"For safety reasons you won't be in the same room as the...participants. There will be two way glass and they won't be able to see you."

I looked up at Trevor who smiled reassuringly. His smile always made me better, but this time it wasn't quite working.

"It works best if I'm touching the person."

Trevor pushed his glasses up his nose. They were black and thick, but he wore them well. He told me that he needed them so people would take him seriously as a scientist. Everyone here was always so serious that it felt nice to work with someone who could crack a joke.

"You'll be as close as possible. You just need to concentrate a little harder."

"And what exactly will I be seeing?" I asked lowly, raising my eyes to meet his brown ones.

"We're looking for treatments for disease." Trevor moved toward me, his white lab coat matching every other white object in the room. "They won't be...nice memories. Just try to sort through and erase the experiment from their mind."

"But how will they know they've been cured if they can't remember it?"

Trevor shifted on his feet and broke eye contact.

"The drug isn't a miracle. Science and medicine...take time. Breakthroughs happen by pushing through the parts like this. Don't you want to be a part of changing the word?"

My stomach fell to my shoes, but I willed myself not to think the worst. Because if I did, I would not be able to do what they were asking. But the curiosity was beating into my brain, controlling my tongue before I had a chance to swallow my words.

"Are you telling me these people are going to die?"

Trevor didn't answer, and he lost the opportunity altogether when my father walked in with his boss. He was gray haired but imposing and I knew Trevor wouldn't say a bad word in front of him.

"Olivia!" my father called, beckoning me toward the door.

Trevor gave me one more sad smile before patting my shoulder.

"Just do your best."

I don't know if anybody would have found me if I was unconscious, but for some reason he slung me over his shoulder after giving me a nasty head injury. I could feel the wetness rolling from my chin to my forehead. Just a warm, bloody reminder of my imminent death.

I was too hazy to speak coherent words, but I did make whatever noises I could. I'm sure they came out more like a garbled ghost than a girl asking for help, but I felt like I had been shot in the head and it was the best I could do.

"Shut up Hawthorne," the man demanded, peering around as we walked through the deserted upper floor. It didn't seem right that I was in such pain but surrounded by such cheery bright green walls. "Loman didn't even think two people should go on this mission. What does that say?"

I clenched my teeth. Loman was my father's boss, and as I could gather, much more important than I'd thought him to be. In the only act of defiance I could conjure up, I continued to moan.

"Make another sound and we will do this the hard way."

It didn't seem to matter. I was surprised we had gone upwards but I guess he had some sort of ladder or escape route instead of the crowded lobby. I was facing backwards, but I could tell from his slowed steps that we were probably nearing a door.

I tried to focus my mind, which currently felt like someone had thrown it into a blender and pressed Chop. If I could only concentrate, I could try to force myself into his mind and make him forget his intentions...

But it was no use. I was zapped for days after doing this on a good head, and now I couldn't breathe without seeing blurs and feeling needles.

I was just about to give up when I heard footsteps behind me, heavy and urgent, and definitely multiple.

"Shit."

The man whipped around so fast my head hit against the wall and sent such sharp pains through my already injured head that I saw black. My mind was begging to be overtaken by the urge to pass out, but it was also in overdrive to see who was coming.

I let the tears mix with my blood as my eyes squinted through the pulsating of my scalp.

There were three of them. A woman led the group—she stood out the most to my bad vision because of her red hair. The two men behind her were blurrier, but I could see that one was blonde and the other was tanner with dark facial hair.

"A kidnapping, huh? This will be just like the movies. Steve, please swoop in for rescue."

The dark haired man had spoke, sounding slightly bored. I didn't have time for a reaction before the man released his grip on me and I landed in a heap on the ground.

I moaned in agony. At least I hadn't hit my head again, but the floor was shockingly hard for a carpet and I was suddenly very aware of all my lower limbs.

"Well that was easy," the same man said, smiling at me.

But my kidnapper had just dropped me to fight better and stepped in front of me with a heavy click of his boots. He grinned back and me and winked before he lunged at the girl.

The red head surprised me, before I realized just why this band of mysterious kind strangers had come to help me.

It was kind of their job.

And from the looks of it, they were good at it.

