Sophie woke alone and sore. She blinked up at the ceiling of the bus and noticed that the bus was silent and still. She was all alone—she could sense it. Her entire body hurt as if she'd gone through an extreme workout, which was almost funny because Sophie wasn't the working-out type. She was a stay-indoors-reading type. Her lips and cheeks hurt and there was a sharp, stinging pain in the back of her calves. Her right leg burned and she could feel sharp, aching pains in her neck, on her hipbones, on her waist on the left side, in her wrists…

She slowly sat up and squinted around the bus, rubbing her eyes. Not a single person was on the bus and golden sunshine flooded in through the windows on the left side, giving the entire bus a strange angelic look. She wondered for a moment if she'd been murdered by Rob and gone to heaven—but then shook her head. The idea that heaven wasn't a library or bookstore was preposterous.

She leaned back in her seat and exhaled slowly, gently combing her fingers through her hair and smoothing it away from her face, the memories of last night rushing at her. Rob trapping her in the outhouse. Rob attacking her. Kissing her. Biting her. Twisting her wrists. Running his hands up and down her stomach and waist and hips. Trying to get his hands under her dress. Knocking her into the walls.

Her stomach flipped nauseously and she realized she was trembling as she dwelled in the terrible memories. She took a deep breath and tried to focus on the good: Winter saving her.

Yes, the words felt odd to her. Winter…saved me. But it was true—he had. If it hadn't been for him, she didn't know what would have happened next.

Yes, you do. A shiver ran down her spine. She knew very well what would have happened next. Rob would have had his way with her and then quite possibly left her for dead. She wasn't sure what his full plan had been. But the thought that he'd been planning it…that all those hours they'd sat on the bus a mere few feet from each other, he'd been thinking about her and planning what he was going to do—

Her stomach churned and she closed her eyes and inhaled very slowly. Think about the good, Sophie. Think about Winter saving you. She knew that Winter had probably only saved her because of "the mission"—but she still couldn't help but feel immensely grateful towards him. Whatever his reason had been, he'd done it. He'd come for her. He'd saved her. And what was more…he had comforted her. It had been brief and it had been meager, compared to what normal people might have done, but he had held her face. Had said, "I know," when she tried to brokenly explain. Had held her hair back from her face when she'd thrown up.

He had said her name for the first time ever.

She slowly stood up and stretched, gingerly checking to see how she felt. She felt sore but altogether not too horrible. It was her emotions that felt more shaken up right now. She made her way to the front of the bus and checked her reflection in the rear view mirror. She had to hold back a gasp when she saw what she looked like. Her lips were swollen and slightly bruised. Her cheek had a bruise. And her neck had bruises—some that looked disgustingly like love bites and one that very clearly resembled a hand print where Rob had grabbed her neck in a stranglehold.

The bus doors were open, letting warm air blow in, and she climbed down from the steps and stood in the bright sunshine, squinting and looking around. Where did everyone go? Someone cleared their throat to her right and she jumped, whirling in panic. Winter leaned against the bus, arms folded, staring at her.

"Oh," she said, pressing a hand to her racing heart. "It's just you. I thought…" Her voice trailed off under his scrutinizing gaze. "What?" she said self-consciously. "What?" she repeated as he walked towards her and stopped in front of her. He raised his hand and she flinched instinctively, half throwing her arm up to deflect a blow…a blow that never came. She peeked up at him after a moment and slowly lowered her arm. His hand was still raised. He waited for her to lower her arm and then he gripped her chin and forced her head up, tilting it this way and that, examining her face.

"Not bad," he murmured.

Sophie tried to step out of his gasp. It tightened for one nanosecond and then he let go of her. "I look awful," she said.

"They'll fade," he said unconcernedly.

His flippancy felt hurtful for some reason but she had to remind herself that this was just how he was—unemotional and distant and…blasé. Things didn't seem to really affect him.

Except he was affected last night, a voice in her mind reminded her. Don't tell me you missed the expression on his face when he saved you. She hadn't; his expression had been downright terrifying, full of unadulterated fury. So it seemed some things did affect him.

"Thank you for last night," she muttered, looking down at her feet. He didn't respond and she looked up at him; he was staring away from her into the distance, squinting slightly. "Thank you," she repeated a little more loudly.

"I heard you."

"Oh. Um…okay. Well…I just wanted to say that. Because if you hadn't saved me…" She swallowed and her fingers floated to the bruises on her neck. "He would have—" Her voice came out in a hoarse whisper. Her throat felt scratchy and rough and she had a feeling it was due to being almost strangled. "He would have—"

"I know what he would have done," Winter said slowly.

"Where—um, what happened to him?" she asked, looking around as if he might pop up right next to her suddenly. She half-hoped he'd been left behind for dead. It wasn't like he didn't deserve it, the disgusting scumbag.

"He got back on the bus with the woman," he said casually, seemingly unaware of the fear these words caused Sophie.

"He—he got back on the bus?" she asked, her voice thin and high-pitched. Her body suddenly felt cold. "He was okay to get back on the bus with us?"

Winter looked at her and quietly said, "No. He was carried on. And he's gone now. He and the woman left on this stop. She took him to a hospital." He shrugged, clearly unconcerned and uncaring over what would happen next to Rob.

"Good," Sophie said fiercely, surprising herself with the fury in her own voice. "I hope he dies!"

