Author's note: Thanks to birdy, jerseydanielgibson, FigurativelyDying, W. Blackbird, girliemom and the Guests who left reviews! I appreciate the feedback.

December 15, 1991

Natty strolled out of the women's bathroom at Heathrow Airport, pulling her suitcase behind her and trying to look natural, although she felt anything but that. She had been in airports before, but always with her parents or her grandparents there to navigate, and it took her a minute of nervously scanning the area for signs before she finally managed to figure out which way to walk to get to the gate she needed. She felt awkward and self-conscious, both because she was alone and also because she was overdressed and wearing too much makeup — Aunt Peggy had done it artfully, and Natty understood that it needed to be done to Tony Stark's tastes and not her own — but it left her feeling strangely exposed.

It didn't help that the airport was bustling, with so many people streaming through the concourses that their voices drowned out the bank of TVs they were walking past, half of which were showing BBC newscasters, and half of which were broadcasting footage of President Bush adjusting his glasses at a podium as he prepared to speak at a press conference.

Still, it was kind of exciting, being here on her own, and having an important job to do. This was exactly the kind of thing her namesake would have done. Not that Natasha Romanoff had done anything like this yet. She was 7 years old this year, and her training in the Red Room had only just begun. But thinking of her made it easier to brace up, and Natty squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. She had a name to uphold, and even if this was her first mission, she was going to make it count.

Natty threaded her way between a group of Japanese tourists and a boisterous family reunion with plenty of joyful exclaiming in heavy British accents, a sound that instantly made her homesick for Great-Grandma Amanda and Great-Grandpa Harrison. But there would be no time to see them on this trip, even though they were only a car ride away. She was sorry to miss the chance.

Finally, she reached the correct gate. Natty parked her suitcase and hung back at the edges of the cheap plastic seats surrounding the gate, trying to watch for her target without looking like she was watching for her target… and after 20 minutes of waiting, she spotted him.

Natty tilted her head curiously as he came toward her through the crowd. Tony Stark didn't look at all how she had been imagining him, the way Grandpa's comics had trained her to think of him. Not only did he look significantly younger — only a few years older than her, really, and completely clean-shaven, which emphasized his youth even more — but he also wasn't even dressed like a rich person. He was wearing, of all things, a white T-shirt with a Mr. Softee ice cream logo plastered across the front, with cargo pants and a pair of well-used sneakers, and nothing about him made him stand out from any of the other students rushing through the airport to get home for Christmas, unless it was the Santa hat he was wearing at an ironically rakish angle. He was walking with a purposeful gait, talking a mile a minute into a cell phone while he pulled his suitcase behind him. It looked like he was alone.

There was no time to waste. Natty reached down and unzipped her suitcase most of the way, and then took off at a fast clip, holding the flap shut with one hand. Tony was walking fast, but she could walk faster and her full suitcase didn't slow her down in the slightest. Within seconds she came up from behind and to the side of him and deliberately collided with him, letting go of her suitcase lid as she did.

Tony staggered to the side from the impact, and nearly tripped over his own suitcase. Natty's suitcase, meanwhile, hit the ground corner-first and popped open, clothes and toiletries spilling out onto the shiny floor with a clatter.

"Oh, wow, I'm sorry," Tony said distractedly, barely glancing at her as he recovered his balance. He jammed the phone awkwardly between his shoulder and his jaw, and stooped to scoop up some of the strewn items and throw them back in her suitcase lying open on the ground. "Hey, Jen?" he said into his phone. "Hang on just a sec. Hang on. I just had a spectacular collision. See, this is what I get for walking and talking at the same time."

Natty knelt down to help him repack her suitcase, forcing herself to move slowly as she was suddenly struck by a case of the jitters. What if she couldn't catch his attention? What if he completely ignored her and just went on his way? How would she explain to her family if she failed at this simple job? What if...

Tony glanced up at her, hands full of her folded socks, and then did a double-take. He knelt there on the hard floor staring at her for a long moment, even though they were both dangerously close to being trampled by people hurrying past with their own suitcases, and Natty found herself staring back just as openly. He had big, dark eyes, and she was close enough that she could smell his cologne, which was actually pretty nice, and for one bizarre moment her heart leaped in her chest and her brain seemed to short-circuit. All the various clever things she had considered saying flew right out the window, and she could only stare back at Tony, feeling foolishly like a deer in the headlights.

