The only improvement Zemo's plane had over the army jet was that the seats were far more comfortable. That only meant that my back and butt didn't hurt on this flight. The headache I was getting from the tension on the plane more than made up for that.

None of it was coming from Zemo. He had changed out of the prison guard uniform he had snuck out of jail in, after we had made a stop by a garage he owned so he could get a few things. When I said we were on Zemo's plane, I meant it. I found out he was actually a Baron, and he was loaded. That garage of his was full of very classic, very expensive cars, and would have made any hot rod enthusiast drool all over themselves. We were on his private jet, that even came with a butler, a cadaverous old man who didn't appear to speak English. Currently, Baron Zemo was reclining in the seat opposite me having a drink. No, I hadn't put him there. I didn't need to sit near him to do my assigned job, but I had sat down and Zemo took it upon himself to plant his ass as close to me as possible. God only knew why. I stared out the window and pretended to ignore him. He was relaxed and content-at least one person on this plane was—as he watched the rest of us.

Bucky and Sam, on the other hand, were primed to explode, especially Bucky.

"So, how long have you been an Avenger?" I heard Zemo ask in his heavy Sokovian accent, and I guessed the question was directed to me.

"I'm not," I answered, not taking my eyes off the window.

"My mistake," he responded. "How long have you been a superhero? I'm assuming you're working with the Avengers because you're a superhero in... where did you say you were from?"

"I didn't." I knew what he was trying to do. He was trying to fish for more information about me so he could figure out how to best play me. Little did he know that I was living with someone who'd been manipulating people when his great-great-grandfather was still in diapers. Zemo had nothing on Loki when it came to being a sneaky bastard.

"You are not much of a talker, are you?"

"Leave her alone, Zemo," Bucky warned. "Where are we headed? You said you knew where we could find answers."

I heard Zemo take a sip before answering. "Madripoor. I have a few connections there who might be able to provide more information, as well as some clues as to who is responsible for Steve Rogers' disappearance."

I knew Madripoor was a small island nation somewhere near Indonesia. It didn't exist on my Earth, but I had stumbled across material on it in the process of learning more about my new home. I also knew it wasn't a very nice place. They had a wee bit of a problem with high murder rates, human trafficking, illegal wildlife trade, cybercrime such as hacking and ransomware, and had more representation on the dark web than any other nation.

I made a mental note to purchase extra soap after we landed.

"So, you say Steve Rogers disappeared without a trace, and all you could find was his shield...the same shield being wielded by the new Captain America? Was Tracy here able to pick up a scent from that?"

"No, Tracy wasn't. The government swooped in and took it before Tracy could have a crack at it," I answered, trying not to let my irritation show. I hated it when people talked about me as if I weren't there. I wasn't too crazy about him saying my name either, and was wishing Sam had given Zemo the name Abriel instead, the name I had picked out of a book when I first arrived on this Earth and didn't trust anyone.

"Why did you not simply take it back?" Zemo asked.

"Considering the last time that shield was stolen, Sharon Carter became an enemy of the state and Steve and I ended up on the run for two years, that was not an option," Sam answered as though it should be obvious.

"Mmm...still better that things should end that way than where that shield is now," Zemo commented.

I actually agreed with him there. I didn't want to agree with him. Especially with what I was picking up from Bucky. But Bucky was agreeing with Zemo as well. One good thing could be said about John Walker: He was uniting us all.

"I made the liberty of making sure that we will all blend in with Madripoor's populace once we land," Zemo nodded at me and saluted me with his glass. "I hope you do not mind. I believe I made an accurate approximation of your measurements."

Ew, could he possibly be any creepier?

I sighed and settled in for the rest of the flight. Remembering some of the pictures from Madripoor I'd seen from various sources, I imagined that it was most likely some biker chick getup that would be easy to move around in. If Zemo had been observing me closely enough to guess my measurements (Ew) than he knew I would need something that wouldn't hinder me from kneeling down to smell things or moving in a fight. It would be fine.

"You have got to be shitting me," I exclaimed as I stared into the mirror an hour later.

