*Another chapter done. Things are getting interesting! If I do say so myself. Also, enter Captain America, via ceiling. His appearance is sudden and brief in this chapter but there will be more of him (and yes, there WILL be more Bucky. I promise). Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Obviously I don't own Marvel, or any of their characters. I only own my OCs and ideas. This is AU but as I said before, it mostly follows the movie universe. Please don't sue me, Marvel! (But if senpai notices me enough to sue then I would feel special, and very, very broke. Lol).*

Have her scheduled for a wiping. Those words haunted her as Rumlow half-pushed, half-dragged her from the office. There was a disorienting ringing in her ears that escalated to a mind numbing ache. She lost awareness of her surroundings. A phantom pain forced a cry from Melanie as she collapsed to her knees; it felt like her brain was being fried, as repressed memories broke through the blockade.

"Wipe her again." The voice unmistakably belonged to Alexander Pierce.

"But sir," a nervous scientist protested. "The avalanche, her amnesia…there's already brain damage—"

"Did I stutter?"

"…No, sir."

"Then do it."

Melanie struggled against the metal restraining her wrists, instinctively wanting to clutch her head as shock-waves of pain continued. The fragment of memory was implacable; she couldn't recall when or where, only what she heard. It was something she wasn't supposed to retain. That scientist sounded familiar. Recognition struck her like a punch to the skull. The man who had spoken against Pierce—she had been ordered to kill him, shortly before she quit being an assassin.

"No, please," the nervous scientist pleaded, looking somewhat betrayed as he found himself on the floor with her boot planted on his chest. "I said I would help you, remember? Remember!"

The desperate plea for mercy failed to break her assassin composure. Of course he was lying; he never told her those things. Every target would attempt to prolong their lives. It was pointless to listen to a word; it only wasted time and gave them false hope. Pulling her gun, she decided to make his death quick. A bullet between his eyes silenced him for good. Only as his blood pooled on the floor did she realize what she had done…

Jolted back to the present, Melanie stared at the floor through blurred vision. When she blinked, she felt tears running down her cheeks. The firm grip on her arms reminded her where she was; trapped in another cursed elevator, with Rumlow.

"Ready to stand up?" he asked, not bothering to comment on her breakdown. When she planted her feet, he hauled her back up and said nothing as she sniffled, reigning in the onslaught of emotions.

For years, she had believed everything Pierce told her as the Contractor. The avalanche that was responsible for her amnesia took away her identity, and he gave her a different one. For a long time, she felt indebted to him and that compelled her to cut down anyone he deemed expendable. Even after she left the life of an assassin behind, she never suspected the Contractor had deceived her. Finding out she had been alive during the Second World War destroyed whatever understanding she had of herself. Everything Pierce told her was lies, or half-truths. He had tampered with her memories. How many times was her mind wiped clean? How many times did she wake up confused and ignorant, only to be fed lies?

"How do you sleep at night?" the question slipped out before she cared to bite her tongue. Melanie couldn't help feeling angry with Rumlow for taking part in it. He was following orders, but he had his own mind. He had a choice.

He scoffed, meeting her eyes as she shot him a backward glance. "So we're gonna pretend you're innocent?"

"I'm not innocent," she shot back sharply. The truth of her confession weighed her heart with shame. Before her self-loathing could make her seem weak, she lifted her chin and straightened her shoulders. "Look. You assholes can torture me. Wipe my memory. Feed me lies. I won't fight for Hydra…not again."

Surprisingly, Rumlow didn't mock her. He was silent for a moment, looking away, as if he felt somewhat bothered. "Too bad you won't have a choice," he pointed out. There was no malice in his tone, but she knew better than to mistake his sympathy for friendship. He would snap her neck without hesitation, if Pierce ordered it.

Melanie had no reply. He was right, after all; she would have no reason to disobey, once her free will was compromised.

"Just so you know; if it were up to me, I wouldn't have you wiped. It's not right."

Hearing that from Rumlow was hilariously ironic. Rolling her eyes, she replied sardonically, "My hero."

