful. That was Steve's fault. He'd already let her down far too many times.

He wasn't going to again. "Can you stay on the line with me, until we get there?"

"I can try."

As much as Steve regretted some of his actions over the past couple days, he had to admit that the timing of this was extremely fortuitous. Between planning, preparation, travel time, and execution, it took exactly six hours and thirty seven minutes to break into Fort Meade, steal the EXO-7 Falcon wingsuit, and escape without anyone knowing the wiser. It took another two to acquire Sitwell, and somehow Amelia had managed to survive on her own through it all.

That last part was entirely thanks to Natasha, who in a moment of crisis, had pulled in clutch and saved the day with a mop, a pair of sunglasses, and bar of snickers.

Least to say, Steve was not looking forward to another heist. But he couldn't deny that he might have had a little fun doing it.

The enjoyment was negated by the fact that his priorities had been reset, putting Amelia on the backburner once again. At least Sam seemed more sympathetic, and didn't attempt to make Steve feel better about the Triskelion move by showing approval.

"You did what you could," was all Sam had to say. "No one could ask for any less."

It was nice to hear, but Steve still wasn't sure it was enough.

"What was it that you found out the other night?" Steve asked as it occurred to him. "Your message said it was urgent."

"I-It is, but I don't want to say it over the phone," Amelia replied, sounding nervous. Her voice dropped another register. "They could be listening."

"Good point." As badly as Steve wanted to know, keeping it out of HYDRA's hands was more important. He glanced over his shoulder at Sitwell, who glared back suspiciously. "We're also bringing some… extra luggage. We can talk about it when we're safe. I have a lot to tell you, too, Mia."

"About what?"

"About…" Steve fought for the right words. For a number of reasons, not including HYDRA, it was not appropriate to tell her over the phone. "It's about your dad."

That earned him a strange look from Sam, who mouthed What? Steve just shook his head at him; he could explain later. It was the one thing he and Natasha had forgotten to inform Sam about; the nature of the Winter Soldier, and what that had to do with Mia.

"My dad?" Amelia repeated, and there was a long pause. "I thought — "

A burst of static cut her off, and Steve didn't catch the rest of it. "Mia? Hello? Can you hear me?"

"— can't — garage — don't know —" were all the words Steve could make out before the line went dead.

He cursed under his breath, and tried to redial. It only went to voicemail.

"Okay, so," Sam began as soon as it was clear that the phone call was not going to be continued. He shot Steve a wary look. "I know this may not be the best time to ask, but uh… I thought you were Mia's dad. Is that… did you lie to me?"

"I didn't lie." Steve replied immediately, then regretted it. He did lie, because he knew it wasn't true at the time. But the lie hadn't been for Sam's benefit. "Well, I guess I did. But neither of us knew the truth so… I just wanted to be there for her. We finally talked it out before she met you."

"So… she just decided not to correct me, then."

"And you never said pilot," Steve reminded him, and Sam capitulated with a shrug and a nod. "But I have an answer for her now. And not one she's going to like."

"How come?" Sam asked, but when Steve threw a significant glance over his shoulder, Sam glanced in the rearview mirror at Sitwell, then rolled his eyes in understanding. "Oh, right. Our luggage's got enough dirty laundry in him already."

"Hey!" Sitwell complained, leaning forward in his seat. He cut a glance between Natasha and Steve, who both avoided his eyes. "What's going on here? Was that Fletcher on the phone?"

Natasha pushed him back again. "It's none of your business."

"You want to fit another person in this car?" Sitwell demanded, looking about their rather cramped conditions. All four seats were already occupied. "What are you gonna do with me?"

The fear was palpable in Sitwell's eyes. He seemed to think the team meant him harm, although that was furthest from the truth. At least for Steve.

As for Sam and Natasha, well….

"Relax, buttercup," Sam called back. "You can sit on the hump."

"The trunk is also an option," Natasha added with a saccharine smile.

"Kidnapping, reckless driving, and unsafe passengers, what's next?" Sitwell demanded, somewhat dramatically. He threw up his hands and asked the cabin at large, "Is no one else thinking that this is weird? Our last status report on Fletcher was over sixteen hours ago, and she took out an entire STRIKE team before disappearing into the night. We have had no contact with her since —"

"How about you stuff a cork in it?" Sam shot back. "When we want your opinion, we'll ask."

Sitwell just grumbled, folding his arms across his chest and sitting back. The rest of the car ride was made in relative silence. It was growing uncomfortable, but no one made to turn on the radio to fill the quiet — it was too tense for that. No one wanted a distraction.

"This must be it," Natasha said, as Sam pulled into the off-ramp and entered city traffic. There was a large, rectangular building up ahead; a parking garage, recognizable by its multiple open levels, hollow and dark on the inside.

Amelia had failed to mention it was also derelict, with multiple signs and tape blocking the entrance. A car couldn't pass through and Steve didn't want Sam to draw attention by just barreling through it. Instead, Sam parked it on an open parkway across the street. The noise of traffic here was fairly loud, the overpass only a quarter mile behind them, the highway bridge arching over the main intersection. It was certainly a nice, busy place to hide, but Steve noted the lack of pedestrian traffic.

He and Sam got out, leaving Natasha with Sitwell — something that seemed to make the man extremely uncomfortable. Enough that he, too, got out of the car, apparently to get some "fresh air".

"Try to run, and I'll shoot you in the back," Natasha warned with a casual glance, leaning against the side of the car as Sitwell paced back and forth. The analyst threw a forlorn glance as Steve and Sam began heading towards the parking garage across the street, leaving him alone with the Black Widow.

