May 5th, 1995; U.S. Embassy, Bogotá, Colombia…
Ellen strolled through the halls of the embassy, dressed in jeans and a Power Rangers t shirt. She'd tied her long blonde hair into a ponytail, and had borrowed some of her mother's lip gloss that morning. Her family had been living in Colombia for almost a year and a half, and she'd become familiar with the embassy building. Moving here meant changing schools, again, but she didn't mind. It wasn't like she had any friends back in Japan.
She'd had a growth spurt, but was still short for a thirteen year-old. Ellen measured a full foot shorter than her father. Most days her small size bothered her, but during those foul moods she tried to think of Samwise Gamgee. She always kept her copy of Return of the King in her backpack. Samwise was small, and while he wasn't a great warrior he'd been the key to saving the world through courage and determination. Ellen smiled at the thought. If a Hobbit gardener could save Middle-Earth, then she could avoid letting her height make her depressed.
"It's busy here today," she said, noting the increased number of people walking around.
"It does seem that way," Gregory, her bodyguard, replied as he followed. Her father hired him to look after her ever since they came to Colombia.
Ellen argued with him for weeks over having a glorified babysitter, but he shot down all her complaints. Gregory wasn't all that bad, but he followed her EVERYWHERE. At home, he was always nearby. At school, he waited in the car all day. One time, when she tried to sneak out during lunch hour, he somehow stood waiting for her behind the building. He'd told her father, who grounded her for two days.
They stepped into an elevator, and Gregory pressed the button for the second floor. "Have you been practising those moves I showed you?" he asked.
She smiled and nodded. That was one thing she really liked about him. He'd noticed her interest in Taekwondo and martial arts, and offered to teach her some self-defence techniques. Ellen jumped at the chance, and over the last few months she'd actually started liking Gregory. He almost seemed like a real person now, instead of an annoying robot. "Yeah! I've been mostly doing it in my room. I think mom would tell me to stop if I did it in the living room."
He snorted. "Just remember: those moves are only meant to be used to defend yourself, not to attack your classmates. And if you are in a bad situation, remember to go for the vulnerable parts. Eyes, face, and especially the groin. Most guys tend to go down when they're hit below the belt."
Ellen wrinkled her nose, then laughed as they stepped off the elevator. "I wish I could kick someone in the face like they did in Karate Kid." She tried to replicate the kick Daniel did in the movie, but only succeeded in stumbling. Gregory grabbed her arms to steady her.
"Maybe wait for that until you're a black belt in karate," he suggested. "Or a stuntwoman."
"That would be so cool!"
They finally reached her father's office and stepped inside. It was spacious, with a nice wooden desk in front of a large window that gave a beautiful view of Bogotá and the surrounding mountains in the distance. A number of chairs and a couch were set off to the side, and the carpet looked pristine. Her father sat at his desk, reviewing a stack of papers. Seeing her, he smiled. "There she is. Hey, sweetheart."
"Hey, dad!" she greeted, sitting in one of the chairs across from him.
"How was school?" he asked, opening a file folder.
Ellen shrugged. "Good."
He looked up from the rim of his glasses, brow raised. "That's it? Just 'good'? Maybe I should call your teachers and have them assign you extra work, since it's obviously so boring."
Her eyes widened as she clutched the armrests of her chair. "Please don't!"
He chuckled. "There had to have been something interesting."
She thought back to her lessons, trying to remember something interesting. "Well, biology was fun. We were learning about snakes. They're really gross, but also kind of cool. Did you know they shed their skin?" He nodded. "And history was interesting. Our teacher told us a lot about Captain America, and showed us a few old videos of him fighting the Nazis. He actually punched this one guy so hard he flew across the room!"
"That is cool," he said. "Your Grandpa Joe fought in World War II."
"I know. You told me."
"But have I ever told you he met Captain America? Shook his hand and spoke to him."
Ellen straightened in her chair. "Wow. Really?"
He nodded. "Right hand to God."
"You have to tell me that story when we go to dinner!"