He chuckled at that and she cracked a smile despite her dire situation. It immediately vanished when the elevator halted and the doors opened, prompting Rumlow to give her a nudge forward. Resisting would be pointless; she knew she had no chance and in all honesty, she felt defeated. Allowing herself to be guided down the hallway, she began to mentally prepare herself for the inevitable. When she was back inside her cell, she waited for Rumlow to unlock her handcuffs. Mentally exhausted, she was eager to simply throw herself onto the cot; hopefully, she could spend the rest of her solitary confinement asleep.

Before Rumlow could get the key in the lock, a voice began to relay information to him through his earpiece. The words were indecipherable to Melanie even as she listened carefully. "Copy," he responded. "Just let the Asset finish the job."

The Asset. She had avoided thinking about him since she woke up earlier, for the simple reason he made her skin crawl. How he had recited, "There is no freedom. Only order." How in that moment, his soul had vanished, as if it had been robbed from him. It was that same apathetic look she used to observe in the mirror, before her conscience resurfaced. Thinking about him reminded her too much of her past self. But the mention of him had her interested in where he had gone. Evidently, he was off to go take care of some unnamed target. Melanie couldn't help wondering who the unlucky bastard would be. "What's the hot gossip," she asked Rumlow cheekily.

"Someone got nosy. It's being handled," he answered bluntly, offering no details. "You worry about yourself, Mel. You're in over your head."

Admitting defeat was never her style. "I can swim," she said indignantly.

"Not in handcuffs, you can't."

Melanie didn't like the way he said that. She caught a glimpse of his devilish smirk before he shoved her further into the cell and grabbed the door. She spun around, failing to reach the door before he pulled it shut. Sealed inside, she angrily kicked the door, shouting, "Bastard!"

For a moment, she hoped he was playing a joke, but minutes ticked by and she gave up. That son of a bitch. Without anything else to do, she sank down onto the cot. Uncomfortable with her arms behind her back, she slipped handcuffed wrists under her legs and pulled them up, so they were in front instead. Lying on her side, she buried her face into the pillow. It actually smelled fresh and clean, reminding her of a crisp spring morning. She wanted to scream into it, but remained silent instead, letting tears soak into the fabric. All she could do was wallow in despair and self-pity. Never had she felt so pathetic and hopeless; she disgusted herself. What else could she do? Imprisoned and unarmed, without a way to contact any allies if she had any in the first place, she was royally fucked.

Daniel… The vague concept she had of the man left a hollow feeling in her chest. Whoever he had been, he was gone, taking all hope of uncovering her past with him. Perhaps he was a close friend of hers around the time of the Second World War. Melanie had no recollection of how they were separated, how they met, or any moments in between. The only tangible memory was the feeling of comfort and compelling spirit, when in his presence. Something about him threatened the influence Hydra had over her mind.

"You're so much like Daniel."

For whatever reason, Pierce had attempted to eradicate her memories of Daniel. He succeeded for the most part, but the ghost of the man was more resilient than the cunning head of Hydra anticipated. Melanie smiled sadly, finding a little pride in that. She clung to the last remnant of Daniel, refusing to let him go willingly. Perhaps the next brainwashing will obliterate her conscience altogether. Until then, she would resist and fight for the last remnant of her humanity.

Roused from her troubled sleep, Melanie heard the sound of the door releasing its electronic locks. She sat upright, prepared to hurl profanities and snide comments at Brock Rumlow, who must have returned to personally escort her to her mind-wiping. Of all the rotten bastards she never wanted to see again, he was third on the list—right below Alexander Pierce, and The Asset. She hated to admit she was actually disappointed. Leering at her from doorway with a malicious grin on his face, Russ looked too pleased for her liking.

"Time for your attitude adjustment therapy," he sneered. As he stalked toward her menacingly, she knew he wasn't just talking about her scheduled brainwashing. "Rumlow ain't here to protect you this time."

Handcuffed, without any weapons, she was clearly at a disadvantage. Still, helpless damsel in distress was never a proper description of Melanie. "Sore loser," she taunted him with a grin of her own.

Russ cracked his knuckles, trying to act like a badass. "Oh, someone's gonna be sore, alright."

"Yeah. I'm going to kick your ass, again."