Tony spoke into the phone quickly, still locking eyes with Natty. "Hey, Jen? I gotta go. I'll call you back." He pushed the antenna back in, folded the phone and jammed it into his pants pocket, and then gave Natty a flash of a smile. "I'm so sorry," he said again, but this time his air of distraction had vanished as quickly as mist in the morning sunshine. "Uh... um, tôi xin lôi." He did his best, but his pronunciation was atrocious.

To Natty's relief, she managed to find her voice. "Actually, my English is better than my Vietnamese," she told him.

His eyebrows went up. "You're American?"

"Mmm-hmm. On my way home now."

Tony's eyes swept over her one more time. "Whereabouts is home?" he asked.

She had to bite her tongue to stop herself from saying Bethesda. "Brooklyn. I'm flying into JFK."

"JFK? Get right out of town," Tony said lightly. "That's where I'm going."

"Oh!" Natty said. "Maybe we're on the same flight."

"I don't think so," Tony said. "Not unless you own the same private luxury jet that I do."

Natty laughed. "Ha, ha, very funny."

Tony's lips curled up in a mischievous smile, but he didn't press the point. "I'm Tony, by the way," he said.

She smiled at him. "Hi, Tony. I'm Candice."

A big group of tourists surged around them like water flowing around a rock, several of them giving the two of them an odd look as they went past.

"You know what, Candice? Maybe we should get out of the road," Tony said. He grabbed the last few of her items still on the floor, and Natty quickly zipped her suitcase back up and dragged it out of the way. Tony joined her, and they found an unoccupied row of chairs to sit in while Natty shoved the rest of her belongings back into her suitcase.

Tony held up her pink slippers questioningly. "Dancer?"

"Yeah."

"What kind? Modern dancer? Belly dancer? Exotic dancer?"

She took the shoes from him and tucked them back in her suitcase, more carefully than she had handled the other items. "Ballet dancer. There's an incurable streak of old-fashionedness that runs in my family."

"I don't believe you," Tony said.

She frowned. "You don't believe that we're old-fashioned?"

"No, I don't believe that you're a dancer."

She stared at him. "Excuse me?"

"You're just saying that because you know how much I love the ballet. It's some kind of conspiracy. I'll bet you couldn't even show me a… uh, a... plié?" His tone went questioning. "Plié? Is that what it's called?"

She shook her head, making a slight face at his obvious ignorance. "A plié is really easy," she informed him. "It's one of the first things a dancer learns."

"Prove it," he said, sitting back in the plastic airport chair casually. He propped one sneakered foot up on his other knee and gestured to her meaningfully. "Go on. Let's see it."

Natty pursed her lips, and then shrugged and took off her shoes, pulled her slippers back out of her suitcase and began to lace them up over her leggings. Tony watched her do it with a faint smile playing at the corners of her lips.

She stood up and turned to face him, lifting her arms gracefully into the starting pose of the routine she knew best. Then she went up onto her toes and began the opening sequence. She had no music to dance to, of course, but she didn't need it; she could hear the music in her head, and the noise of the airport faded into the background as she focused up and poured her heart and soul into the moment, as she always did.

Tony watched her dance with a broad smile slowly spreading across his face, but when she had finished the sequence and held the pose, looking at him expectantly, he affected an air of indifference.

"I've seen worse," he said.

"I think this is the part where you admit you were wrong," Natty said with uplifted eyebrow as she put her arms down.

"You make a pretty passable ballerina," Tony admitted. "You don't have to stop, by the way. I bet there's more where that came from."

"Everyone's staring," she said, and in fact there were more than a few people sitting around them waiting for their flights, who were pointing and looking with smiles on their faces. Feeling a little embarrassed, she sat back down beside him and began to unlace her slippers.

"So what was that?" Tony asked. "The dying swan? The sugar plum fairy?"

Natty shook her head. "No, I choreographed that myself. It's called The Time-Traveler's Wife."

Tony suddenly laughed.

"What?" she demanded, pausing with her hands full of ribbons.

"No, the choreography is great," he quickly assured her. "It's gorgeous. You're gorgeous. I want to wrap you up in tinsel and take you home to meet my mother. It's the concept. It's a pile of horse manure. Time travel, I mean. I've studied physics, it's impossible." He paused. "What's so funny?"

Natty shook her head merrily and tried to fight back her smile. "Wow. You sound so sure about that."

"Pretty darn."