His smile faltered. "Yeah, about that." Taking off his glasses, he said, "I'm sorry, Ellen, but an important meeting's come up that I have to attend. We'll have to eat out another time."
Her shoulders slumped as her excitement vanished. "But dad, you promised!"
"I know, honey. I'm really sorry."
"You've been busy all week! Is mom going to be home soon?"
"No, she's still in Providence helping your Aunt with the baby. I don't know if you know this, but newborns are quite a handful."
Ellen huffed. "So I'm just going to eat by myself at home with Gregory? That sucks, dad!" Realizing her bodyguard was still in the room, she turned and said, "Sorry, Gregory. That was mean."
He didn't look angry. "It's alright, Ms. Pierce."
Sinking into her chair, she crossed her arms and stared at the floor. She'd been looking forward to this for a week. Her father's job often meant long hours and not coming home until late into the evening. His work for the State Department was important, but it didn't suck any less to hardly see him.
He looked at her for a few moments, then said, "Okay, how about this? I'll see if I can get out of this meeting a little early, and we can go for dinner then. And in the meantime, Gregory can keep an eye on you here. How does that sound?"
Ellen thought about it. It felt easier to continue pouting, since she hated broken promises, but at the same time he was offering a compromise. Her mother once told her, "A compromise means everyone gets a little of what they want, rather than one person getting nothing." Better to eat later with him than eat by herself in her room.
"That sounds good."
"Perfect." Checking his watch, he added, "Now, I have to get going. I'll be back as soon as I can. Promise not to cause any trouble?"
"No."
He laughed, grabbed the stack of papers he'd been reviewing, then walked out of the office. A moment later, Gregory said, "I'll be right outside if you need anything."
"Okay," she said, watching him close the door behind him.
For the next hour, Ellen waited in the office. At first she sat in the chair, staring at the pattern in the rug and gazing out the window. When that became too dull, she moved over to the couch and stared at the ceiling. Unfortunately, there was a clock on the wall that could be seen from any point in the office. That meant Ellen almost watched the seconds tick by. For an hour. It felt more like six. She spent some time debating in her head what was worse: this, or math class. After fifteen minutes, math class was the clear choice.
Getting off the couch, Ellen sat in her father's chair. The computer had been turned off, and for a brief second her fingers hovered over the keyboard. But she changed her mind, since it was a government computer. She'd only seen her father get mad –really mad— a handful of times in her life, and she had no interest in provoking him by using his things.
A number of framed photographs occupied the opposite corner of the desk from the computer. One showed him shaking hands with Ronald Reagan, which Ellen thought was pretty cool. Another showed her mother, smiling against the backdrop of a gorgeous New York sunrise. She looked beautiful, and Ellen guessed it had been taken not long after they were married. A third photograph showed all three of them standing together. Ellen had only been six at the time, and her little self stood beaming in an adorable pink dress. She smiled, picking up the photograph. Despite her father's long hours, and her mother's frequent trips involved with her grandfather's investment firm, they were the best parents any kid could ever ask for. It was–
Ellen heard several loud pops from somewhere in the building.
She flinched in surprise, wondering what could make a noise that loud. Putting the photograph back in place, she stood up and listened. A few more pops, and then several more a few seconds later. They seemed to be getting louder and louder. Ellen's heart began to pound like a drum in her chest as a woman screamed. She clutched the bottom of her shirt, muscles tense.
The door flew open as Gregory stepped inside. His usual stony expression or wry grin were gone, replaced by a look so serious it made Ellen's stomach flip. He had a gun in one hand. "We have to go, now!"
"What is it? What's wrong?" she asked, trying to avoid freaking out.
"Intruders have stormed the building. I'm guessing ELN rebels looking to make a statement."
"What about my dad? We can't leave without him!"
He patted the air in a calming gesture. "I just heard over the radio that security managed to get him out. Now come on, we have to go. Go!"
"O-Okay," she managed, jaw quivering. The situation reminded her of scenes from various action movies or television shows she'd watched growing up. Except this wasn't happening on a screen. This was real. Taking a shuddering breath, she moved around the desk and started walking towards the open door.
