*Again: I don't own the Avengers, Captain America, or any of the characters but my OCs. Here's another chapter, I hope you enjoy reading as much as I did writing it. :)*

Returning to her apartment after being attacked by Rumlow was the worst possible thing she could do. Stubborn will and sentiment compelled her to go against every instinct she had; there was only one possession she could never leave town without. Her sword. Although she swore to put an end to the killing, parting with the sword was impossible; it was part of her. It was the only material object in the world that meant anything to her. The last connection she had to an old friend.

Daniel, if you only knew how many lives taken with that sword...

Taking refuge at a local gas station not too far from the salon, she hid herself in the bathroom. At the sink, she washed the blood from her hands, feeling sick as she remembered how quickly she reverted to her old ways. She had tortured a man for information. That was messed up; even if that man had been a bastard like Rumlow...

Not the time. She could beat herself up later. She had to focus on escaping in one piece. Her snow white coat was hard to miss. She peeled it off, tossing it into the trash bin. Her powder pink sweater was no less conspicuous, but all she had underneath was a tank top. No way in hell was she going to be walking around in that. Having wasted enough time, she opened the door of the single-stall women's room to take a peek. She swore as she spotted the black vehicle pulling into the lot. The windows were tinted, but she recognized Rumlow as he emerged along with two other men who were basically towers of solid muscle.

Fantastic. Melanie closed the door and pressed her back against it. She had no weapons. Looking around the bathroom, she saw nothing but a can of air-freshener. Well, it worked the first time. Grabbing the can off the shelf over the toilet, she waited for Rumlow and his men; they would be searching every inch of the place.

When the doorknob began to turn, Melanie tucked herself into the corner out of sight. A large man entered, pointing his gun as he crept in. Melanie caught him by surprise when she jumped on his back. The door swung shut, sealing them both inside the room as she drove her elbow down on his neck. The man fell to his knees but grabbed her by the arm, slinging her to the floor. She aimed the air-freshener at his face but he caught her wrist.

"That's not gonna work on me," he sneered, twisting her wrist. She cried out in pain, forced to drop the can of air-freshener. The bastard would pay for spraining her wrist. As he leaned over her with his gun pointed at her face, he was in the perfect position to be kneed in the head. The blow successfully knocked him back, and she was on her feet in a flash. She pried the gun from his grasp and planted a boot over his throat. His large hands clutched her leg, but the gun aimed at his head made him think twice about making any sudden movements while he struggled to breathe.

"Tell me what Hydra is," she commanded him.

The man managed to grin and said nothing.

"I swear I'll put a bullet between your eyes! Talk, fucker!"

"Go ahead," he choked out. "Kill me. There's no escape."

"No escape from what?" she demanded, pushing harder on his throat for a brief second.

When he finished choking and gasping for breath, he said, "The Asset."

"Who the hell is the Asset?"

Instead of answering her question, he sneered, "Hail Hydra."

That was all she was getting from him. Fed up with his strangled laughter, Melanie curled her finger around the trigger. She saw his grin falter as he stared at the gun, waiting for the bullet to end his life. Killing him would be pointless. Damn bastard. Melanie lifted her boot from his throat, only to deliver a kick to his head. Out cold, the man went limp on the floor and she relaxed her arms while keeping hold on the gun.

Spotting the device hooked to his ear, she bent down to remove it. It was some high-tech earpiece that was barely visible when attached. She held it up to her own ear, listening.

"Russ. What is your status?" That was Rumlow.

Melanie remained silent, assuming he was speaking to the man she just kicked unconscious.

"Damn it. Respond!"

After a brief silence, he spoke again, to others who were listening in. "Shit. Russ is down. Everyone fall back. The Asset will handle it."

The Asset. Whoever that was, they were bad news. Unnerved, Melanie rose to her feet and cracked the door open again. When she peered out, she saw no sign of Rumlow or any other threats. All she saw was a teenager clutching a skateboard, looking conflicted as he browsed the candy aisle. Tucking the gun into the back of her pants, underneath her sweater, Melanie left the Hydra agent in the bathroom. As she passed the teenager, she snatched the black knit cap from his head.

"Hey, what's your deal?" he cried indignantly, running a hand over his unwashed hair where his hat had been.

"Sorry, I need this more than you do," she called over her shoulder. He looked less than pleased, but didn't pursue her. As she braved the chilly night once more, she pulled the hat over her head and stuffed as much of her blonde waves into it as possible. As far as disguises went, it would have to do.

The streets outside her apartment building were eerily quiet. There were no conspicuous vehicles or suspicious men sniffing around the perimeter. Melanie knew better than to be reassured. Entering through the back door, she remained on guard as she stepped into the elevator. No one had ambushed her yet.

Resting her back against the wall, she allowed her eyes to close so she could collect her thoughts. Of course she knew this kind of thing was inevitable, but she dreaded the moment she had to leave her new identity behind. She never attached herself to places, and even more rarely to people. The simple fact she would always be on the run from the demons for her past flooded her chest with sadness and bitter resentment.

