"Can you walk?"

I looked up Steve. My vision was failing me but I could still see he had handsome features—I briefly noticed a strong jaw before blackness dotted into my vision.

"I don't think so."

I tried to move my legs and they barely twitched. I felt dizzy just thinking about lifting my body.

"Do you mind if I carry you, miss?"

I lifted up my head just a little. No one called me miss unless I dragged my father out of the lab to go to a restaurant for dinner. I was too tired to comment on it, but must have had a strange look on my face. That, coupled with the jackhammer against my skull probably made me look a sight.

"Just pick her up, Steve," the red-head gestured, as my head started to tip to the side.

"Sorry about this miss—Olivia, but it's best if you don't faint."

I felt my body get lifted into strong, sturdy arms. They smelled of soap and cinnamon. I wanted to fall asleep in them until the pain left my head and my legs and my bones.

"You get used the politeness," Tony explained as my eyes started to drift shut. "Chivalry's not dead. Turns out it was just frozen for a while."

I dreamt in memories that weren't mine.

I saw New York City streets, plagued with people and cars and lights. My eyes hurt my head and my vision spun from the skies to the buildings, eventually landing on the filth of the street. Ground in gum, streaked dirt and water and a discarded coffee cup with lipstick stains. I could almost smell it.

I saw a place I didn't recognize. It looked like a farm, and I felt...comfort. The walls were wood paneled and dark but there were strange lamps all around the room, all shaped like various woodland creatures. The eyes of green scaled fish and black bears glinted at me under dim light bulbs.

Then I saw a building. From the outside, it was hard to tell what it was but I knew it was the east wing of S.O.T. headquarters. The bricks were dark red like dried blood, the windows tiny and barred, and the whole place smelled like bleach.

I spun into the pain.

I was hooked up to machines. I knew I was not in my own body. I looked down at hands—a man's hands, from the size and shape, with scars lacing them from the thumbs down to the wrist. I struggled to take a deep breath and found with horrifying dizziness that my lungs felt like they were underwater.

I spun out of it, afraid. This time my hands were feminine, with thin pointed fingertips. There was dirt under the nails but I had no time to focus on it, because all I could sense was a deep foreboding in my chest. I felt the panic rising like sea water, threatening to choke me. Even though I could breathe better than the previous man, my skin felt like fire and my heart was beating faster than I thought possible.

They injected the syringe right into my veins...

I jerked awake.

This time my pain was my own, but it wasn't as severe as it had been. I touched a hand tentatively to my hair and found a stiff bandage on my head. My brain was throbbing, but it was more of a distant and subdued jolt than a constant hammer.

I looked around the room I was in, which was really no more than a bed surrounded by bare walls. I guess they didn't think I was too wounded, because I wasn't in any sort of medical ward...wherever we were.

All I could remember was the name. S.H.I.E.L.D. Why did I agree to come? I didn't know what they wanted with me. Well, I had a hunch, but I didn't know exactly and I didn't know what they'd do to me, and who cares if they were superheroes? I came with strangers because I was pretty much delirious and now I was alone and afraid.

I tested my legs.

I could walk without feeling extreme dizziness, so I must have had some sort of medication. My socks slid on the floor but besides that my balance was alright.

There were no mirrors in the room, but I knew they'd cleaned me up. I ran a hand over my face and felt no dried blood. I was wearing new clothes too, just a simple black sweat suit. It was loose on me, like most things, and I could feel the ends of the pants dragging on the ground.

I could stay here, I supposed, wait until someone realized I was awake and then asked my questions. But I had them now. And what if they didn't come for hours?

I turned the doorknob, which was to my immense relief not locked. And then I followed the noises.

The hallways were deserted, which was odd, because I felt the conversations happening as if the walls were talking. I could sense an air of security around everything. The doors were all locked with mechanisms I knew I did not have clearance to pass through.

I soon came upon an elevator. I tried to press one of the buttons but a small black box beeped at me for identity validation. And since I was pretty sure I didn't have that, I kind of just stared back. They must be military or something up there to have this sort of gadget.

"Should you be wandering the halls?"

I breathed in sharply, a fresh stab of pain thundering in my brain as I whipped around. I stumbled slightly and I felt his arms steady my own as I looked up at him. He had ridiculously long eyelashes for a boy...

"Hi Steve," I said quietly, smiling sheepishly. "Just acquainting myself with the technology."

"I've been there."

He released me with caution and I straightened my spine, showing him that my equilibrium had for the time being returned. His scent enveloped me again but I swallowed not to make it too obvious that I was smelling people. My head injury was making me act like a crazy person.

"Fury is assembling the team," Steve said, clearing his throat and pointing in the opposite direction of where I'd come from. "I was sent to get you."

"I'm not...wearing shoes?" I said weakly, not feeling quite up to discussing my not so brilliant past with a group of people who saved the world. "I think I should wait a while."