Winter was silent for a long moment and then: "I hope so too." His voice was low, flat.

She blinked in surprise at him and waited for him to continue but apparently that was all he was going to say for now. She leaned against the bus next to him, wishing she was a little taller. The top of her head only reached slightly past his shoulders. Less people would mess with her if she was taller, she bet. Tall people just had this confident look to them, as if they could run a marathon and a company at the same time. Small people like her looked stupid and weak. She looked stupid and weak, apparently.

She felt stupid and weak.

How could she not have known what Rob wanted?

How could she not have been able to fight him off?

How could she have let herself get dragged into this mess in the first place?

Her knees buckled and she hit the ground, struggling to breathe, on all fours. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to suck air into her rattling lungs, trying to calm the disgust and anger that was smothering her insides. She felt Winter kneel next to her but instead of being nice to her like he'd been last night, he grabbed her arm—his entire hand encircled her upper arm completely—and yanked her to her feet, slamming her against the bus. She gasped and he stood in front of her, caging her with his arms, blocking her view of the small town in front of her.

"You need to get it together," he said in a low, firm voice.

"I—I can't," she gasped.

"You can and you will," he snarled.

"How?" she asked, her voice shaking. "How? When I know what he wanted—when he could have so easily—"

"But. He. Didn't."

"BUT HE COULD HAVE!" she shouted. "You don't understand! You don't understand what it feels like, to be that weak, to be the victim—" She broke off, embarrassed at her admission. It feels…disgusting. And ugly. And shameful. It feels like I can't take care of myself. That I'm not worth anything.

A strange, hazy expression came across his face and he took a step back, looking strangely confused for a moment, as if something about her words didn't make sense. She watched him, half-scared, and saw his dark eyebrows draw together in a straight line, as if he was thinking hard about something. She could tell he wasn't going to be talking to her anytime soon so she turned to head back up onto the bus.

She took a step up and he suddenly grabbed her arm, pulling her back around so hard she let out a startled yelp. "Whoa! What?"

He was standing very close to her, his hand clenched tightly around her upper arm, and he stared at her, looking extremely frustrated, as if he wanted to say something—but couldn't get the words out. Her mouth felt dry as she stared up at him, waiting to hear what he wanted to say. He looked troubled and his eyes darted to the side, as if he couldn't think of what he was trying to get out. "What is it?" she whispered, hoping it was something new that would give her insight as to who he was.

"Just…nothing." He let get of her arm and backed away, frowning to himself, his expression clearly saying, Now why did I do that?

Sophie didn't know if it was a good sign or a bad sign that he was losing control over his own actions. On one hand, she wanted him to be more than the robotic exterior he always showed. On the other hand, she didn't want him to lose control and get even more psychotic.

Her stomach was grumbling slightly because she hadn't had food since…well, almost over 24 hours ago. She'd thrown up the last meal she'd had. She turned around and headed towards the town, not caring what he thought. She thought he would let her go alone but no, halfway there she noticed his shadow trailing near hers. He had followed her silently, like a stalking wolf.

I am not prey. She clenched her fists and marched resolutely on. The town was small, dusty, and only had a few stalls and shacks selling food to the gaggle of bus people who sat around fanning themselves. She saw quite a few people look at her and she wondered if it was the bruises or the drama Holly had surely caused when she'd been out like a light. She shied back instinctively at first, recoiling from attention as she'd done for half her life now.

But why? she suddenly thought. I survived, didn't I? Yeah, Winter saved me—but I survived. I didn't ask to get attacked. I have nothing to be ashamed of. I've survived three attacks, actually. She hadn't forgotten the man on the boat to Cuba.

She held her head a little higher as she purchased some chips and water bottles from a stall. She turned and saw Winter leaning silently against a building across the dusty street, staring at her, not even shading his eyes from the glare of the sun. She crossed the street and thrust a water bottle in his direction. "For you." Her tone came out slightly more aggressive than she'd intended and she amended, "If you want it."

He silently took the bottle. Didn't thank her. But he took it and that was all Sophie saw. She and him were making progress, strange partners that they were in this twisted business.

The bus honked twice loudly and the bunches of bus travelers began making their way back to the bus, some straggling behind. The people who'd been with them since the start now looked as listless as they probably felt. The enthusiastic air from the first day had dissipated. Everyone looked tired and Sophie wondered why they had chosen to travel this way if Brazil had been their destination all along.

"Excuse me," she quietly asked someone who she'd seen speaking English earlier as they walked. She could feel Winter slightly behind her.

The woman looked at her and smiled hesitantly. "Yes?"

"Do you know how long till we get to Brazil?"

The woman turned and asked her husband. He looked at his iPhone and then scratched his head and said, "We should be reaching the border by…sometime late tonight or early tomorrow morning."

"Thank you." Sophie smiled shyly and moved away from the woman to indicate that she wasn't going to ask anymore questions. But just before she got on the bus, the woman suddenly grabbed her arm and pulled her aside. "Wha—" Sophie started, taken aback.

"Listen," the woman said in a hushed, urgent voice, her eyes darting behind Sophie for a second. "If you need help, let us know."

Sophie stared at her, bewildered. Did this woman know she'd been kidnapped? Had she somehow recognized her? "What?" she whispered.

"If you're being hurt," the woman whispered, "let us know and we'll help you escape with us. You seem like a sweet little thing."