The red head, whose name I couldn't quite recall in my foggy state, was for lack of an eloquent term, kicking ass. I had taken one self-defense lesson and she put my teacher to earth-shattering shame.

When the man came for her throat, she sideswept him before I could blink and had him tumbling to the ground. He looked up at her just as she smirked and stomped hard on his hand. From the look of her heeled boots, I knew it had hurt—and the bone crunching sound that vibrated my ears was an indication as well.

The man cried out, cradling his injured fist. I smiled in satisfaction, for he had hit me with that same hand just moments before.

He was fighting through the pain now, and I noticed the two men with the red head were wondering if they should step in. Well, the blonde one was at least. The dark-haired man was actually leaning against the wall and watching in amusement.

Just as the blonde man took a step forward and opened his mouth, the red-head smashed my attacker in the face, sending him toppling backward with an ultimate thud.

I looked at his face—eyes closed, bloody, and soon to be bruised. If I could move I would kick him in good riddance.

"Olivia Hawthorne?"

Steve watched as the girl regarded them with a curious look. He felt a stab of guilt that they had gotten there late, and the blood dripping from her face to her shirt wasn't helping. Slowly she nodded her head, and Steve saw the origin of the blood in her matted, dark hair.

Tony spoke before Natasha had a chance.

"Heard a lot about you. Love the damsel in distress thing, but quite frankly I'm a big fan of your letters of intel."

The girl looked like she would have laughed if she wasn't in pain and this wasn't such a serious conversation. Steve rolled his eyes, an action that he'd become accustomed to around Tony.

"Thanks."

Her voice was quieter than he imagined, but he supposed it suited her small frame.

"We're from S.H.I.E.L.D."

Natasha had spoken the short sentence and waited to see the girl's reaction. They were all quiet as they studied her, waiting for her to combust or yell or do...anything. They had killed her father, after all, and Fury had warned she'd be angry.

But she didn't do anything except sit there and looked confused. Steve exchanged a brief look with Natasha.

"Ok? Is that a company or something?"

She didn't know.

She didn't know who killed her father, or at least she was a very good actress. Steve was torn between telling the truth (a luxury he hadn't always been afforded) and getting her out of there without a scene.

Natasha opted not to tell her, like any sane person would.

"We're here to take you to...our headquarters. Your letters have been invaluable and we're looking for S.O.T. but we could really use your help."

Natasha had moved forward, but Tony pushed her aside.

"Wait wait—before we get into that, I have something very important to say."

The girl stared up at him, her blue eyes expectant.

"Hi." He grinned, outstretching his hand. "I'm Tony, but I'm sure you knew that."

Steve rolled his eyes. Again.

"Not everyone in the world knows you, Stark."

"In that case, I'm Tony Stark. I own a multi-billion dollar corporation and save the world in my free time." Tony looked around nonchalantly. "Among other things."

"Yeah, I actually did know who you were."

"Ha! Stark-1, Rogers- 0. Incidentally, also the number of women he's—"

"Shut it Tony," Natasha said rolling her eyes and turning back to Olivia. "Are you ready to go?"

The girl looked torn. She really couldn't move on her own, but she didn't know any of them which Steve guessed was her reason to be hesistant.

"Well?" Natasha asked, hands on her hips.

"Now I see why they sent Natasha, sparkling conversationalist," Tony grumbled to him.

Steve felt compelled to move forward. He had his doubts about the writer of the letters, but when he saw the small girl in front of him he wasn't sure he could hold a grudge.

"I'm Steve," he knelt in front of her. "You can trust us. I know...it's hard to believe that coming from people you don't know, but you did write us."

"To warn you. Not join you," the girl said, her voice scratchy.

"She rhymes!" Tony declared. "That must be why she's such a good writer."

She glared at Tony now, and Steve almost laughed. At least he seemed to bother others too.

Natasha knelt beside him, her usual brash manner slightly softened as she peered at the girl's injuries.

"We can fix you up, at least. You can't very well leave here on your own. After that...we'll talk. Deal?"

She looked up at them. She seemed to want to refuse, but Steve noticed her trouble breathing and she finally sighed, her shoulders slumping against the hideous green walls.

"Deal."

Well, my Bruce story is doing better, but I do really want to continue this one too. Any thoughts?