The door slid open, revealing the room before them. Agents moved from computer to computer, shouting out coordinates. Fury stood in the center of it, a cool figure in the raging fires of fervor that was consuming the Helicarrier.

"I'm just saying that out of all of us, the last person you should be mad at is Murakami," Blake snapped.

"And I'm saying you should get your fucking nose out of my business," the Dragon snarled in response. She turned so Rebecca had to stop moving and they were toe to toe in the middle of the walkway.

"I'm doing the psych checks. I'm doing everything you've asked of me. I don't understand why you keep fucking pushing me. What do you want me to say, Becks? I'm alive. Others aren't so lucky. Now lay off before I lay you out."

She pushed past the older agent and headed towards another familiar face. Coulson offered her a tight smile as she approached and nodded towards the tall blond standing next to him. If his size didn't give him away, the rigid line of his broad shoulders and the underlying panic he tried to mask on his face gave it away. The soldier they found in the ice.

"Dragon," Coulson announced. "Meet Captain Rogers."

Captain America looked at her with those blue eyes and the Dragon felt an uncomfortable tug in the back of her mind. She wanted to look anywhere but at him. Something about him drew her eyes to his. An electrifying blue.

"Ada?" The name escaped him quietly, but she heard it regardless thanks to the enhanced hearing she was graced with.

"Who the hell is Ada?" she scoffed.

"Sorry, you just...look like someone I knew," he stammered out. The normally unflappable soldier looked positively shaken but the Dragon couldn't blame him. She had her own fair share of demons and ghosts that haunted the corners of her mind.

"I get that sometimes," she drawled before turning her attention to the man beside him. "Phil."

"Jane," he greeted coolly.

"I hate it when you call me that."

"You hate it when I call you anything."

She smirked and headed for the computer with Christine Murakami's face plastered on it. Rebecca stood behind the agent who was scanning for her location, an unimpressed look on her face.

"I haven't talked to her since it happened," Dragon explained quietly.

"You mean you've been avoiding her messages."

"Pretty much."

"She missed you." Rebecca's dark eyes focused on the stoic woman beside her and the Dragon shrugged.

"Fury and I agreed that it would be the best decision. Don't get your hopes up. This is a one time thing."

"We can work something out. Talk to Charles again and-"

"Don't. It's too late."

Steve pulled his eyes away from his dead wife's doppelganger and focused on the passing clouds through the wall of windows. His head ached as he tried to piece together what the fuck just happened. He cleared his throat and glanced over at Coulson.

"Her file wasn't with the others," he finally said.

"It was. Jane Doe. Goes by the Dragon in the field. She'll be assisting you in retrieving Loki and the Tesseract."

"Jane Doe? No name or anything?"

"None. Most of her file is redacted so I'm afraid anything you didn't read in her file is classified."

Steve nodded, not satisfied with that answer one bit. He shoved it down. Compartmentalized it. He would get answers after they captured the Cube and he was free from it once and for all.

"Would you mind...signing my trading cards?" Coulson continued. "I mean, if it's not too much trouble."

"No, no. It's fine."

"It's a vintage set. It took me a couple of years to collect them all. Near mint. Slight foxing around the edges, but…"

"We got a hit," Agent Sitwell announced. "67% match. Wait, crossmatch. 79%."

The Dragon moved to stand behind him as Coulson joined her. Her brown eyes studied the screen and a slow smile curved at the edges of her lips.

"Location?" Coulson asked.

"Stuttgart, Germany," she replied. "28 Konigstrasse. He's not exactly hiding, is he? Shame. I love a good cat and mouse."

"Captain," Fury boomed. "Dragon. You're up."

It was almost eerie watching the two shift before your eyes. The Captain straightened up, his spine lengthening and chest expanding as he became the hero he was known to be. The Dragon, on the other hand, loosened up. Her shoulders dropped and her hands released their clenched hold, extending her fingers out. A spark in her eyes glittered and grew, giving the appearance that they had a golden glow.

"About time," she drawled.

The Dragon found herself in the old locker room. She hadn't been there in months. The room felt clinical and cold and she wanted to let out a humorless laugh. She could remember every detail of the last time she stood here.

"Ready?"

Natasha leaned against the wall behind her, sparking the Dragon into action. She unlocked the case and opened it to reveal her suit. She swiftly pulled off her jeans and t-shirt and yanked on the catsuit. It fit perfectly on her athletic figure as she zipped up the front.

"I kinda have to be, don't I?"

Natasha smirked and uncrossed her arms to help secure the two escrima sticks onto the Dragon's back. "You're a little rusty."

"You and I both know that isn't true."

"Muggings and assaults are at an all time low near your apartment."

She shrugged and grabbed her fingerless gloves out of the case. "NYPD must have finally stepped up their patrols. Good for them."

Natasha gathered the Dragon's hair at the base of her neck and tied an elastic around it to ensure not a hair fell out of the ponytail. The Dragon yanked on one of her gloves and flexed her fingers to adjust to the feel of them.

Rough. Calloused. Burning. Something was wrong. They needed to get out of here now. Something was seriously wrong.

"Dragon," Natasha said quietly. The Dragon shook her head to ward off her thoughts and then she picked up the second glove and slid it on.

"You're right. I'm just a little rusty," she lied. "We should get going. Don't want to keep Rogers waiting."

The Dragon exited the room and entered the hall, heading to the left towards the quinjet hold. Agents, analysts, and soldiers moved out of her way as she passed. Her jaw clenched as shame bubbled up in her chest.

They had every reason to fear her. It had been, after all, deemed her fault.

And she accepted their judgment. She, after all, lived with the guilt everyday.