She laughed again. "Well, you seem pretty smart, so you must be right." She slipped her shoes back on. "So you're studying physics? Here in England?"

"No, I already have my degree from MIT. Physics, yes, but mechanical and electrical engineering, too. I like the practical, hands-on stuff better. There's a professor at King's College who's working on a cutting-edge robotics project, and he invited me to fly over here to get my hands greasy. What brings you here?"

"There was a dance competition at-" Natty began, but just then a man dressed in a crisp steward's uniform approached them.

"Mr. Stark?" he said politely. "Your plane is ready for departure. Mr. Woodrow will be your pilot today. May I get your bags?"

"Not now," Tony said dismissively, not taking his eyes off Natty.

The steward paused for a moment. "Sir, your father wanted to be sure you departed by-"

"Not now," Tony said more loudly. "I'm busy. Shoo." He waved his fingers, and after a moment of hesitation the man walked away, his polished shoes clicking on the shiny floor.

Natty stared at Tony. "I thought you were joking about owning a private plane."

"Yeah. Well, technically it's my dad's plane. He runs a tech conglomerate. Stark Industries. Maybe you're heard of it."

"Stark Industries?" Natty repeated. "Wow. That's your dad?"

"Yeah, my dad's a super boring topic, so I'm going to change it now," Tony said. "Let's talk about you. When does your flight leave?"

"8 o'clock."

"Sitting in first class?"

Natty laughed. "Yeah, right. My dad doesn't own a tech conglomerate."

"Who's picking you up from JFK when you get there? Your boyfriend?"

"My parents. I don't have a boyfriend."

Tony nodded thoughtfully. "Okay. Here's what we're going to do. Instead of you sitting in steerage for eight hours, crunched up in those little seats and risking damage to those beautiful ballerina legs, you're going to come on my plane instead. You'll be a lot more comfortable, and I'll even get you home a little sooner. No need to go through security."

"Me?" she asked. "On your plane?"

"Yeah. You can refund your ticket, get your money back. Use it to buy more ballerina slippers. I gotta be honest, that look kind of works for you."

Her heart beat a little faster. "I… don't know what to say. That is really nice of you to…"

"Perkins!" Tony called out, and the steward strode back over to them from where he'd been hovering nearby. "I'm bringing a guest with me. That's her bag. Be careful with it, the zipper's defective. We don't want her underwear hitting the floor. At least not here. Right, Candy?"

"It's Candice. No one calls me Candy," Natty immediately corrected him.

"Why not? You seem pretty sweet to me," he quipped with a grin.

"It's Candice," she emphasized, glaring at him. "And don't talk about my underwear."

"Ooo, a little spicy too. I like that."

"Shut up. And thank you for taking me on your plane."

"It's my pleasure. Or at least I hope it will be. Hey Perkins, what's the in-flight meal?"

"Dischi volanti with wild mushroom sauce, sir, or Gressingham duck with braised kohlrabi and parsnip mash. There is also a very nice lobster bisque, and several desserts to choose from."

Tony turned and walked backwards so he could grin at Natty. "I think we should start with the desserts, don't you?"

"Wow," Tony said, leaning back in his recliner and stretching out his legs luxuriously after their meal. The plane rocked from side to side slightly, but so far the flight had been pretty smooth. "Two brothers and a sister? That's a big family. I can't even imagine. I'm an only child. Got the place to myself."

"It really isn't that big," Natty said. "It only feels big when my cousins are over. They're almost like siblings, too. Me and my cousin Maggie are like two peas in a pod. That's what my mom and my aunt always say."

"Don't you ever get sick of it?" Tony asked. "Having to share your stuff all the time, and the crowd and the noise? Don't you ever wish you had some peace and quiet?"

"Sometimes," Natty admitted. "But I'd rather have a fight or two with my siblings sometimes than be alone in the house all the time. Don't you ever get lonely?"

Tony shrugged. "I always have things to do."

"Having things to do isn't really the same as having someone to do them with. Or are you close to your parents?"

"My mom's great. She's always good company. She's…" Tony searched for the words. "She isn't selfish. Rare trait in my family. It's kinda refreshing."

"And your dad?"

"I like my dad okay." Tony shrugged again. "He doesn't really like me."

Natty frowned. "He said that to you?"

"He doesn't say anything to me. Nothing that matters, anyway. I mean, look at him. He spent his life inventing things and running a company and schmoozing with the rich and famous. Starting a family was pretty much an afterthought for him. My mom and I were just the cherry on top of his sundae."