He laughed harshly, clearly underestimating her since he had the upper-hand. Without any further hesitation, he hurled a colossal fist toward her face. Effortlessly dodging the blow by dropping onto her back on the cot, Melanie quickly reached her cuffed hands to grab the metal frame of the bed. The stability allowed her to swing her leg high, catching the side of his head hard enough to knock him over. Russ fell awkwardly onto the cot. Before he could push himself up, Melanie wrapped her legs around his thick, muscular neck. Still gripping the bedframe, she clenched her teeth as she used her abdominal and leg strength to choke Russ.

Struggling to breathe, he clutched her leg in a vice grip, trying to pry it from his neck. When that failed, he began to pound on her outer-thigh with his fist. The powerful blows bruised her flesh, painful enough to conjure a whimper of pain from Melanie. But she endured the punches, determined to crush his ego along with his windpipe.

"Fucking pass out already!" she growled at him as her muscles burned.

Red faced as he was deprived of oxygen, the tough bastard still wouldn't give up. He landed a hard jab to her side, which hurt. Despite all her strength, she was weakened by fatigue. Another merciless jab to her sore flesh forced her to release. No longer being crushed between her legs, Russ was able to gasp for air. He freed himself from her hold, standing back up. Melanie let go of the bed-frame, intent on rolling over the edge of the bed to get away, but he caught her ankle. A tower of muscle, he had no trouble ripping her from the cot and throwing her to the floor.

Her shoulder and hip struck the floor, adding more bruises to her collection. Melanie had no time to get up because Russ had already closed in. His boot caught her in the stomach repeatedly. The merciless beating was definitely the cherry on top of the hell she had been through the past twenty-four-hours. Where was that bastard Rumlow? She would even settle for Alexander Pierce. She knew this wasn't what Russ had been ordered to do. He was acting on his own, getting revenge for the way she had humiliated him. He was the definition of a sore loser; he had to beat her up while she was handcuffed.

When the kicks stopped coming, Melanie was able to catch her breath and tasted blood. She had bit her lip too hard trying to hold back cries of pain, not wanting to give him that satisfaction. His large hand grasped her jaw as Russ bent down on one knee, looming over her. "How about you give me a kiss, and we can make up, huh?" he sneered, his dark eyes gleaming wickedly.

Of all the repulsive things she had ever witnessed, all the questionable things she had ever done, the idea of kissing Russ took the cake. His filthy hand was still touching her face, and he had the nerve to trace her lips with his thumb. She sank her teeth into the flesh of his hand. The vile taste of his blood was a small price to pay, for the satisfaction of hearing him scream. Tearing his hand free, he grimaced as he examined the damage. Blood seeped from the wound in a steady stream.

"Have it your way," he snarled, clenching his hand into a fist. Bracing herself for the blow, Melanie wondered if he would beat her to death and spare her the fate of becoming a mindless assassin again. His fist never connected; instead she heard him shout in alarm and a strange zapping sound. His body slumped heavily to the floor beside her and she opened her eyes, shocked to see him unconscious. Someone had saved her. She had no idea who to expect, but the person she saw was the last she ever would have guessed.

"Sorry I took so long; it's not easy to get down here without permission from up top," the redheaded man said, a bit short of breath. He held a stun rod in one hand; the weapon he had used on Russ, to zap him unconscious. He was the same man who had literally run into Brock Rumlow. The way he had cowered in the presence of the S.T.R.I.K.E. team conflicted with what he had just done. "Hold on. I'll get those cuffs off…" he said, bending down to search Russ for the key.

Managing to right herself on the floor, Melanie sat on her knees. Exasperated, she interrupted her unlikely savior's pointless search for the key. "Rumlow has it."

He stopped patting the unconscious man's pockets. "Oh. Well, in that case," he said as he reached into his own pocket. Pulling out a small kit, he opened it up to reveal an assortment of lock-picks. "I always jump at the chance for some good old fashioned lock picking," he grinned.

This guy was full of surprises. Perhaps Melanie wasn't the best judge of character, after all. Holding up her cuffed hands, she watched him with interest while he slid the picks carefully into the lock. He nibbled his bottom lip in concentration, fiddling with the lock until there was an audible click. "Ha! Got it," he beamed triumphantly, removing the cuffs from her sore wrists. Although they hadn't been on long enough to do damage, her skin was an irritated red.