Oh god—THEY THINK WINTER IS ABUSING ME.

Which…in a sense…he had done. But Sophie now saw that his violence wasn't planned out nor enjoyed by him, and it seemed to be his only way of achieving utmost control—which quickly seemed to be slipping from his grasp as time went on.

"Um, thank you. But I'll be fine." She smiled weakly and darted onto the bus, her face burning. Great. So now she obviously looked pathetic as well as feeling pathetic. She settled into her seat and felt Winter's burning stare.

"What did that woman mean?" he asked in a low voice.

Of course he'd been listening. He seemed to have supersonic hearing in addition to speed and strength. She sighed and twiddled with a lock of her hair. "Um…she thought…that you were abusing me."

He frowned.

"Because you're pretending to be my boyfriend, remember?" she reminded him. "And I have all these bruises." He was still frowning. She wasn't entirely sure if he was making the connections, which was odd because normally his mind seemed to run at hyper-speed, thinking of everything before he needed to. "Domestic violence is pretty prevalent in society," she said cautiously. Am I seriously about to give the Winter Soldier a lesson on social justice? She suddenly had to fight down a wave of hysterical giggles.

He nodded once and then turned and stared at the seat in front of him, lips slightly pursed as if he were lost in thought. Sophie subconsciously adopted the same pose and suddenly, before she knew what was happening, he'd stood up, yanked Sophie to the window seat, squeezed past her, and sat down in the aisle seat. "Why did you do that?" she demanded. Her underarms prickled uncomfortable with sweat and nerves. She didn't really like sitting in the window seat on a normal day—and now she was being guarded by Winter. It made her feel trapped. Well, more trapped than she already was.

"People are getting nosy," was his only answer. It didn't really make sense with what she'd asked him but okay.

She slowly ate the chips, wincing at every crunch (why did chips always sound so obnoxiously loud when she ate them?), and swigged down half the water bottle. She felt the usual dull headache that afflicted her in the late afternoon, which was when she normally had a nice cup of tea with a good book. At least I'm kicking my caffeine habit, she thought, trying to cheer herself up. I won't have an addiction anymore. Except it didn't really feel that way because all she could do was think longingly of hot, milky tea (done properly the English way; none of this herbal tea nonsense) with one of her favorite books, Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier. What she wouldn't have given to get lost in that deliciously gothic, romantic world right now…

It occurred to Sophie that if she survived this ordeal, she could probably write a fictional adventure novel based on her experiences.

They sat in silence for seven hours as the bus roared on, passing teeny-tiny villages, fields, some jungle-y bits, shadowy mountains in the far distance. Sophie had been here long enough that the scenery had started to seem normal but she still loved looking out at it. She tried to commit everything she saw to memory for future purposes. She glanced at Winter and saw that he was staring straight ahead, his face looking slightly sullen. "You could look out the window, you know," she suggested.

The look he gave her was one of utmost disgust and derision.

"Alright," she muttered. "Never mind. It was just an idea. Jeez."

The bus stopped in the evening as usual. Winter stood up but something horrible suddenly occurred to Sophie and she grabbed his arm and yanked him down. He was so surprised that he let her. Wait, she mouthed to him. They sat silently until every last person had left the bus, the woman who'd offered her help earlier giving her a worried look as she filed past them. Sophie ducked her head and avoided her gaze.

"What?" Winter asked quietly.

"Passports," she hissed. "Visas! We don't have anything to cross the border!"

He stiffened. Clearly he hadn't considered this matter either; and why should he have? His plan had meant to take them straight to Brazil in their private plane, obviously undetected by any airspace control through whatever tricks he had up his sleeve. She knew he hadn't thought they'd be crossing by land.

"You don't have a passport or anything, do you?" she asked dubiously. He shook his head. She looked at him, suddenly suspicious. "Do you have any ID?" she asked. "Are you even an American citizen? What country are you from?" His accent was American but didn't seem to belong to any specific region.

He blinked once and then his eyes narrowed at her. She got the message loud and clear: he didn't appreciate these nosy questions and he wasn't going to answer them.

"And you don't have a passport or anything for me," she guessed. His lips tightened. Bingo. "So what now?" she asked. "They're going to check everyone at the checkpoint on the border. Even I know that. And we won't be able to slip away because I'm pretty sure they're really strict about it due to drug cartels." She'd done a report on it in college. "They have huge floodlights and stuff, I think."

He sat silently for a long time—so long, in fact, that Sophie wondered if he'd even heard her. But just as she opened her mouth to repeat herself, he said, "The baggage hold."

What? She stared at him, puzzling over his words. Then it registered. "No," she gasped. "No way!"

"Yes," he said grimly.

"NO! Are you crazy?" she hissed. "They check that, too! Probably, I mean! And if we get caught, we'll look guilty for sure!"

"Then I'll kill them," he said easily.

Why was his last (and sometimes first) solution always to murder people? She understood by now that he was a ruthless assassin—or at least a ruthless agent—for this Hydra group, but honestly, wasn't leaving a trail of bodies behind the number one mistake professional killers tried to avoid? Not that she'd ever asked a professional killer, of course, but if she was a professional killer, she would have tried to remain as incognito as possible.