"Well…" Natty didn't know what to say to that. "But I bet he cares about you."

"Bet he doesn't. He never says he does."

Natty thought for a moment. "Your dad's on the older side, right? I've seen him on the news. He looked closer to the age of my grandpa than my dad."

"So?"

"So, I think a lot of men from that generation didn't really get affectionate with their kids," Natty said. "They weren't raised to think that way or act that way, even if they felt that way."

Tony stared moodily out the window, even though there was nothing to be seen but empty sky. "Is that what your grandpa's like?"

"My grandpa's an exception to a lot of rules," Natty said. "He's always been kinda... ahead of the times."

"I thought you said your family was old-fashioned," he shot back.

Natty smiled. "Sort of. Let me put it this way: Grandpa marches to his own beat. He does whatever he thinks is right and doesn't worry about what other people think or whether he fits in with the times." She smiled softly. "It's a quality that rubbed off on the rest of us, I think."

"Wish my dad was like that," Tony muttered.

"You went into the same field your dad did," Natty pointed out. "You finished college when you were 17. He must be really proud of you, even if he doesn't say it."

"No," Tony said flatly. "He thinks I'm a lost cause. I heard him say it himself." There was an unexpected savage undertone to his words, and suddenly all the fun had fled from both his eyes and his voice, although for hours now he had been unfailingly, exuberantly talkative. Abruptly he pushed himself up out of his slump, banged the recliner's footrest down and jabbed his finger at the call button. Perkins came back into the cabin. "Sir?"

"The Macallan 1926," Tony said. "Bring it with two glasses."

"Yes, sir."

Perkins came back in a minute later with a bottle of amber liquid, and Tony took it from him and poured some into the glasses.

"Candy?" Tony said, holding one out toward her.

"I'm not old enough," Natty said. "And it's Candice."

"Fortunately," Tony said, still holding the glass out, "there are no police officers on this flight."

"No, thank you," Natty said.

"Good girl, huh?" Tony set down one glass, leaned back and took a sip from the other.

"I try to be," Natty said lightly. "I know, being good is so uncool. But-"

"-in your family you don't care what people think. I heard." Tony swallowed the rest of his drink and picked up the other glass. "You're not going to have this? You're sure? It's a rare vintage, you know. You can't get this just anywhere. Better try it while you have the chance."

Natty shook her head, and then he shrugged and drank her glass, too.

December 16, 1991

By the time they landed, the bottle was mostly empty and Tony's giddy verbal torrent had finally subsided into silence. He was lying flat on his back in the recliner with a faint smile on his face, which was quickly replaced by a grimace and a low groan when the steward came back and opened the window shades, sending bright sunshine streaming into the cabin. Tony fumbled around until he found his Santa hat again, and put it on and pulled it down low so that it covered up his eyes.

"Mr. Stark? Your father's in a rush for you to get home," Perkins said. "Your Porsche is parked outside. Here we go." He reached down and tried to haul Tony to his feet, but had some difficulty. "Woodrow?" he called. The pilot came in, and the two of them got Tony up and helped him carefully down the steps as he clung to their shoulders for support, wobbling the whole way. None of them even looked in Natty's direction. As soon as they were at the bottom of the steps, Natty quickly pulled her earpiece out of her pocket and put it in.

"Dad?" she said softly.

She was relieved when he answered right away. "Hi, honey. Are you at JFK? Your mother and I are on our way to get you."

"Yes. I told Tony I'm in a performance at Radio City Music Hall tomorrow and he said he'd come and then take me to dinner afterward." She kept her voice down in case the steward or the pilot came back in. "He didn't say anything about going to the Bahamas. I don't know if that means his parents didn't tell him the plans yet, or if he just decided on his own to skip it."

"Don't worry about it. If he said he would come, then you did what you could. That's all we can ask."

"Yeah, but there's just one problem, Dad. I'm afraid he won't remember."

"Why wouldn't he remember? It's tomorrow."

Natty looked out the window, where the pilot and the steward were trying to get Tony into the backseat of a sporty red car without hitting his head, and not quite succeeding. "He's drunk, Dad. Blackout drunk. I tried to get him to stop, or at least slow down, but-" She exhaled in frustration.

"It isn't your fault, Natty," her Grandpa Steve said quickly into her ear. He must be listening in from the safe house on Long Island. "Tony always had some... tendencies toward excess. Sometimes he had a handle on it, sometimes not."