Steve chuckled, crossing his muscular arms and narrowing his eyes.

"You're not quite as put together as I expected," he said, waving a finger at me. "But I do have authority to carry you there. Again."

I wasn't supposed to be bantering when I was busy self-loathing, but there was something calming about having Captain America believe you weren't a criminal.

"I suppose claiming my head hurts isn't a better excuse?"

"Not quite."

"Alright. Then I suppose I'll walk on my own," I said, looking wistfully down the hall.

"Come on, Miss Socks. It's just down here."

I felt like I was in a board meeting except I was new on the job and I'd forgotten my co-workers names and now they were all staring at me like I was an idiot.

Steve was on my left, the red-head who introduced herself as Natasha was on my right, and Tony winked at me from across the table. There was a Cliff or something and a Bruce in there somewhere, but I was more focused on the man with the eye patch across the table who was assessing me like a job interviewer.

"Welcome to the dream team," Tony said as all settled, outstretching his arms in both directions. "Minus the demi-god. But it's still a pretty good deal."

"Huh?"

"I'm Nick Fury," the eye-patched man said, ignoring Tony. "Let me just start by saying we appreciate your letters."

I couldn't help but think of the news footage of the attack in New York last year. Parts of it were no longer recognizable, but they had undoubtedly saved the world. I felt like I was in the presence of celebrities. I wondered if one of them was the Hulk...

"Are you listening Miss Hawthorne?"

I snapped out of my musings, feeling like a scolded child.

"We know about S.O.T. from you, but we've looked into them as much as possible. We know they're infecting innocent people, but we don't know why. We are afraid they're weaponizing diseases."

"I started to fear that," I said, the image of my father popping into my mind. "But the memories I saw were just about injections and pain. They didn't explain anything to them."

"Did you recognize anything? Read any labels?"

"No," I said, wishing like hell I'd been more observant. I think I was trying to block it out at the time. "My father and a man named Trevor Loman were the scientists and they handled most of the medical work. I didn't even see most of the labs."

"But you did have direct contact with a lot of important people."

"I suppose. It's just...I don't offer much in the way of assistance, I'm afraid."

...Because I helped them. Because I saw horrible things happening to people, and instead of saying something I sat in silence and let the nightmares plague only me…

"We disagree," Fury said firmly. "We'd like you to join us."

As if it were that easy to wipe my plate clean and jump on the superhero bandwagon.

"You don't understand." I rubbed my temples. "You just...don't. I helped them. My father told me to help them! I wasn't paying attention, I wasn't quick enough, and then I had to leave..."

"What do we not understand Miss Hawthorne?" Fury asked, leaning forward in the chair so his black sleeved arms rested on the table.

"You're all...heroes. I don't fit into that. I'm not..." It felt odd to say it aloud at last, but I found myself believing it more and more these days. "A good person."

"We're not exactly all saints," one of the other men said lowly, eyeing me through his glasses.

I turned my head away but in doing so briefly caught the eye of Steve. His pure concern made me drop my gaze to my sweaty palms.

"This mission has a lot of redemptive value," Fury added, apparently not concerned with my embarrassment. "It's not always about being a good person, but you can become one by doing the right thing."

"I don't know much more than I wrote in," I repeated, feeling like a drone.

"You've been in their facilities. You've seen the memories of their victims. You've worked with them."

"Why aren't you scared I'm a traitor?" I asked bitterly. I could be, for all they knew. Even with my father dead, I could have been loyal to them, just like Trevor and all the workers and guards.

"Traitors don't worry about being bad people," Steve said beside me.

I looked at him in surprise and felt a blush creep up my cheeks. My stomach twisted painfully and I looked away from him, slowly turning my eyes back to Nick Fury.

"If you don't help us then we'll have to find them on our own," he prodded. "Hundreds, maybe thousands, might die. Whatever they're working with can spread. Whatever they're trying to do...they can succeed."

"You really know how to guilt a girl, don't you."

"Guilt can be a root of inspiration."

Silence enveloped us. It was odd how no one else spoke during the exchange, especially Tony who had eyed me with curiosity throughout the whole meeting. Before I had a chance to formulate any coherent words, an agent stepped into the room, his eyes guarded but impatient.

He shared a look with Fury, who nodded in return before turning his gaze back to me.

"Miss Hawthorne? I'm afraid we'll need your answer sooner than later."

I looked around the table. Tony's eyes were still curious. The man with stubble and glasses was biting his lip. The man next to him with the short brown hair was leaning back in his chair, twirling something in his fingers. Natasha was staring at me. So was Steve.

I closed my eyes and saw my dreams from just moments before. They were someone else's memories, and because of all I did they were now in my head. Because of all I did, they were probably dying somewhere, with no recollection of why...

"Alright," I choked, "Sign me up."

Sorry this took so long! Honestly, I have more ideas for this one but more fans for my Bruce story, which is odd. Anybody out there?