Gregory stepped outside, turning to look down the hall. "Now, stay close and keep—" His head jerked back in sync with a deafening BANG. The back of his head seemed to burst open, like the time Ellen saw an elephant at the zoo crush a watermelon with its foot, spraying bright red blood and bits of brain onto the door.
Ellen screamed, stumbling back as Gregory slumped onto the floor. It happened so fast she questioned if it really happened. But no matter how many times she blinked, he still bled onto the floor with a hole in between his eyes. A man stepped over Gregory's body, dressed in some sort of military camouflage uniform with a red bandana covering the lower half of his face. He wore a red and black armband emblazoned with the letters ELN, and held a rifle in both hands. The man looked down at Gregory for a moment, then saw her. Ellen turned and ran for the window, her only instinct to get away from this place. In the back of her mind she knew it was useless, since they were on the second floor, but she wasn't being rational. She only wanted to escape.
Before she even reached the window, a large hand gripped her by the shoulder so tight she grimaced and threw her back. Ellen hit the floor so hard it knocked her on the back of the head, and she grunted. The strange man pointed his rifle at her face, brow furrowed by confusion and anger. "¡Tú! ¿Dónde está Alexander Pierce?" ["You! Where is Alexander Pierce?"] When she didn't answer right away, he pressed the barrel of his rifle against her forehead. "¿Dónde está Alexander Pierce?" ["Where is Alexander Pierce?"] he shouted.
Ellen closed her eyes, sobbing. "El no esta aqui," ["He isn't here,"] she replied, having learned a little Spanish since moving to Colombia.
"¿Quién eres tú? ¡Dimelo ahora!" ["Who are you? Tell me now!"]
"Mi nombre es Ellen Pierce. Alexander es mi padre." ["My name is Ellen Pierce. Alexander is my father."]
The man's expression changed from angry to…excited? Lowering his rifle, he grabbed her by the arm and yanked her to her feet. Ellen remembered the self-defence techniques Gregory had shown her, and his words in the elevator. "…remember to go for the vulnerable parts. Eyes, face, and especially the groin. Most guys tend to go down when they're hit below the belt." She glared at the man who just murdered her bodyguard, who held a gun to her face.
"Cowabunga," she growled. He cocked his head, confused, and she took advantage of his distraction. She lunged for his eyes with her free hand, scratching at them with her long nails. The man grunted, squeezing his eyes shut in response. Ellen then yelled and drove her knee into his groin with all the force she could muster. To her satisfaction, the man squealed in agony, releasing his grip on her arm. She turned to run, but he managed to grab her by the wrist and stop her. He pulled her close, and she spat in his face. Dropping his rifle, he used his other hand to slap her hard across the face. Ellen whimpered, her vision flashing from the blow.
"¡Ven aquí, pequeña perra!" ["Come here, you little bitch!"] he hissed, grabbing a handful of her blonde hair and pulling it back. She grunted, closing her eyes as he held his face right next to hers. His hot breath tickled her skin, mixed with the stench of sweat and residual gunpowder. "Inténtalo de nuevo y te mataré." ["Try that again and I will kill you."]
He picked up his rifle and shoved her out the door. She tripped on Gregory's body, stumbling out into the hall. The man shoved her again, gesturing with his rifle. This time, Ellen didn't try resisting. He was probably two or three times older than her, and more than twice her size. A soldier and a killer.
And what was she? A scared little girl.
The man guided her through the embassy, barely saying a word. Along the way, they passed more bodies of the building's security. Ellen gasped every time she saw one, wanting to puke at the sight of blood. The worst part of them was their eyes; they all stared into nothingness, shocked at how abrupt their lives had ended. All of them had families and dreams and lives, all cut short in an instant.
Ellen would never forget the eyes of the dead that day.
Her captor brought her to an open doorway. A few other people were forced inside at gunpoint, adults who probably worked at the embassy. She and the others were ushered down a long flight of stairs that led to the building's basement. They were gathered by the far wall and told to sit down. After waving their guns around, the rebels walked back up the stairs and locked the door behind them.