Her Grandma Peggy's voice chimed in. "His father had the same tendency. You can't stop someone from drinking if he's determined to drink."

"Okay, but what should I-" Natty broke off as Perkins jogged back up the steps and back into the cabin.

"I'll call a cab for you in just one minute, miss," he said as he collected Tony's things.

"No need, my parents are coming to get me," she said. "But I didn't get Tony's phone number. Can I just ask him real quick-"

The steward laughed in a way she didn't like, and gave her a knowing look. "He won't call you back, miss," he said matter-of-factly. "He doesn't call any of them back."

"But he said he would meet me tomorrow," Natty persisted.

"Yeah, he'll meet you tomorrow." He looked her up and down in a dismissive kind of way. "If he didn't get what he wanted from you today."

The steward left with Tony's suitcases, leaving Natty alone in the cabin again.

"Who was that?" Grandpa Peggy asked in her ear. "I know that voice."

"That was the steward. His nametag said John Perkins."

"Did he have curly red hair?"

"Yes."

"That isn't John Perkins," Grandma Peggy said with certainty, sounding suddenly intense. "That's Brian Moran. He used to work in my defense lab, under Dr. Greiling."

Natty frowned in confusion. "He's S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

"Not anymore," Grandma Peggy said. "He disappeared when Carson Mitchell did. Which means he's Hydra."

A jolt shot through Natty, and she leaned over to look through the window at Tony's sports car. "He's getting in the driver's seat!" she said, a sudden panic sending butterflies through her stomach.

"Don't let him go with Tony!" both her dad and grandpa said urgently in the same instant, and without hesitation Natty rushed down the stairs and across the tarmac, mind racing to come up with something to say, something to do to stop this from happening.

"Wait!" she called out. "Wait!"

The steward — the Hydra agent, Moran — paused in the act of closing the driver's door as she ran up. Through the window she could see Tony lying in the back seat, curled up in fetal position with his hat still pulled down over his eyes to block out the light.

"You forgot one of his cases," Natty said breathlessly. "A big one, in the cabin."

Moran looked annoyed. "Well, why didn't you bring it down, miss? I've gotta get this show on the road. Mr. Stark's waiting."

"I couldn't lift it," Natty said. "It was really, really heavy. I think it's one of his inventions. Something his dad wanted to see."

Moran's face changed at her last sentence, and quickly he pulled the keys out of the ignition and hurried back up the steps. Natty looked after him, waiting until he had disappeared into the plane before opening the back door and diving straight for Tony's pants pockets.

"Mmmmm," Tony said in a tone of approval as she rummaged around in one.

"Shut up," she said. "I'm looking for your keys."

She found them, and slammed the back door shut and swung into the driver's seat just as Moran came to the top of the stairs, looking confused.

Moran made eye contact with her, and suddenly his eyes widened in alarm, and he scrambled down the steps. Natty jammed the key into the ignition with shaking hands, started it, and threw the Porsche into gear just before he reached the car, stomping on the gas pedal and peeling out. Moran's groping hand hit the driver's door with a thump... and slipped off as the tires finally gained traction and she roared away.

Tony groaned wordlessly in a sickly way from the back seat as Natty raced across the tarmac, her eyes frantically darting around looking for an exit. In the rearview mirror she could see Moran's dark form rapidly retreating into the distance. It looked like he was shouting into a radio.

"Natty?" she heard her dad's worried voice in her ear. "Talk to me. Where's Tony?"

Speaking very, very quietly under her breath, she whispered: "I just stole his car, with him in it."

There was a short pause. "Okay. Nice work."

Just then, she spotted an exit sign and veered toward it. She slowed down as she approached the gate, wondering if she would have to pay at the booth, or worse, show identification, but to her relief the gate opened as she approached and a man waved her through.

"Where are you now?" her dad asked.

She saw a road sign. "Aviation Drive."

"What direction are you driving?"

"I don't know. I… the radar tower is on my left."

"Okay. I know where you are. That's going to turn into JFK Expressway; just keep going. Your mother and I are 15 minutes away, coming the other direction. When we see you pass we'll flip around and follow you to Tony's house. What does the car look like?"

"It's a Porsche. Red convertible."

"Got it. How's Tony?"

She glanced back. He looked to be asleep, his mouth gaping open slightly and one arm dangling limply down toward the floor. "Out like a light."