Tears stung her eyes. She blinked them away and straightened as the elevator reached her floor. The doors slid open. She stepped forward, eager to grab her sword and disappear. A man had emerged from the stairwell not a second before the elevator reached her floor. The sight of him alarmed her; refusing to step out of the elevator, she watched him warily. He had his back to her, striding aggressively toward her apartment when he paused, hearing the elevator doors open. Half-turning to look over his shoulder, he focused his undivided attention directly at Melanie.

Black goggles and a mask concealed his face, leaving only his forehead visible. Unkempt brown hair draped the sides of his masked face, about shoulder-length. Dressed like some kind of mercenary, tall and muscular, his very presence radiated danger. The sight of him would intimidate anyone, even if they were a deadly assassin. When he turned to face Melanie completely, she noticed his left arm. From shoulder to fingertips, it was cybernetic, made out of some kind of metal.

Realization struck her. The Asset. Earlier that day, when she thought she saw a sniper on the roof, it had been him. His cybernetic arm had reflected the sunlight as he watched her from a distance.

Without warning, he sprinted toward her. Panic jolted her into action and she drew the gun from behind her back. She promised herself she wouldn't kill again, but that was unrealistic. Making an exception in this case, she fired. Throwing up his cybernetic arm as a shield, he deflected every bullet while running at full speed. The bullets didn't even leave a mark. Having emptied the clip, Melanie wouldn't have had time to reload even if she had another magazine. The Asset reached the elevator. His metal arm shot out, stopping the doors from closing at the same time he snatched hold of the gun. His other hand seized her by the throat and he stepped into the elevator, pushing her back until she was pinned against the wall.

The doors slid shut and the elevator started to descend. Punching the control panel with his bionic fist, the Asset destroyed it. Malfunctioning, the elevator halted on its emergency brakes, effectively trapping them both inside. Melanie pried at the fingers around her throat. His hand was flesh and bone, but his grip was steel. She could still breathe, with difficulty. She kicked at him, but his shin guards detracted from the effectiveness of the blows. While she struggled, he grabbed the hat she stole from the teenage boy at the gas station. He snatched it off, watching the blonde hair fall around her shoulders. Tossing the hat away, he reached up again to grab hold of her hair.

He ripped the wig right off her head, revealing the silky black hair hidden underneath. Glaring at him, Melanie felt the urge to get even. Letting go of his hand, she snatched the goggles from his face. He jerked away before she could get ahold of the mask. His hair fell over his eyes and he seemed reluctant as he turned his face back to level a glare at her. His blue eyes made her think of the ocean during a storm. They were furious, tormented, with mysterious depths. Captivated, she almost forgot he was sent to kill or capture her.

Breaking his silence, he spoke in Russian. "Priyti spokoyno." While Melanie wasn't fluent in Russian, she understood what he said. Come quietly.

Like hell. Refusing to go anywhere with him, she swiped the knife from his tactical belt and stabbed him in the side. If he felt pain, he had a high threshold and only gasped in shock. He let go of her throat to grab her hand, preventing her from driving the knife deeper. When he fell back a step, she had enough room to plant her boot on his abdomen. Forcing him away, she held tight to the knife. He staggered back into the corner of the elevator, clutching the bleeding wound on his side. The rage in his eyes had Melanie prying at the doors, trying to force them open. Her muscles strained from the effort.

"Come on!" she growled, digging deeper for the strength she had suppressed for so long. The doors were grinding on their gears as they gave way, opening enough for her to squeeze through if she really tried. Before she could, the Asset grabbed her from behind.

A furious cry tore from her lips as she planted her feet on the doors and shoved, sending them both flying against the back wall. When the Asset struck the wall, the metal caved around his solid shoulders. He managed to land sturdy on his feet, keeping firm hold of her. Determined to fight him off, she drove her elbow back and connected with his face once, twice, three times until he released. Falling forward, she looked back and swung her leg, sweeping his out from under him. He hit the floor and she leapt to her feet, intent on slipping through the gap in the elevator doors. His cybernetic arm caught her foot and he yanked her back, causing her to fall on her stomach.

Nearly impaling herself on the knife, she caught herself on her elbows. She kicked with her free leg, catching him in the jaw. He didn't let go, but his mask flew off and the rest of his face was visible. Melanie paused, studying his face as he rubbed his sore jaw. He was handsome, she would give him that. Something about being able to see his face, to look him in the eyes, compelled her to reason with him.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked him before she could stop herself.

His brow furrowed as he considered her question, looking almost confused. Whatever troubled him, he hid it away again, hardening his expression. "I was ordered to retrieve you."

"Fuck your orders! Let me go free. Please." The last word slipped out and she realized she had never begged anyone for mercy, not since she became an assassin, and certainly never had to for an entire year until now. A conflicted look briefly passed through his eyes; it was nothing but a shadow in the depths, disappearing as quickly as it surfaced.