There were fourteen people with Ellen. As far as she could tell, they were all important State Department employees. She was the only kid in the room.
"Are you alright, sweety?" an old lady with glasses and grey hair tied into a bun asked.
Ellen sat, shivering, unable to forget the gruesome sights of the last few minutes. She saw Gregory's head jerk back from the gunshot over and over and over again, each time helpless to stop it. Eventually, it all became too much as her stomach flipped and twisted into knots. Scurrying away from the group, she vomited into a nearby mop bucket. Everything she ate that day seemed to come up all at once, and her eyes squeezed out tears. Wiping her mouth with her shirt sleeve, she pushed the bucket away and curled up against the wall. Her throat burned and her chest ached. She gently touched her cheek, which throbbed from the man's slap, and winced.
"Do you think someone's coming to rescue us?" a bald man asked.
"Of course they are," a brunette woman replied. "They can't just let a bunch of violent revolutionaries occupy our embassy. We just need to wait and they'll send in the cavalry."
Another man, pale-skinned with a bright red tie, scoffed as he tugged at his shirt collar. "Or they just might walk in here and shoot us just for kicks. It's not like we're talking about stable people that listen to reason. Did you see how casual they were gunning down the security? Just 'pop, pop, pop!'. They'd probably slice our throats just to take their time and—"
"Mark, will you shut the hell up?" the old lady hissed. He opened his mouth to say something else, but closed it when she and the others glared at him.
Ellen stared at the floor, sniffling as she tried to keep the tears at bay. It didn't work, and they ran down her cheeks to dampen the collar of her t shirt. The man, Mark, was right. They were all going to die. The rebels would walk down those stairs and shoot them one by one. Just like Gregory. She imagined each of their heads jerking back from the gunshot, spraying blood. Ellen's hands started shaking so bad she stuffed them into her armpits.
The old lady shuffled over next to her, looking concerned. "What's your name, sweety?"
"I'm, uh…E-Ellen."
"It's nice to meet you, Ellen. I'm Doris. Do you know someone who works in the building? Is that why you're here."
Wiping her eyes with her shirt sleeve, Ellen replied, "My dad. His name is Alexander Pierce."
Doris nodded. "I know him. He's a wonderful man; I'm sure you're very proud."
She managed a half-smile. "Yeah."
"And I'm sure he's proud to have such a strong, beautiful daughter like you. He's probably doing everything he can to make certain you'll come home." Ellen, realizing how exhausted and drained she was, leaned her head against Doris' shoulder and sobbed.
They were all trapped in the basement for hours. Hanging over them like a storm cloud was the terrible anticipation; they didn't know when the ELN would come down to kill them, or even if they intended to kill everyone or not. The silence and lack of answers made the whole thing worse. Not one of the rebels came to see them since putting them in the basement.
Every time she heard a creak or a noise near the door at the top of the stairs, Ellen flinched. She expected one of the rebels to throw it open and just start shooting. The entire time, she felt like a piece of string being pulled at both ends; not enough to break, but also hard enough to not relax. The constant tension wore her down, and she bounced her knees as she sat. Every muscle felt energized, and her mind traveled 1,000 miles a minute.
Just when Ellen felt like she would snap from the pressure, she thought she heard something behind a wall. A tapping sound, or crackling. Voices? Ellen groaned, thinking she'd gone insane, when one of the others sat up and asked, "What is that?" Everyone perked up, looking around for the source of the noise.
Something smashed into the wall, shattering a head-sized hole out of the concrete.
Ellen yelped, scurrying across the floor as the others either shot to their feet or covered their faces. Whatever it was smashed into the wall again and again, widening the hole. As the last of the crushed pebbles and chips clattered, eight people filed in wearing all black tactical gear, helmets with cameras on the sides, and rifles in their hands. These weren't rebels, Ellen realized. They all had American flag patches on one shoulder, and stylized eagle patches on the other one. She'd seen that logo before, but in her terrified state she couldn't remember where or when.