The dress—and I used the term very loosely—was a shimmering metallic green that brought out my eyes. The fabric, what little there was, flowed along my curves like water. It just barely covered my ass, and it was a good thing I kept myself groomed because with no underwear I was quite sure that certain things no one would want to see would be sticking out from the bottom front of the garment. It was cut all the way to my navel, displaying so much cleavage that there was no wearing a bra with this thing either. It was held up by thin straps that hugged my shoulders, and I could not comprehend how I would get through this night without falling out of the thing at least once. It had no back, and I could see just a small hint of my butt crack above the ass of the skirt. I'd seen swimsuits that revealed less. Fuck, I didn't even show half this much skin when I dressed up for Loki when he took me out on date nights.

I squirmed and tried in vain to tug the skirt downwards in a futile attempt to cover myself up. Problem was, that made the neckline go down further and placed me in serious danger of a nip slip. To make matters worse, the shoes that came with the dress sported six-inch heels. I hated heels. I always came close to twisting an ankle on half-inch heels. Six inches? If I weren't immortal, I'd die of a broken neck.

The whole package had arrived while I was in the bathroom cleaning up, and Zemo had gotten the measurements right. Too right. I cringed as I studied myself. When I first arrived on this world, after my long captivity, I had been nothing but skin and bones. The others had in fact told me they thought I was dead until Tony's instruments had said otherwise because they had thought there was no way in hell someone who looked as I did could possibly be still alive. Time, training, and enhanced speedy healing had put some muscle back on my body, but I was not going to be winning any beauty contests anytime in the near future. I looked at my breasts that were displayed against my still-prominent ribs in this feminine version of the Borat mankini, and had to turn away.

Desperate, I began to open the drawers of the dresser. Ah, underwear. Sort of. I took the slip of fabric out of the plastic wrap it was in and held it up. A tiny triangle connected two ribbons, and then a long string at the apex ended in two more ribbons that I was guessing were meant to be tied to the aforementioned ribbons at the hips. This wasn't underwear. This was pussy floss. If I tried to kneel in this in order to catch a scent, I would cut myself in half.

There was no other type of undergarment in the dresser. I sighed and slipped the scrap on. It was better than nothing. I would still give someone a free show if I happened to slip and fall, very likely in those torture devices someone dared to label "shoes", but at least it would be a less explicit one. Since neither man was interested in me sexually, I hoped to hell the fall would happen in front of Bucky or Sam. On second thought, that might make it difficult to look either of them in the eye ever again.

There was a knock at the door, and I knew who it was. "Come in," I sighed, trying not to growl. I didn't want him to get an inkling that I was inviting him in so I could beat his ass.

Zemo opened the door and slipped in. He glanced at me up and down and nodded his approval. "Very good. Now, sit, and we shall do something with your hair and face."

What was I, a Barbie doll? "Is this your idea of a joke? I look like a stripper!"

"Only someone from the puritanical culture of America would say that about a dress that is the height of fashion and costs more than what most families live on in a year. You are a beautiful woman with a body that was meant to be shown off, not hidden under baggy clothing too big for your frame. Now sit." He walked to the vanity as he said it.

As far as I was concerned, that money was better off being given away to those families who could have used it. I sat at the vanity, fuming. Zemo opened a drawer and pulled out a bottle of nail polish in the same shade of green as my dress. I took the hint and opened it, then began to carefully apply it to my nails.

Zemo opened more drawers, taking out a brush, a curling iron, hair gel, and bobby pins. I braced myself for the panic attack I expected to come once he started fussing with my hair, but I felt nothing when he touched me. It was puzzling, but unsettling, and I gave my nails more focus so I wouldn't think too hard about why Zemo's touch didn't repulse me. I didn't know this man, wasn't close to him, and besides that he was scum. The things he did to Bucky, and the way he set the others against one another...being around him should have been making me sick, let alone him laying even one finger on me. I really did not want to investigate the reason why that wasn't the case too closely.

We worked in silence for a few minutes, as I painted my nails and managed not to mess the job up while feeling Zemo tug at my hair with the brush and iron. "I used to help my wife with her hair," he murmured quietly, and I felt the swell of love combined with grief. Ah, shit.