"Hey, man, you should ease up," Sam said, smacking Steve lightly on the shoulder as they hopped over the sawhorses blocking the vehicle entrance. Steve had brought his shield. Couldn't be too safe. "This is your big rescue moment. You should revel in it!"

But Steve could only shake his head. "I'll celebrate when we're all safe."

Sam made a noncommittal sound as they ventured into the darkness. The building had no electricity, so the garage was just a wide void, occasionally marked by circular columns lit by faint outdoor light. The deeper they went, the further they got. Steve was aware of the slope of the ground, how they descended heading deeper in.

It was one hell of a place to hide, Steve had to admit. He certainly would never want to hide here. It was cold and damp, puddles everywhere, and even with super soldier vision it was difficult to see in here. Even more so, not a lot of cover to hide behind. The columns were relatively thin, only large enough to hide a single person. It seemed not even squatters wanted to reside here.

Steve called out Amelia's name. Softly at first, then a little louder when he got no response. The place seemed entirely empty.

"It is kind of weird, though," Sam mused to himself, seemingly lost in thought. "All of this, I mean. I don't think I ever gave her my number…"

"She might've gotten it from me," Steve said, although to be honest, he wasn't sure. Giving Amelia Sam's number would certainly be a rational, reasonable thing he would do, especially considering what had happened with Kate — Agent 13, that is. But the past few days had all been a blur; Steve couldn't be sure he had.

Sam just laughed at that. "Well, thank God. I'd rather die than agree with baldy back there…Damn, it's dark in here. Shoulda brought a flashlight."

Steve silently agreed, before calling out for Amelia again. Sam fiddled with his phone, trying to turn on its flashlight. His thumb flicked across the screen and a bright white light flared out in front of them.

And on the girl standing directly in front of them.

Both men jumped at the sight of her. Steve cursed internally; Sam swore out loud. Amelia was only ten feet away. She flinched at the light, raising her hands to cover her face.

"Ow," She said.

"Mia!" Steve let out a breath in relief. "You scared the hell out of me — why didn't you answer?"

"I wasn't sure if it was you," she replied, still having a hand up to her face. It took Sam a second to get over his shock, and lower his flashlight so she could see again. "If it was someone just pretending to use your voice, or your face, o-or —"

She sounded exhausted, her voice strained until it broke. It was around the same point in which Steve had pulled her into a hug; relief, overwhelming relief. And concern, too, ever growing. Amelia was cold, and shivering, despite the long coat she wore. Not something he recognized. So dazed that she didn't even hug him back, just leaned slightly into the embrace. The flashlight had caught against the abrasions on her face, clearly results of her previous run-ins with SHIELD. Steve was a little more surprised when his hands touched the metal hanging from her back.

He stepped back, startled. "...Is that a shield?"

"Oh," Amelia glanced over her shoulder, then back at Steve. Her shoulders slumped. "Yeah. It was under your truck."

Steve didn't understand at all. "Wait, my truck — ?"

"Look, as glad as I am that you're alright, Mia," Sam interrupted the happy reunion, throwing a thumb over his shoulder. "I think we should head out. I don't want to be in this creepy-ass place anymore than I have to."

"Yes, absolutely," Steve gave a sharp nod, remembering himself. Staying here, even for a brief catch-up, was not a good idea. The garage, while a good temporary hiding place, also made for an effective killbox. The singular entrance could be blocked, cutting off whoever was inside. Had it been anyone else who asked him to come here, Steve would've immediately suspected it to be a trap.

Putting his hand on Mia's back, across the metal shield that looked and felt exactly like his own, Steve guided the three of them out of there.

The resemblance to his shield stopped as soon as they hit sunlight. It may be made of the same material, made to the same specs, but the paint was completely different. The red star was as Steve remembered it, from the photos of Rebel Columbia he'd seen. But Mia had never shown him the shield before.

He couldn't remember if the black stripes had always been there or not.

But Steve immediately forgot about that when the light shone on the rest of Amelia. Her hair was braided back to keep it out of her face, but it also served to fully display the damage she'd received thus far. The terrible cuts across her jar. Bruises under both eyes. The purpling around her neck. It nearly stopped him dead. "Mia! What happened to you? I thought you said you were fine!"

She just blinked up at him, her gaze dull, confused. "... But I am fine. I'm standing, aren't I?"

Sam just let out a low whistle. He shook his head. "I'd say out of all of us, you've had the worst of it, Mia. Full stop."

Amelia blinked back at him. "Thank you."

Sam, not expecting that, did a slight double-take, and was a second late in following Steve and Mia as they headed back towards the car, parked just three hundred feet away. "Well, that wasn't a compliment but uh... You do you, I guess..."

It didn't strike Steve as very odd, although he did note that Mia was less expressive than usual. Not that she was very expressive to begin with, but still — this felt off. But of course, how would it not be, after she was on her own for three days, constantly on the run from SHIELD goons? He could hardly blame her if she didn't have the energy to react to everything.

Steve gave a wave to Natasha, who remained leaning against the driver's side door, watching the incoming procession behind dark sunglasses. Sitwell was still pacing, coming around the other side of the car when he spotted the returning party.

He came to a dead stop, his face turning white. "Oh, shit —"

And that's when Sitwell knew, he was one dead-ass motherfucker.

That was the last thought in his head before the bullet went through it.

Blood exploded onto the windshield behind Sitwell. It got onto Natasha, who'd been standing right next to him. She, who saw what only Sitwell did, had tried to dive for the SHIELD analyst.

But she was far, far too late.

Sam yelped, leaping back in surprise. Steve whirled around, startled by the bang, the bullet that had shot just past his ear to strike Sitwell directly between the eyes.

At the only person standing behind him. Amelia. Smoke rising from the pistol in her hand.

The weapon, turning.

On Steve.