And the scary part was, he truly meant it. She could tell he did by his matter-of-fact tone. It was honestly a solution for him. She wasn't surprised—she'd seen him snap a man's neck—but at the same time, it was hard to reconcile this cold, murderous part of him with the tiny, gentler parts he'd shown her as of late. Not that he was a fuzzy teddy bear or anything of the sort…but slowly, he'd shown glimpses of a different person. And just as she got used to that person and tried to draw that person out, he went and said something frightening like this.

"Um." She swallowed. "Maybe we could not do that."

"Not do what?" he asked, his tone sounding almost careless.

"Murder everyone in sight," she whispered.

His expression was grim and he gave an unexpected dark smile, no teeth showing, ominous. "Then we'd better not get caught."


"I can't believe I'm doing this" should become my life motto at this point. This was the only thought going around and around in Sophie's head as they hid in the baggage compartment. She'd been privately hoping it would be hard to get in but of course it wasn't. Who had she been kidding? She was with the Winter Soldier. He didn't just walk away from things. He forced them to be.

No one was outside the bus and the night was clear and starry, warm and still. Crickets chirped from beyond the darkness. He wrenched the luggage compartment open. It ran along one side of the bus and was about ten feet long and four feet tall. It was piled with bags inside but not filled to the brim, which was good because Sophie didn't feel like being smothered by a Pullman tonight.

He stared silently at her and she guessed this was his way of telling her to get in—"How eloquent," she mumbled under her breath—so she awkwardly clambered into the compartment, pulling herself over bags. She definitely couldn't sit up without banging her head so she basically had to crawl and slither over the bags to find a decent place to lay back. Winter clambered in and yanked the top down with a clang, sealing them in total darkness. Sophie immediately felt claustrophobic in the tight, dark space and tried to regulate her breathing. It's only for a little while, she told herself. Who cares if it's hot and probably going to get hotter? Who cares if it smells like stale bags? Who cares if I'm locked into a tight, pitch-black space with the Winter Soldier? It's only temporary.

She heard him rummaging around, the sound of bags hitting bags, and wondered what the hell he was doing. She soon found out. After hearing some strange clangs which let her know that he was over against the other wall of the compartment, he said in a hoarse voice, "Come here."

Her stomach flipped as she blinked into the darkness. "No thanks, I'm good."

"You'll get caught where you are. Come here."

Well, he wasn't wrong. She was laying on top of the bags. The first person to open the compartment would see her clear as day. She stifled a sigh and began crawling and sort of slithering in the direction of his voice, her hands sinking down in between bags. It felt like crawling through a very puffy, awkward pile of pillows except her hair kept getting snagged on zippers.

"Where are you?" she whispered just as her hand pressed down on what was clearly a human face. She let out a startled yelp just as his hand flew up and grabbed her wrist in an iron grip. She lost what little balance she had and fell slightly to the side, her right shoulder blade hitting the back of the compartment. "Shit," she whispered, rubbing her dully aching shoulder. "Ouch…"

"Lay down," he commanded.

"Where?" she snapped, already sweating. The ventilation was obviously not the best in here and she didn't like being able to not see a thing. The whole situation made her feel like she was trapped in one of her childhood nightmares, the one where she was locked in a pitch-dark closet filled with furniture, unable to move or scream for help. Her nerves felt frazzled to their last end.

"On me," he said.

She rolled her eyes and said, "Are you insane?"

"Where else are you going to go?" he asked pointedly, acid dripping off of every word. "We need to hide near the back, at the bottom, so the bags cover us. Stretched out, I'm over six feet. If we lay head-to-foot, we won't fit. You'll have to curl up in the fetal position for hours. Are you prepared to do that?"

"Yes," she lied defiantly, trying to push herself off of him and whatever bag she had half-landed on.

"Really." The scorn in his voice was plenty evident.

"Fine!" she snarled, losing her temper completely, trying to control her racing heart and labored breathing. "Fine! Just—shut up! Stop talking!" She would never have dared to yell at him so openly but right now her mind was screaming with panic at her situation. She felt like she was drowning in the darkness and heat and she just needed him to stop talking.

She felt his hand on her back and then he pulled her down on top of him, pushing her down so that they weren't laying cheek-to-cheek (which truly would have destroyed any and all sanity left in Sophie). He lay on his back and she lay on top of him on her stomach, her head resting against his chest. Her head was turned to the side facing the compartment door but she knew at least three feet of bags lay in between her and the door, piled about three feet high. She felt his arms moving, jostling her, as he grabbed the bags nearest them and yanked them on top of them so they fell on them like boulders in an avalanche.

"Are you trying to bury us alive?!" she whisper-shouted as a duffel bag fell directly on her head. The smell of slithery gym-bag material filled her nose. "Stop!"

"We need to conceal ourselves," came his apathetic reply.

"None of this bothers you?" she asked furiously, her voice low.

"I'm trained for this."

"I hope Hydra has big plans for me after all this trouble you've gone through," she mumbled into the side of a bag that was pressing against her mouth. She lifted her hand and shoved it a few inches away.