"Were you her makeup artist too?" My nails were still wet so I was using magic telekinesis to open drawers, and discovered makeup in the exact shades my skin needed. The man was nothing if not thorough.

Zemo paused as he watched the drawers open and the makeup float out, then studied the streaks of brilliant white-silver light swirling about my fingers. "Are you a witch? A super-strong witch with a wolf's sense of smell?"

I decided to be nice rather than laugh at his guess, especially since he was holding a hot iron close to my scalp. "Close, but no."

I saw his head tilt in the mirror. "What are you?"

I shrugged the question off. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me."

I let a bark of laughter escape. "And give you something to use against me later? No, thanks."

He shook his head and went back to work on my hair, putting it in a curly updo that actually didn't look half bad. It showed off my slender neck and made my face look sharper. Problem was that I no longer had my hair to help hide some of the flesh bared by the pitiful excuse for a dress I was wearing. I also had enough bobby pins on my head to set off a metal detector. I hoped the amulet Loki made for me would shield me from that.

"I have not been able to find anything on you in the press," Zemo stated out of nowhere as he made the finishing touches on my hair.

"Gee, I'm sorry," I didn't bother hiding the sarcasm.

"I found a few documents, obviously forged, and very recently as well. It has me curious as to who you really are. You say you are a superhero?"

"I never said that. You assumed I was." Those documents he found must have been the ones that Tony and Rhodey made in order to establish some identity for me on this Earth.

He nodded once in acquiesce. "Touche." He helped me turn my chair around and studied my face. "No foundation necessary, I think. Your skin...so perfect. Not even a single visible pore. Absolutely flawless. You are not human at all, are you?"

I stared at him in silence as his fingers touched my cheek, then the brush as he began to apply the eyeshadow. "No past. You are an unknown to the general public. You possess these abilities. What are you and how long have you been on my world?"

"The answer to both is none of your business," I snarled, and Loki's amulet, which was resting in the valley between my breasts, turned warm. It was an effort not to scowl down at it.

"You are living on my world, and your powers make you a threat. It is very much my business," Zemo retorted while he picked up the eyeliner. "I have lost my family and my home thanks to the actions of enhanced individuals. Tell me, have you experienced such a loss?"

My family, my friends, my home, my sanity, my humanity. If he wanted to engage in a pissing contest over who experienced greater loss, and I was inclined to oblige, I would easily win. But those never panned out well. My loss was not anymore tragic than his. "Again, none of your business."

He pulled away, took my chin in his hand, and stared into my eyes. The amulet grew hotter. "Liar. I see pain in your eyes." He tilted his head. "That is good. It means there is hope that you will not grow to be an arrogant god such as the rest of the Avengers."

"Watch it," I whispered. "Those are my friends you're talking about."

"Even so," he let me go and walked to the door. "Come. We must leave shortly. Finish getting ready with the jar I left on top of the vanity.

I stood up and glanced in the mirror. My eyes were now rimmed with enough Kohl to fill a coloring book. I picked up the jar Zemo had put out for me. Body glitter. Great. It wasn't enough to make it nearly impossible for me to walk, let's make me sparkle like Edward Cullen as well.

I dusted as little as I could get away with on the skin not covered by the dress, which meant about ninety percent of my body, then I plucked the amulet up and gazed at it in suspicion. "Stealth amulet, my ass," I muttered at it as I slid my feet into the shoes and made my careful way out of my room and to the sitting room of the suite.

There were raised eyebrows from Bucky and Sam, but neither said anything about how dolled up I was, for which I was thankful. I was uncomfortable enough as it was, but I quickly realized the method behind Zemo's madness when we arrived at the club. No one was looking at the three men. There were some admiring glances at Sam, mostly due to the suit he was wearing (which Sam complained made him look like a pimp—at least he was covered up) and several people halted in their tracks to look at Bucky after realizing who he was, but for the most part I was the center of attention, which didn't help my comfort level at all. I was getting stares from both men and women, and as I sat at the bar a few feet away from the guys with my fingers fiddling with Loki's amulet, which was warm again in response to my nerves, the free drinks kept stacking up in front of me. A White Russian, a martini, a gin and tonic, Scotch on the Rocks, sex on the beach (subtle), a margarita with extra salt (did I give off the impression that I preferred extra salt?), a Bloody Mary, and a few others. I didn't touch any of them and asked for a glass of wine when Zemo bought our group drinks. Loki and I often shared a bottle of wine in the evenings and the smell and taste calmed me a little more.

