Dr. Nicole Vaughn had had a long day - almost two if one really thought about it. It was the end of a grueling 36 hour shift at the hospital's trauma center. The kind that brought back memories and left her with exhaustion that she could feel deep into her bones.

As an Orthopaedic Surgeon - a damn good one at that - she was used to blood and gore. But some memories she couldn't wait to wash away, along with the grime and filth of the shift she'd had.

In fact, thinking about sinking into her bathtub for a nice warm bath was all she could think about.

Still, as exhausting as her day was, it also felt good. Nicky loved what she did for a living. All the lives she got to save and change...how challenging it was to take something broken, often beyond repair, and to heal in unorthodox ways. More than anything, she loved how utterly ordinary her life was.

She had shifts. A proper ethical way to practice medicine. She got to save innocent lives.

And at the end of it all, she got to go home, relax, unwind, do whatever she wanted until her next shift...all while actually feeling safe.

She didn't have to worry about anyone watching her, or bugging her apartment to see if she would accidentally or intentionally reveal anything she wasn't supposed to.

Nicky lived an ordinary life for one whole year. One where she wasn't constantly looking over her shoulder. One devoid of fear. One that was safe. It was all she could ask for.

Which was why this day felt different.

She couldn't shake the feeling of being followed. Truth be told, she'd had that feeling for over a week now. Yet she hadn't been able to pinpoint anything that was different in her routine. No one was following her. At least none that she could see. But then again...the ones she sought safety from were more than capable of going undetected far too easily.

All of a sudden, she felt thrust back into a time she would have rather forgotten.

She told herself it was just her paranoia creeping up on her. I am no one now. I am nothing more than an ordinary surgeon leading an ordinary life. No one is after me. So she tried to convince herself, repeating it like a mantra, knowing that this was definitely something she should discuss with her therapist in the next session. One didn't leave behind years and years of habitual cautiousness that easily.

She let herself into her apartment, carefully unlocking about the ten locks she had had custom installed on her door, and methodically relocked them just the same. She was a paranoid person. She was not going to deny it in any form or manner. With the life she had been thrust into, paranoia was the least of her concerns at this point honestly.

So when someone knocked on her door right after she turned the final lock, it startled the hell out of her. Holding a hand to her chest as if she could somehow physically force her frantic heart to slow down, she tried to peer through the peephole. Except it was futile. She couldn't recognize who it was from that exact angle. All she could see was a tall male.

He knocked again. "Dr. Nicole Vaughn?" he called out. "I'm Sam Wilson. I was wondering if I could talk to you for a moment."

He knew her name. He knew where she lived.

The paranoia had her wondering if he was the one who she had felt following her all this time.

"I don't know a Sam Wilson. Sorry," she told him, while keeping the door very much closed.

She heard him chuckle. "Yeah, I suppose you don't. But maybe you know me as the Falcon?"

Damn it.

Of course, she knew who he was. Goggles. Metal wings. Captain freaking America's buddy who helped him bring down Hydra nestled within S.H.I.E.L.D in a very, very public manner. There wasn't a person who didn't know the guy.

She peered at him through the peephole once more. With a name to go to the face, it was easier to recognize him now. It really was the Falcon.

The knowledge only made Nicole internally groan. Yet she unlocked the many locks once more and opened the door just a fraction. If he had anything to say about her paranoia, he politely kept it to himself. "What do you want with me?" she asked warily.

"Me? I don't want anything," he said. She raised an eyebrow at him quizzically, while seriously contemplating whether or not to shut the door in his face. Then he continued, "But Captain America needs your help."

Nicky felt the words sink into her like a slab of concrete on her chest - heavy, and immovable. She could only stare at him dumbfounded.

Her silence prompted him to elaborate. "Captain America? You remember him right?" he asked with a cheeky grin. "Swept right in and took down Hydra? Basically saved about a million lives?"

The cheek was of course not appreciated in her anxious state.

"Of course I know him," she said. Her brows furrowed in confusion. "What I don't understand is how you think I could help him though. I told everyone everything I knew when they interrogated me. I'm sure you know this."

"Not everything," he said pointedly.

Nicky wasn't a trained spy. She was not versed in the art of maintaining a poker face. Well, considering the line of work she had been in, she tried somewhat. But for the life of her, she couldn't keep the feeling of terror from taking over her.

With trembling hands, she tried to close the door. To put a physical barrier between herself and her past if she could.

Sam Wilson's foot put an end to the attempt.

"Look," he said, looking at her hands, and she willed them to stay steady. "You're not in trouble. I promise you that." Taking in her wary look, he continued. "We just need you to track him, and you can get back to your life as if I never showed up."

"Track who?"

He gave her a look that clearly meant, Don't play dumb with me. Yet he said it. Out loud.

The mere words had her almost going into a panic attack.

"The Winter Soldier."

Dr. Nicole Ariana Vaughn could trace her ancestry back to the Welsh and she had the physical traits to prove it. With pale skin, and silky black hair framing an angular face, she was smaller than anyone in her age. Small enough to be mocked in high school. But in the end, it wasn't how she looked that had her feeling isolated all her life.

She was always the youngest in any room. Graduating from high school at the young age of 14, she had not one but two majors by the time she was done with college at 16 - biomedical engineering and pre-med. Keeping to that trajectory, she completed medical school when she was just 20 year old.

It was undeniable. She was a prodigy of the best kind in her field. Of course, she caught the government's eye. It was inevitable. She was recruited into S.H.I.E.L.D straight out of medical school, completing her residency under their patronage - or watchful eyes. Whatever way one chose to look at it.

She could trace her ancestry to the Welsh but she was an American through and through. Getting the opportunity to do her duty to her country while being in a field she was passionate about was a dream come true. She didn't regret it one bit.

Five years in, she was abruptly recruited to a top secret project by Alexander Pierce himself. She was to medically attend to a special asset requiring specialized medical care. He told her that she was the only one who could do it. With her expertise in biomedical engineering, she would be invaluable to this project. Who was she to disagree?

Besides, you didn't ever say "no" to a man like Alexander Pierce. You just didn't.

By the time she figured out that she was in truth working for goddamn freaking Hydra within S.H.I.E.L.D, it was far too late for her to even consider backing out. She had seen too much by then. She knew too much.

Worst of all, she had seen their asset with her own two eyes. The asset, the existence of which they would not have hesitated one bit to kill to deny.

The Winter Soldier.

She was stuck working for the very enemy she thought she was fighting against, because the only other option was to forfeit her life itself.

Her job wasn't too risky all in all. All she had to do was take care of the soldier's bionic arm.

It was of course a piece of work. One that was far ahead of its time. It was truly beautiful - the strength of metal combined with the actual feeling of a real arm, down to the very sensation of the fingertips. But knowing just how many lives had been ended with those very fingers at the trigger of a sniper rifle...knowing how that hand had choked the life out of people that stood in the way of Hydra's agenda of establishing their new world order. It had her wanting to retch.

Yet here she was...allowing her patriotism - and Sam freaking Wilson - to drag her into the past she would have given anything to forget.