The soldiers spread out through the basement, checking corners and every available space. "Clear!" one of them announced, careful to keep his voice low. He and another aimed their rifles at the door at the top of the stairs.
One of the soldiers lowered their rifle, and Ellen saw that they were a woman. She was pretty, and looked to be in her thirties. "It's alright, everyone. We're with the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. We were sent in to get you out."
"Oh, thank God!" the brunette woman said.
"Come on, let's get moving," the soldier woman said, motioning towards the hole in the wall. The others all stood and began walking. Despite her relief at the rescue, Ellen found she couldn't move. Her muscles would not respond to her brain. She gave a soft whimper, grinding her teeth together. The soldier woman crouched beside her and touched her shoulder. "Hi, you must be Ellen."
Ellen nodded slowly.
"My name's Melinda. Deputy Director Fury sent me to make sure you were okay. Here, let me give you a hand; I'll take you outside so you can see your dad." Melinda slung her rifle over her shoulder, then gently took Ellen by the shoulders and helped her stand. They moved through the hole, and the other soldiers followed while still keeping their weapons aimed into the basement. The next few minutes were a blur for Ellen as they all hurried through maintenance tunnels and sewers. The smell was horrendous, but after hours spent sweaty and terrified next to a bucket full of her own vomit, she wasn't about to complain.
Eventually, Melinda and the soldiers took them to a ladder which led up to a manhole cover. One of the soldiers climbed first, sliding the cover aside and then waiting outside to help as the other hostages climbed to freedom. Ellen went third, gripping the ladder rungs so tight her knuckles ached; she feared slipping and being trapped underground forever.
The sunlight almost blinded her, and she winced as the soldier helped her climb onto the street. Blinking, she became aware of the chaos and mass activity. They stood on the street just outside the embassy. Barriers had been erected, and a swarm of police and army vehicles surrounded the building. Flashing lights and overlapping voices bombarded Ellen's senses, but she managed recognize one of them.
"You've done it this time, Nick," her father said from nearby. "You've really done it this time. I should nail your ass to a cross for this!" Ellen looked this way and that, trying to find him among the teams of soldiers and people in suits.
"What I did was necessary," Mr. Fury replied. They were somewhere behind one of the army jeeps. "Those ELN fanatics aren't going to bother negotiating, and a decision needed to be made."
"And that decision may just have cost fifteen lives," he bit back. She'd never heard him this angry before. "Including my daughter, Nick! My little girl! I was going to talk with these people, get them to see reason, until you decided to play cowboy hero. If you get Ellen killed, I swear to Christ Almighty I will burn you—"
Moving around the jeep, she saw him standing in front of Mr. Fury, jamming a finger into his chest. "Dad!"
He whirled around, mouth falling open when he saw her. "Ellen?"
With tears in her eyes, she ran over to him and threw her arms around him. He held her tight, cradling her head against his shoulder. "I was so scared!" she croaked, crying onto his suit jacket. Relief and terror inter-mingled inside her. Deep down, she feared this was all a dream, that she was still in that basement waiting to die.
"I know, sweetheart, it's okay. You're safe now."
Mr. Fury clicked something, maybe a radio, and said, "The hostages are clear. I repeat: the hostages are clear. We are go for breach. Clear out the building."
As Ellen shuddered in her father's arms, feeling safe for the first time since the nightmare started, she heard the embassy doors smashed open and the distant pops of gunfire. Opening her eyes, she spotted Melinda, the woman who'd saved her life. The woman spoke with two members of her team, gesturing with her hands. Ellen regarded her with awe, remembering how she'd emerged like a guardian angel to save their lives.
She never wanted to be scared and weak, like she had been inside. All she could imagine was being strong and brave as Melinda had been.
And here we have the incident Pierce tells Captain America about in CA:TWS. It'll be the catalyst of a great change, for Pierce and for Ellen.
Please let me know if there's errors in my translations.
Hope you enjoy!