I needed it, because with so many people in such an enclosed space, I had absolutely no way to screen out all the emotions and I was getting overwhelmed. A lot of the ones that were directed towards me were just plain vile and I was feeling dirty. No one had touched me but I was still being violated. I had wanted independence, had wanted to stand on my own feet, but at that moment I really wished Loki was there. I just prayed none of the would-be Romeos and Juliets would try to approach me. I really didn't know what I would do if someone did.

There was a soft nudge on my arm by an elbow. "Hey...you okay?" Sam asked in a low murmur.

No. "I'm fine." I was drowning. I wanted out of here in the worst way. The emotions, and the sounds, and the smells...I was starting to regret the wine. My stomach was boiling and I had to swallow down my gorge. I tried not to let my distress show. The guys needed to focus on their parts, not worry about me.

Sam grabbed the White Russian, undoubtedly to wash the taste of the snake testicles he was just forced to swallow down out of his mouth, and placed a hand on my bare back as he leaned in closer. I felt waves of disappointment and no small amount of fear from the people who'd been staring at me, which meant that his disguise was working and everyone thought he was the Grinning Lion or whatever the hell that guy's name was. I didn't care, the fact that he was clearly someone one didn't want to piss off was working in my favor and giving me some breathing room. The feminist in me hated that it took a man rather than me blatantly ignoring the free drinks and the winks in order to get the peanut gallery to back off, but the empath wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Someone was giving Zemo shit about him being here, and Zemo said something to Bucky in Russian. I understood the words "Winter Soldier" and winced. I was no longer the star of the show as the whole bar watched Bucky beat the crap out of the guy who'd been trying to kick Zemo out. Once that was done, another person came up to Zemo and told him that "she will see you now".

I looked at Bucky in concern. That whole scene had put him back in a bad place, and I could have happily gutted Zemo with a broken glass at that very moment. Bucky tried to shrug off Sam's concern, and once again avoid eye contact with me, but he knew that both of us were aware he wasn't okay. The only good that came out of that was getting out of the main bar area and away from the smells of sweat, sex, alcohol, and other assorted chemicals that were doing wonders for my sinuses.

We were escorted to a private lounge that could have competed with mine and Loki's penthouse for sheer decadence and ostentatiousness (at least, it was before I informed Loki that if he didn't get rid of certain things, he could forget about me living with him). The relief of being away from all of those people was so great that I was barely able to hide the shakes as I sank onto a sofa a guard showed me to. I wasn't so relieved that I didn't pull away when Zemo tried to place a comforting hand on my shoulder. Nope, I'm mad at you. Fuck off.

"It is a pleasure to see you again, Selby," Zemo said to the white-haired woman in the pantsuit sitting on the sofa across from me as he sat down beside me. I was really starting to resent being reduced to the role of arm-candy, especially when it became clear that Zemo dolled me up in order to attempt to sweeten Selby's disposition.

"Don't lie, Zemo," the woman scoffed, swallowing the bit of drink she had just downed. "Why are you here?"

While Zemo laid out the whole story of Steve being missing and what our purpose here was, I paid attention to the emotional undercurrents. Selby was curious but guarded. She definitely knew something. Zemo had suspicions he wanted confirmed. Sam and Bucky were still wondering what the hell we were doing here.

"I have heard rumors," Selby was saying. "There has been a call going out for volunteers, and several individuals have lined up so far to be test subjects for a new variation on an old serum." She swirled her drink in her glass. "I may be able to trace the source of those rumors."

She already knew. The woman was stalling.

Fortunately, Zemo already knew. "What would it take for you to just tell us, Selby? Guaranteed protection from the Power Broker?"

The what?

Selby began to open her mouth to respond, but I didn't hear what came out. Instead, another sound caught my attention, a very distinctive one. Then I smelled gunfire.

"Get down!" I shouted. Then everything went to Hell.