Melanie couldn't help letting out a relieved breath, rubbing her wrists and flexing her hands to get the blood flowing properly. Finished with his task, the man rose to his feet and extended a hand down to her. She eyed his hand before getting up herself, but offered a tentative smile. "Thanks," she said.

His green eyes regarded her thoughtfully. "Don't thank me, yet. We're still here," he said, before turning for the door. "Follow me."

Melanie remained where she was. "Who are you?" she questioned suspiciously. After everything she had been through, her rescue seemed too good to be true. What if it was all just another twisted plot of manipulation, devised by Alexander Pierce? That idea would seem insane to normal people, but her life was far from being considered normal.

The man paused in the doorway, peeking cautiously into the hall before half-turning to face her. He considered the question deeply, as if there was a long story he could tell, but there was no time to elaborate. "Warren," he replied simply. His smile was warm, genuine, and his green eyes had a vibrant gleam despite the ominous situation they were in. "I'm your way out of here."

The list of reasons not to trust him stretched for miles in her mind. But what other choice did she have? Fear urged her to make a run for it, to elude Warren and find her own way; she was tempted to go with that option, but the fact was she needed help. For the first time since thirteen months ago, she placed her life in someone else's hands willingly. "I'll go with you. Just hold on," she told him.

Pulling herself over to Russ, she snatched his gun and secured it to the holster at her thigh. Her eyes then rested on the communication device attached to his ear. It proved useful before, back at the gas station. Swiping that as well, she fixed it to her own ear; if she could listen in on what the S.T.R.I.K.E. team was up to, it would be easier to avoid them. On her feet, she moved to stand by Warren. Ready to be far away, she asked, "So, what's the plan?"

Warren gave a dry laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Honestly, none of this was expected. So I'm just winging it," he admitted, jogging toward the elevator at the end of the hall.

"Great." Melanie wondered exactly why she needed him, then. But he knew his way around the place, so she followed him into the elevator. There was a lot of mystery about him; she had the feeling she only saw what he wanted to show. Earlier, he had pretended to be a clumsy, sniveling coward. He had everyone fooled. Whatever business he had with S.H.I.E.L.D. or Hydra, she really didn't care one way or another. All she wanted to do was avoid having her memories taken away again.

While the elevator ascended to the ground floor, Melanie decided to clear the air a bit. "How did you get down there? Security is tight in this place."

Warren grinned, looking quite pleased with himself. "I hacked the system. It wasn't easy, but I managed to turn of the facial recognition for the cameras in this elevator. Like I said—without a green light from up top, it's near impossible to get around. I think I broke about every 'term and condition' of my employment."

"Sounds like you're in deep—" she began, but cut herself off to listen to the voice in her ear.

"We have another problem," Rumlow informed his team. "Cap just left Pierce's office, heading for the elevator. Right behind him. Everyone, with me; it's gonna take all of us."

Cap? It took her a moment to realize who he meant.

Noticing the strange look on her face, Warren gingerly reached to touch her arm. "What is it?"

She felt sick for unexplained reasons. "Captain America is about to be ambushed by S.T.R.I.K.E."

The news clearly troubled him, because he frowned. "That's not good…It's worse than I thought," he muttered the last under his breath.

There was no reason for Melanie to care about Captain America. Sure, he was one of the Avengers—the world's mightiest heroes—but he could handle himself, right? The urge to rush to his aid didn't make sense in her mind, but there was no denying it. "Should I—or we—help him?" she asked Warren, confused by the mysterious pull she felt.

"No," Warren answered sternly, his expression becoming rigid. "That's a bad idea. You need to be far away from here, alright? I'm getting you out and you're going to disappear, until I contact you."

Being bossed around would have annoyed her under different circumstances, but she was too overwhelmed to argue with him. Contrary to her first impression of him, he knew what he was doing. He was clearly withholding many secrets, important information, maybe even knowledge of her identity. She could grab him by the neck, throttle him for answers, but she resisted that dark urge. Right now, he was her only ally in the whole damn world. She couldn't risk losing him.

"Fine. You're the boss," she replied with a hint of salt.