"Good. Let's hope he stays that way."

The Porsche was now surrounded by the heavy flow of traffic exiting the airport, and Natty felt herself relax ever so slightly. Wherever Moran was, he'd have a hard time getting to her now, although she fervently wished she weren't in such a distinctive car.

"What was that all about, anyway?" she asked softly.

It was Grandpa Steve who answered. "They must have wanted to take Tony to use as leverage against his father. It's how they controlled Dr. Erskine; they put his wife in a concentration camp and then strung him along with a lot of promises and threats."

"But I thought that tonight-"

"-they're going to kill Howard. Once they have the serum it's in their best interest to make sure he doesn't survive to make more."

"They must not know where it is yet," Grandma Peggy said. "It's the only thing keeping him alive."

As she got further from the airport, the traffic began to thin out, and gradually the urban sprawl on both sides of the road was transitioning into golf courses and mansions. She had entered the more exclusive area of Long Island.

Just then, flashing lights caught her attention, and Natty glanced in her mirror to see a police car not far behind her, red and blue lights spinning. The car behind her moved into the right lane to get out of its path, and Natty quickly followed suit. The police car swooped up and merged right as well, inserting itself between the other car and Tony's Porsche, following her closely with lights still flashing.

"Dad?" Natty whispered nervously.

"What?"

"I think I'm getting pulled over."

There was a short pause. "Were you speeding?"

"No." A horrible jolt went through Natty as she realized that the Hydra agent could easily have called the police and reported that she had kidnapped Tony Stark… and he wouldn't be entirely wrong about that, either. "Dad, what do I do?"

"Don't pull over yet. What police department is it?"

"I don't know." Why did it matter? She squinted her eyes, peering through the rearview window, and then said, "It's NYPD."

"We're out of their jurisdiction," her dad said. "On this road it should be the Village PD. I'm going to turn on the scanner. Don't speed up or slow down. Just hang on."

Natty found herself clutching the steering wheel with white knuckles, shifting her gaze continually between the road in front of her and the rearview mirror where the lights continually flashed at her. The road around her was quickly clearing of cars; everyone was keeping their distance from the police car. Through her earpiece, she could hear faint radio chatter. Finally, she heard her dad's voice again.

"Honey? Nobody's talking about you on the scanner. They should be calling in your license plate or requesting backup if it were something like a suspected kidnapping, but they're not."

"What does that mean?" she asked softly.

"I think that means it isn't really a cop behind you." Suddenly his tone changed. "We just passed you, honey. Tien, flip a U-turn." Natty heard her mother say something in the background, and then her dad answered more loudly, "Yes, here. Anywhere. Just cut across the median."

In her rearview mirror, Natty saw a cloud of dust as her family's minivan jounced across the median and pulled onto the road some distance behind her.

"Hydra posed as police officers when they went after Fury," she heard Grandpa Steve say grimly in her ear, and the words were so surreal that only a few moments later Natty wasn't entirely sure he had really said them. That couldn't have anything to do with her. She had come here to get Tony Stark to ask her out on a date. A simple assignment. A straightforward one. A safe one.

Suddenly the police car changed lanes again, moving to the left and speeding up to pull up alongside the Porsche.

"Daddy…" she whispered, heart pounding rapidly.

"I see. We're almost caught up to you. Just keep driving."

Natty glanced to the side, through her window, as the police car pulled even with her. There were two uniformed officers sitting in the front seat, and the one in the passenger side motioned at her sternly to pull over.

"Are you sure they aren't real-" Natty started to whisper, when she caught a glimpse of a third man sitting in the shadows of the back seat, behind the partition's bars. He wasn't wearing a police uniform, but a black leather jacket with buckled straps across the front, and a muzzle-like mask over the lower half of his face. His eyes were covered with dark goggles, leaving only an untamed mop of brown hair to frame his hidden face.

Natty's heart seemed to stop. "No," she whispered. "No, no, no…"

"Natty, stay calm. We're right behind you."

"He's here," she hissed through clenched teeth. "He's here. He's right next to me."

"Who's here?" her dad asked.

"It's Bucky," she whispered, and her voice came out as not much more than a squeak. But she was wrong, Natty immediately realized. It wasn't Bucky Barnes. It was someone much, much worse.

"It's the Winter Soldier," she whispered.

TO BE CONTINUED

Author's note: I would love to hear what you think! Please leave a review.