And that's where they stayed. She thought she'd get more used to it as time passed but she didn't. The temperature seemed to get hotter and hotter until she felt like she was actually glued to him with sweat. The air wasn't circulating in the tiny, cramped compartment and it was hard to breathe. It was disconcerting to open her eyes and see pitch-darkness so she just kept them close. But most of all, it was odd to be laying on top of him. She knew it really shouldn't have mattered at this point—after all, she'd slept in close quarters with him twice (once he'd been shirtless), she'd stitched up his wounds, she'd even touched him (though that had been an experiment)…

Still, it occurred to Sophie that technically, she'd gone further with the Winter Soldier than she'd gone with any normal guy in years. The last semi-serious boyfriend she'd had had been before the college incident and Sophie was the type to take things slow, so… She held back a sudden snort of bitter laughter when she realized that not only had she gone further with the Winter Soldier than any other guy in years, but the Winter Soldier was probably the last man she would ever be physically close to.

How unfair.

"Don't your wounds hurt?" she suddenly whispered, thinking about them. "Because I'm on top of them?"

A pause, and then— "Yes."

"So?" she asked.

"So what?" he asked, his voice flat. "The mission requires it."

The freaking mission. Of course "the mission" requires it. "Just curious, if Hydra asked you to kill yourself for a mission, would you do it?" She was partly being sarcastic but she was also partly serious. His fanatic devotion to "the mission" was scary and alarming—but it was also confusing because he never expressed any personal enthusiasm about the mission. It was more like he had to complete the mission or die trying…just because Hydra told him to do so.

It was pretty messed up, actually.

He didn't respond and she hadn't expected him to. Her question had clearly been meant to start drama and he wasn't the type to indulge in that. They lay in silence for a while, Sophie focusing on her breaths and the rise and fall of his chest, until they heard the people on the bus begin to make their way back to keep traveling on for the night. Sophie had wondered how the bus driver slept until she'd realized there were two bus drivers who switched on and off. Clearly they'd perfected their routine. She didn't blame them; considering how many people joined the tour, they probably made a ton of money.

The compartment was opened twice and both times Sophie's heart rate sky-rocketed, but people only opened it to toss a bag in and then slam it shut. Most of these people wouldn't dig deep for their bags until they reached Brasilia, which was the last—and main—destination.

Sophie suddenly heard the woman who'd offered her help talking right outside the compartment. It was hard to hear with a wall of bags piled between them and her words were muffled but Sophie listened carefully and could make out most of the conversation.

"Worried…the girl," the woman was saying. "Did you see her…the boy anywhere?"

"Sure…fine," her husband replied. "She's not your business."

"Did you see…bruises?!" the woman said. "That poor…hurting…her!"

"Could've…something else," the man replied. "Not necessarily…abused."

"Hope…right," the woman said. Sophie listened for any more but evidently they climbed back aboard the bus because the engines suddenly rumbled to life, louder than ever down here, shaking Winter and her.

They drove through the night. The sticky heat and loud rumbling of the engine somehow put Sophie in a drowsy enough state that she drifted slightly, her eyelids slitted open slightly, staring at nothing. Had anyone else seen her right now, they would have thought she was dead. Neither she nor Winter spoke as they drove through the night and she slipped between the real world and the dream world, sometimes focusing on the zippers and hard buckles and edges of Winter's vest pressing into her cheek (she would probably have permanent indents in her face now), sometimes dreaming about her parents and her old life.

She remembered the first two years of college, when things had been getting good… High school had been an awkward mess; always trying, and more often than not failing, to be popular and well-liked. Her looks had drawn people to her but her shyness—stemming from her private fears—had always made her seem like a bit of a weirdo. The fact that she preferred books to people by then didn't help. But college…at first it had been so different. She'd tried really hard to be social and outgoing, even when her stomach was twisting itself into pretzels of anxiety, and it had started to pay off. She'd caught the attention of a group of bright, popular girls, had caught the attention of a cute guy who liked the fact that Sophie listened to him talk endlessly about sports…

And then she'd ruined it by getting too greedy. She'd tried too hard, overstepped boundaries, invaded people's privacy, and it had blown up in her face horribly. She'd gotten a horrible reputation, had lost all of her friends, was gossiped by everyone she knew…and she'd fled. Finished college at a different college nearby, withdrawing to the point where she had absolutely no new friends. No clubs. No job prospects. Nothing.

I shouldn't have run away so quickly, she thought hazily to herself, remembering the dark days after she'd ruined everything for herself. I could have…fought…

"Why does Hydra want you?" The words were whispered so quickly that Sophie almost missed them. She easily could have missed them had she fallen asleep. As it was, she heard them and she froze, wondering how to respond. He'd never openly asked her quite like this.

"I—I don't know," she lied, her mouth dry. She couldn't tell him. It was her last card and she was going to hold it for as long as she could.

"You're lying." His words didn't have any direct accusation in them; they were thoughtful.

"I'm not," she said.

"You are. I'll figure it out." He still sounded thoughtful and this was almost more frightening than his threatening voice; it sounded like he was…evolving. Except he was evolving to try and figure her out while she tried to figure him out at the same time. It was like a twisted game.

"Good luck with that, since I don't even know the reason," she said sarcastically, hoping she sounded convincing enough. Say anything sarcastically enough and you'll sound truthful.

She knew she had to keep it from him on the tiny off chance that Hydra truly did want her just to hold her for ransom or for some other reason unrelated to her skills. Because if that turned out to be true and she'd told him what she could do…he would turn her in in a heartbeat. And she wouldn't be able to live with herself if she condemned herself like that. So until she knew for sure that Hydra wanted her for her skills, then she wasn't saying a word.