"There is no freedom. Only order," he said tonelessly, as if reading the lines of a script he was forced to learn. As he spoke, he reached into his pocket to pull out a syringe containing a clear liquid; likely a sedative. With his grip on her ankle, he pulled her closer and grabbed her shoulders to keep her down. He caught her wrist before she could cut him with the knife again. Mercilessly, she kneed him in the side where she had stabbed him before. He grunted in pain, clenching his teeth while refusing to relent. He transferred the syringe to his mouth, holding it between his teeth to free both hands. Swiftly, he shifted his position to straddle her hips and had both of her arms pinned to the floor.

"Fuck you!" she hissed venomously, struggling to break his hold and throw him off. He was even heavier than he looked and possessed the strength of men twice his size. He ignored her verbal abuse, bringing her wrists together to hold them in his cybernetic hand while reaching the other to retrieve the syringe from his mouth. He used his teeth to pull the cap from the needle, spitting it away.

Melanie thrashed and glowered up at him with contempt. She loathed feeling like a helpless victim. She despised him, and the sting of the needle as it pierced her neck. She dreaded the wave of disorientation that overcame her, while the sedative forced its way through her bloodstream. Her body felt heavier, sinking into the floor, unable to move a muscle. She was vaguely aware of the sound of the elevator doors screeching; the Asset pried them apart with ease. Then his arms were underneath her, lifting her from the floor to carry her limp body bridal style. Cold air nipped at her cheeks and she realized they were outside; she couldn't remember being carried down the stairwell and out the door, she probably blacked out.

Fighting the sedative, she clung to consciousness. Her vision focused enough for her to make out a black van parked in a back street, where three men stood waiting. One had slicked back hair and an expression carved from stone; he immediately turned and climbed behind the wheel, starting the engine. The other was Russ, who was scowling and self-consciously rubbing at the bruise on his forehead where she kicked him. And of course, there was Rumlow, arms folded as he smirked at the sight of Melanie in the arms of the Asset.

Touching his earpiece, he spoke to whoever was listening on the other end. "The Asset has subdued the girl. Bringing her in now. Be there in an hour."

Opening the door to the back of the van, Rumlow stepped aside and the Asset passed him without saying a word. Tucking himself into the corner farthest from the doors, he held Melanie on his lap and remained silent as the other two men climbed in. Before they even closed the doors, the van took off and began to transport them to whatever undisclosed location she would be held at. Rumlow and Russ seated themselves across one another, leaving plenty of space between themselves and the Asset; they were intimidated by him, or they simply respected him enough to keep their distance, or maybe both of those things came into play. They made no attempt to converse with him. There was no real need to guess why.

The tension never left his shoulders; the Asset sat rigid and on guard, ready to respond to any threat with deadly force. His blue eyes were trained forward with a strange, detached look. He hadn't replaced his mask or goggles, allowing Melanie to study his face with groggy eyes. In her drugged state, she couldn't help admiring how handsome he was. She noticed the dark circles of fatigue under his eyes. He looked as tired as she felt. With her cheek rested on the armored vest over his chest, she found herself listening for his heartbeat. Coherent thought was difficult and everything felt so surreal, like one vivid nightmare. Perhaps she would wake up, and things would be as normal as they had been before Rumlow walked into the salon.

Rumlow. She turned her eyes on him and saw him casting a sidelong glance with a smirk on his face. She would have asked what the hell was so funny, if she could articulate anything.

"Sir," Russ said, alerting his superior.

Rumlow looked at him. "Agent?" he asked, though he seemed more amused than concerned.

"I just caught word. One of our ships has been taken over by pirates."

He raised a brow, looking skeptical. "Is that so?" Touching his own earpiece, he spoke to someone else. "Pierce, sir, is it true?" He paused to listen and nodded. "Yes, sir," he replied to some question, and then he chuckled at something else. "Of course, sir. As soon as I hand over the girl, I'll get the team ready."

Whatever that was about, Melanie was more concerned by her own involvement. She wanted no part of any of this.

"Let me...go...bastards," she managed to say, rather weakly, unable to move to hurt them for drugging her and taking her captive.

Rumlow leaned back against the wall of the van with his arms folded, clearly not in any mood to negotiate or simply bend to her whims. His eyes were an irritated red, but he wasn't blind; he had flushed them out in time after she sprayed him to avoid any permanent damage, lucky for him. Despite this, he smiled. The kind of smile meant to put her at ease when she really shouldn't be. "Don't worry. You're safe. Just relax, we'll be there soon."

She wanted to tell him to go fuck himself, but she felt herself slipping from consciousness. Pent up aggression and frustration collected as tears, leaking from the corners of her eyes. Perhaps she imagined the hand gently smoothing the hair back from her forehead, before she slipped into the black depths of oblivion.