Warren eyed her skeptically, but he was satisfied enough to let go of her arm. The elevator reached the ground floor. "Now's our chance, while S.T.R.I.K.E. is busy," he said as he led the way down the hall. When they reached the doors, he peered out the window into the hall beyond before looking over his shoulder to Melanie. "The lobby is that way. Follow the signs," he instructed. "I can't leave yet. I have things I need to do, first."

Hold up. Shaking her head, Melanie looked at him like he was crazy. "You're kidding, right? I'm just going to stroll out the front doors?"

"Look what you're wearing. No one will stop you."

Melanie had almost forgotten the combat uniform she was given; she looked like part of S.T.R.I.K.E. although she didn't have the identifying symbol on her sleeve. No one would suspect a thing, as long as she acted like she belonged and made a quick exit.

"Just trust me, alright?" Warren implored, sensing her apprehension. "Go. I'll contact you when it's safe."

Before she could ask any more questions, he pushed his way into the other hall and disappeared further into the building. Melanie sighed. She had no idea how he would contact her, but he seemed to know what he was doing. With the disconcerting radio silence in her ear, she wondered what had become of Captain America. She couldn't help him without getting herself captured again. Escaping was her top priority.

Finding the lobby proved to be no challenge. She had passed a few S.H.I.E.L.D. employees; low-ranked, they all avoided making direct eye-contact. With the front doors in sight, Melanie began to cross the room. It was enormous, and the high glass ceilings intensified the open feeling. She felt exposed as she walked, but no one stepped into her path or shouted for security. Only a couple yards from the doors, her heart was pounding and she resisted the urge to run, eager to be outside. A shower of glass rained down from overhead. Throwing her arms up to shield her face, Melanie leapt back to avoid being crushed underneath the person who had fallen through the ceiling. His body struck the floor with a metallic clang.

To say she was stunned would be an understatement. Melanie looked up through the shattered section of glass he had fallen through. Several floors up, there was a gaping hole in the glass elevator where he had thrown himself out. A fall from that height would kill any normal person. His bones should have been shattered like that glass. The small groan of pain that slipped from his lips was the first indication he survived. As he struggled to push himself up, clearly injured from the fall, Melanie recognized him. If the shield and blonde hair wasn't a dead giveaway, he lifted his face and trained bright blue eyes on her. Captain America, otherwise known as Steve Rogers. He had escaped the clutches of Rumlow and the other members of S.T.R.I.K.E. Judging by the radio silence, he must have handed their asses to them. It was safe to assume he hadn't killed them. With the others out of the way, he now had his full attention on Melanie; her disguise suddenly seemed less than helpful.

On his feet, Rogers gripped his shield while narrowing his eyes in warning. He studied her, determining whether or not she was a threat. When she made no move to attack him, he only seemed more confused, furrowing his eyebrows and giving her a strange look as if to say, "What gives?"

Their brief, silent exchange was interrupted when alarms started going off. S.H.I.E.L.D. was being locked down. Hydra was manipulating the employees, likely deeming him as a traitor to be apprehended. Rogers glanced around at the stunned onlookers before meeting her eyes again, revealing the blatant distrust he had toward her before finally turning his back to run. He sprinted out the doors at breathtaking speed. Melanie herself could run at extraordinary speed; she wondered who would win in a race. Breaking out of her stupor, she observed the employees who had no clue what was happening; some were giving her questioning looks, others seemed suspicious of her. It was time to stop standing around like an idiot.

Taking off, she shoved her way out the doors after the Captain. She witnessed him speeding off on a motorcycle across the bridge, and a quinjet soared right over her head in pursuit of him. Witnessing how the man single-handedly took down the aircraft using nothing but his shield, the inexplicable pull she felt toward him became impossible to fight. They were both fugitives of S.H.I.E.L.D. or more accurately, Hydra. Warren had told her not to get involved with whatever Rogers was up to; she was supposed to disappear, but how long would she last on her own? How long would she have to wait for Warren to contact her? She wanted to know what the hell was going on. If anyone could give her answers, it was Steve Rogers. The man had lived during the Second World War…perhaps he knew something about her past life.

Throwing caution to the wind, Melanie shadowed the Captain as he headed away from S.H.I.E.L.D.