Besides, she wasn't sure if the words would even come. She'd held her secret so close to her chest for so many years…would she even be able to open her mouth and let the words come out? The idea of telling someone about her skills felt so wrong. It felt like it was going against her very self. Sophie Duran read books and Sophie Duran kept to herself and Sophie Duran didn't tell her biggest secret. These were just the facts of life.

She wondered how he would react if she did tell him. She'd wondered how people would react more and more ever since the Avengers came to fame. Before that, the idea of telling was unthinkable. People would never believe her and when she was forced to prove it—as they would try to do, to prove her wrong—she would then be carted off for government usage. But after the Avengers had stepped into the spotlight and people with powers and special skills had become prominent, she'd entertained the notion just once or twice. Toyed with the idea, wondered if people would think she was a hero like them.

Deep down, she knew she wouldn't be considered a hero. She didn't have powers, she had skills. Calling them "powers" implied that they were good, in her mind. And her skills weren't the kind that would get her branded a hero. She couldn't fly, use super strength, or shoot laser beams from her eyes.

She could absorb information from technology. She didn't know the parameters of her own skills, having used them as little as she possibly could, but she did know she was essentially the world's best hacker. No codes or passwords or encryption programs could keep her out. And those were the kind of skills that got people turned into government weapons, used to do heinous things to destroy other people and countries—and friendships.

This was why Sophie hated her skills so much. They'd done nothing but give her trouble, they were invasive, and they had the potential to make her into a very harmful weapon.

No, Sophie wasn't revealing her biggest secret until she was sure that was why Hydra wanted her.

They continued on for a few more hours and Sophie tried to fall back into that sleepy mode again but she couldn't. She was too worried about Winter's curiosity. From what she knew of him, he stopped at nothing to get what he wanted. And if he wanted to know what her secret was…

Her fists clenched. I'll never tell him. He can do whatever he wants. I won't tell him.

Sophie could have wept when she thought about the fact that she used to be afraid of DVD players and cars and the most mundane things, when here she was, planning on engaging in a battle of wills with an assassin while laying on said assassin, sneaking across a South American border. She had wasted so much time being afraid of everything…if only she'd known she possessed some courage and will.

She could have at the very least gotten a car and saved herself the hassle of biking everywhere.

The bus suddenly came to a stop and she heard sounds outside: the sharp bark of men's voices. She strained her ears to see if she could figure out how many, but she couldn't make it out. It sounded like a couple, perhaps four or five. The bus creaked and sagged a bit as the men made their way on board, presumably shining flashlights into everyone's faces and demanding to see passports and visas with scary-looking faces. That was what Sophie pictured anyway, but it could have been her overactive imagination in play again. Perhaps the men were being very cordial.

They waited for twenty minutes and then they heard the creak as heavy boots descended back down the stairs of the bus. Winter wrapped his arms around Sophie and clutched her so tightly to his chest that she could barely breathe. It was as if he thought the harder he squeezed Sophie, the more they would sink into the depths of the compartment and vanish completely.

"Don't. Make. A. Sound," he breathed almost silently into her ear just as the compartment door opened with a loud, rusty creaking sound.

Sophie couldn't see because of the wall of bags in front of her but there were definitely floodlights outside. She winced against the bright light, her eyes accustomed to the dark now, and squeezed them shut. She didn't want to see what happened next. She held her breath, hardly daring to breathe at all, as she heard two men swipe through the bags. They seemed to be doing half-hearted work, merely picking up a few bags from the front and tossing them to the back, where they conveniently landed on Sophie and Winter, covering them up even more. The hard handle of a bag smacked Sophie's ear and she gritted her teeth against the pain, her eyes watering. Winter's arms tightened a fraction more and she felt like her spine was being crushed into powder. What was he doing? If they got any closer, she would literally be him.

"Nada," of the men called in a bored voice. He said something else, someone chuckled, and the compartment door clanged shut. Sophie made as if to move and Winter whispered, "Not. Yet." She didn't know what he meant but she stayed still. A second later, the door swung open again. She froze and everything was still and silent for a moment. Clearly they'd opened it hoping to surprise any castaways who might have come crawling out in relief. Then they started chuckling again and the compartment door slammed shut again. She heard one of them bark something and the bus rumbled to life and began to move. Clearly they hadn't found any problems.

"You're killing me," Sophie wheezed when his death grip didn't loosen. "Let go." His arms fell away and she relaxed, taking in a deep breath, letting her lungs expand. "Can I get off of you now?" she whispered.

"No. Not until the next rest stop."

She mentally groaned. They both smelled like sweat and dirt. She felt sticky and hot, the air was as suffocating as cotton, and her body felt stiff after laying on her stomach for so long. She would have flipped over but that might have felt even weirder, as if she were using him as a bed of sorts. No thank you.

Satisfied that they had passed safely through the border to Brazil—We're so close to the end—Sophie fell asleep for real this time. She was only woken when Winter roughly nudged her and said, "Wake up."

She blearily lifted her head and rubbed her eyes. The bus was silent and still. They had stopped. She slowly sat up, forgetting that the compartment wasn't tall enough to do that, and banged her head against the top with a clanging noise. She let out a small yowl of pain and he immediately clapped a hand over her mouth. "Quiet," he hissed.

"Sorry," she whispered, shoving his hand away. She crawled off of him, trying to stretch her body as she did so. She clambered over a pile of bags and heard him rustling around as he got up and crawled over the bags as well. She heard him pass her and lean against the compartment door. He was silent and she stayed silent as well; he was probably checking to see if anyone was outside. Once he'd determined that no one seemed to be outside, he pushed the compartment door open a tiny creak and waited to see if anyone outside noticed anything.

And this was how it went. He very slowly, surreptitiously, pushed the compartment door open. Bright sunlight blazed in and the compartment flooded with warm air. Sophie took a deep breath, relishing the fresh air. She squinted into the sunlight, her eyes hurting and weak after close to a full day of pitch-darkness and started forward to the opening. Winter grabbed her and pulled her out quickly, shutting the compartment door. Sophie was content to just stand there and stretch but he grabbed her hand and led her away to a nearby dusty picnic bench under a sad-looking, faded tree. She sat down and spent a good few minutes stretching her every muscle. Her joints made small snapping sounds as she stretched them. She felt stiff and creaky. Her eyes watered in the bright sunlight and she had to keep them closed for a while to avoid a pounding headache coming on. She also felt sort of woozy from not having eaten anything in ages.

She was so lost in her own thoughts that she didn't even realize Winter had gone to get food until he was saying, "Here," and shoving it in her face. She opened her eyes a bit, surprised, and squinted. He was holding a water bottle and what looked like a large, round flatbread wrapped in paper. She tentatively took them and bit into the flatbread. A sigh of pleasure escaped her mouth before she could stop herself and she studiously avoided his strange look. The bread was toasted and covered in melted cheese and peppers. It tasted amazing. She ate the entire thing in minutes, not even caring if she looked like a wild animal to him. After all they'd been through together, what did it matter how he saw her?

Huh. She paused with the water bottle lifted to her lips. When had she started thinking about her ordeal as something they'd been through together? It hadn't been done together, had it? He'd kidnapped her, he'd hurt her. It was all about her.

And yet…was it really? Because she knew he hadn't planned for half the things that had happened. Like getting stranded in a portion of the Andes mountains. Or getting attacked by a mountain lion. Or taking this odd tour down to Brazil. So technically…he had gone through it with her. They'd done it together.

Odd.

"Question," she said after she drank half the bottle. He was slowly picking at his own piece of bread, looking far less interested in it than she had. "Why haven't you just contacted Hydra to airlift us out of here?"

He seemed to look slightly more interested in his bread now.

"Come on," she pressed, leaning back against the table and squinting out at the small town. Brazil didn't look much different from Peru at this point but she noticed that the greenery seemed slightly thicker and more lush here. It seemed a little more jungle-ish. "You could have stolen a phone or something, if you don't have one." She knew he didn't have one. "So why didn't you?"

He remained silent.

"I know you have a reason," she said, deciding to start babbling again. "I'm just wondering what it is. Are you not allowed to contact them during a mission? That would be kind of stupid. Or do you not know how to contact them? They seem to have kept you in the dark about a lot so maybe they won't let you know how to get a hold of them. That's actually really sad, even though it's—"

"I'm doing this on my own," he said through clenched teeth.

"What do you mean?"

He exhaled forcefully through his nose, his expression stony. "I always finish my mission. And I never need help. I don't need to call us in. I'm going to get us there and finish the mission." His words were tight.

"Well…that's pretty nice," she said. She leaned over and patted his arm. He stiffened at her touch and she ignored it, already knowing by now that he wasn't used to friendly touches. "I hope you don't get in trouble for taking too long to deliver me."

He looked at her, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What? Why the hell would you care?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I've accepted that I'm going to Hydra no matter what. And I've realized it's not really your fault."

"I took you," he said flatly.

"Under orders," she countered.

"Which I followed."

"Against your will."

His eyes widened and his face turned white, his skin looking stretched over his bones. "What did you say?"

She pressed her lips together, unsure if her words would anger him into doing something bad. She was growing more and more used to him but she wasn't about to trust him completely.

"Tell me," he snarled, inching closer, his hand drifting to his side as if he was going to pull out a gun and kill her right there.

"I don't think you chose to be the Winter Soldier," she said softly, looking at him. His eyes widened and he looked angry and puzzled, as if he didn't understand what she was saying.

"And what," he said tightly, his words very carefully controlled, "makes you say that?"

"You don't have a name," she said quietly, "and you don't remember ever having a name. You're loyal to Hydra and the mission to the point of insanity—but you have no personal enthusiasm for either, apparently. You hurt me to control me but you never seem like you like it or want to do it. You…" She bit her lip. "You flinched when I touched you gently. You don't seem to have any likes or dislikes beyond the mission. You don't talk. And you might think this is normal, but it's not. Even bad guys and agents and spies and assassins—whichever one you are—have personalities. Even they have names. And they usually like what they do, or…or have some sort of personal motive for doing it. What's your motive, Winter? Why do you work for Hydra? And don't say that you're their asset," she said fiercely, "because people also aren't supposed to be assets!"

Winter looked frozen to the spot. His skin had gone a gray, ashen color. She could see the whites of his eyes. His face was locked in a puzzled, shocked, empty sort of look, as if he couldn't fathom what she was saying—and couldn't respond, either. He stared at her and his eyes darted to the right and then to the left, as if he was trying to think of a response. She waited. He licked his lips once and opened his mouth—but snapped it shut, looking more confused than ever. "I…" His voice trailed off. For the first time ever, he looked to be at a total loss for words. She'd really thrown him for a loop this time.

"And don't just hit me," she whispered, knowing she was pushing him way past his boundaries—further than she had ever pushed him before. "Really think. Why do you work for Hydra? Why are you doing what you do?"

"I just do," he said mechanically. Then he blanched, as if he knew this answer didn't cut it. "I…"

"It's fine," she said, standing up and stretching. "Don't worry about it."

"Wait," he said, looking angry. "You can't—I—"

"Just think about it," she said quietly. "I guess that's another reason I'm coming along willingly. I want to see what they've done to you. Because—and you might not agree with me or know this yet, but—they've hurt you, Winter. You can hit me. You can swear. You can stop talking. But they've done something to you that isn't right and I want to find out what. And you should know too. After all, it's your life—or it was. And you're still human, no matter what they've convinced you."

And she walked away to go sit on the bus. Winter didn't join her until the rest of the people came back an hour later and piled onto the bus. He was the last one on the bus and he sat as far away from her as he possibly could. But when she glanced at him, she saw that his expression was puzzled, as if he were thinking things over.


He couldn't stop thinking about the things that Sophie had said. He'd desperately wanted to refute them—but how? The only way he could have refuted them was by rising to her challenge and answering her questions. Except the thing was…he didn't have answers.

He didn't have a name that he knew of.

He didn't ever really want to hit her or kill people; it was just a way to accomplish the end goal.

He didn't have any personal likes or dislikes that normal people did.

He had flinched when she'd touched him because it had been so…foreign to him.

And he couldn't come up with any personal motive besides the fact that he was Hydra's asset, he was good at what he did, and he needed to obey. That was all he was made for.

Or was it?

He'd never considered any of these things before. They had never mattered to him. He would vaguely think about how they affected other people—his targets, the Hydra strike agents he had to work with occasionally—but he'd never even considered that he was meant to have them.

And the strange thing was…she was right. He wasn't stupid. In fact, he was exceptionally cunning and quick-witted. Had it been one of his targets that didn't know their own name or flinched when people touched them, his mind would have registered this as abnormal behavior, because normal humans didn't do that.

Yet he was human…wasn't he? Yes, he was advanced. He knew that. He was superior to others. He was better. He was a gift. He'd been told this in mechanical voices many times. It was fact. But at the end of the day…the species he belonged to was human. He wasn't an alien. He wasn't a robot. By all technicalities, he was a human.

So why didn't he have any of these things?

Was it because he was different—better—superior?

Or had Hydra been hiding things from him? This thought rankled. He didn't like being kept in the dark. When he went on ops, he had full control and knew everything (or thought he did). But where really…had he come from? He'd never even considered this before and now that the thoughts were in his head, they wouldn't leave. It was like his mind was honey and they had gotten stuck like flies, drowning in the gooey mass inside. He couldn't stop wondering. Had he ever had a name? Why was he different from other people, besides the obvious reasons? Did it really matter? And how had Sophie noticed all this? How had she seen what he'd never even seen? And why did she care?

And what were these faint, ghostly memories—or memories of memories—that kept bothering him, brushing at the edges of his mind? He felt like his mind was fracturing, as if someone else's brain had been smashed into his skull alongside his own. This had never happened to him before. He'd never…seen things. Heard things. Felt things. Everything felt so foreign and strange—and yet oh-so-familiar, as if he'd lived two double lives. He wondered briefly if his mind was being affected by that human disorder, Dissociative Identity Disorder, but then decided against it just as quickly. No. He wasn't affected by illnesses, of the brain or the body. He wasn't like a normal person. He didn't get ill, did he? Diseases didn't take a hold of him.

So what was all this? All this wondering, all these questions, all these strange new images and emotions and confusion? He'd never felt so utterly unsettled before. So thrown out of his own element. So out of control. Any bit of control he may have had over the mission—or himself—or the girl—was slipping quickly out of his grasp. He couldn't control his own thoughts. He couldn't seem to control her, no matter how hard he tried. The harder he pushed, the more resilient and nonchalant she seemed to be becoming. It was infuriating. He couldn't even control the mission, because so many things kept going awry.

We'll be back soon.

He soothed himself with this thought. He'd take her back to Hydra. He would accept whatever punishment they meted out due to his late arrival and—

Wait.

Why… He felt a strange twinge of annoyance. Why should he expect to be punished when he'd done the best he could?

Not only expect but why would he accept that? That hardly seemed…fair. The word tasted strange in his mind: "fair." He'd never applied the concept to himself because he'd never thought about himself to ever consider if how he was treated was fair. He had never had any sense of self and therefore, in some ways, was the most selfless person in the world. But now…he felt there would be a slight injustice to punishing him, wouldn't there? He'd done the best he could, given ridiculous circumstances. He'd made it work.

But at least he'd be back on familiar ground. Receiving orders. Doing mission briefings. Having his health monitored. Injections. Heart rate monitors. Sleep monitors. Being led to a familiar chair, sat down, mouth guard in, and—

Something. He recalled this part the least. Even when he tried, it felt fuzzy.

All he knew was that he soon felt cold after and then faded to the darkness.

Until the next time he woke.

What did they do to him in that chair? For the first time in over seventy years, the Winter Soldier wondered.


A/N: So, darlings, you finally know what Sophie's skills are! What do you think of this chapter? Leave a review and spill your thoughts!