Chapter 2

It's about dark when we reach Ethiopia. All day the wind has been blowing in my ears and when Natalie yells over the noise of the cycle and air, "Almost there!", I can barely hear her. Seeing a city up ahead is a huge relief, because my butt is basically numb.

The sand blowing behind us, we arrive in town and Natalie drives us directly to a clay baked hotel. You'd think I would be in some kind of a culture shock, after living in a refugee camp for so long, at seeing a town, but this small village looks pretty impoverished; maybe not a giant step up from a refugee camp.

I stiffly hop off the bike, loosen my legs and open the wooden door for my red hair companion. A dark man at the desk greets us cheerfully and while Natalie checks in, I go and lay down on the colorful couch, exhausted by this day's journey.

I apparently dozed off, for Natalie has to shake me to wake up. "Hey, we're in room #4."

"Oh, ok. Sorry." I say, looking around me dazedly. I drag myself off of the couch and we head towards our room. And I get a good look at the hotel on the way. It is fairly small; probably about ten rooms in all. African nicknacks sit in small crevices in the walls and everything is red and earthy. And lining the floors and hanging on the windows are bold colored fabrics, giving the space a cheerful vibes.

The room door is similar to the front one, made of wooden sticks held together by rope in a decorative pattern. Thankfully there are two beds, and while Natalie goes and takes a shower, I flop on the one closest to the window. Listening to the sweet sound of water hitting tile, I drift away, reminded of rain. It's been so long since I've heard that sound…

It's like I've been knocked out, my sleep is so deep. But the sun has just barely cracked over the horizon when Natalie's watch alarm bleeps out the most obnoxious sound, disrupting my bliss. Butt sore. Butt sore. Is all I can think as I drag my aching body out of bed.

As ever, Natalie is up and spry. Even before the alarm clock had rung, she must have been down to the hotel kitchen, for Natalie sits calmly eating some kind of special rice. "Good morning." She says, looking comfortable in a pair of skinny jeans, light blue shirt, and leather jacket.

"Good morning." I reply easily. "I'm going to take a shower."

"Ok, but we have to leave early this morning to make it to the Ethiopian airport in time for our flight."

"Right." Thank goodness for planes and seats that don't numb your butt.

I jam my gritty clothes into a plastic bag, and grab a new outfit from my backpack, sitting my bag back onto the toilet. All my other stuff has been left at the camp; to be shipped by the UN volunteers when they arrive back at their headquarters.

Toiletries are already left in the shower from Natalie's shower last night, and so I just turn the water on and hop in. I don't even care that the water is freezing; it's been so long since I've had a real shower. Even just standing, the water wetting my hair and running down my dusty body, is bliss.

Only when Natalie yells, "Five minutes," Do I realize where I am and what I'm doing. I go through the motions quickly, then furiously rub myself dry, nearly taking my skin off in the process. Then I slip on a pair of sweatpants and a hot pink shirt, and stumble out the door, ready to cram some food into my mouth.

"Where's the food?" I practically screech, seeing the cleared table.

Natalie just calmly looks up, eyebrows raised, from where she is packing her backpack full of hotel water bottles, and says, "We need to go."

"So I can't even eat?"

"Guess not." She replies. I huff. Fine then. I'll get something at the airport.

Through all of this, I nearly forget why I am here. To help someone and by helping them, providing for others too. It's hard to always keep that in mind. You can get so distracted by things, that the real reason for doing it slips away. This patient needs my help and so do the Sudanese. I have to keep my calm.

So I slow my pace, and me and Nat check out and then hop back on the horrid motorcycle. And I am calm, ready to help whoever needs it most.

/

To see a real city is almost beyond words. No sandy buildings in sight, no tarps, and real toilets; it makes me want to cry. We arrive two hours later into the high tech capital of Ethiopia, Addis Ababa.

The Ethiopian airport is extremely busy this morning, equalling more security. Natalie seems slightly on edge, though I can't tell why; she is a government agent after all.

After we make it through security, we wait for our plane to board. And since we got done so early (we didn't have to check in our bags, since all we have are our carry on packs), I head out to find some food. Because I am absolutely starving and food is amazing.

I am literally in heaven, for it has been so long since I have had much to eat at all, let alone sinfully delicious fast food. The cafeteria is crowded with people from all ethnic backgrounds, the multiple of skintones standing out against the pristine white of the typical airport cafeteria.

Natalie has given me twenty dollars and the decision on what to have for my first fake/real food is killing me. Maybe eeny-meenie-minie-mo? But that's when I notice the Chick-fil-a and my decision is made for me. I get the largest order of nuggets, fries, and lemonade I can possibly eat, then go sit at a small table behind a indoor tree.

Trying to take this time to savor every bite, I begin slowly, nibbling on the incredible nugget that makes me proud to call myself American. But soon I am gobbling up everything with such ferocity that indegestion seems inevitable.

As I eat, watching the crowds, everything seems so strange and different. Having been away from civilized society for so long makes me feel like I have dissociation. Everything seems separate from me, like I am an omnipresent god staring down at everyone from afar. It's not the noise, it's the fact that everyone is so unreal, so clean, so…. Normal.

Turns out that while all this deep feeling and dissociation was occurring, I had eaten the last fry, and now my fingers are groping inside the salty, plastic bag. I am incredibly full, but you know the saying "food goes to the stomach, but dessert goes to the heart"? Well, I think I can squeeze a donut in there.

So I go take my tray to a trash can, then head to the long line for the Dunkin Donuts. I'd like to say, for the record, that I do truly believe donuts are a gift from God. And with that in mind, I pick out two deliciously unhealthy ones: an oreo-sprinkled one and plain chocolate iced one for Natalie. How can she not be nice to me now?

I take my time fletcherizing, my walking mimicking my slow chewing. When I finally make it back to Natalie, I see I almost missed our flight. The announcement must have aired as I was in edible bliss.

"Hey, what took you so long?" Natalie says, standing from her hard, blue, airport chair. She has a phone to her ear, and says quietly into it, looking at the ground, "Yes, we will be there soon, just… Yes Steve, ok yeah, bye." Natalie's blue-green eyes meet mine and in her low, almost seductive voice, says, "Sorry, but the plane is boarding."

"No, I apologize. I got caught up in the moment. But to make amends, here is a donut." I hold up the chocolate glazed, and Natalie's eyes light up and she says, "Thanks."

Before we board the plane, she crams it in her mouth, then wipes her lips hastily with the napkin. As we enter , I see the plane is relatively full, but Natalie bought us first class seats. This will be the first time I've ever sat in first class.

A flight attendant's voice sounds over the speaker, "Welcome to Ethiopian air. We hope you have an enjoyable flight and as we take off, please buckle your seatbelt and turn off any electronic devices. If you don't know how, watch as your attendant shows how to strap yourself in. And in case of emergency, there are exits in the back and front of the plane. Thank you for flying with us and enjoy your adventure."

Natalie straps herself in without a glance at the flight attendant, like she has gone on millions of planes before, and cozies up to her seat. We take off, and while she closes her eyes for the three hour flight, I look out the window, mesmerized by the beautiful site beneath me. Different color landscapes appear in blocks; trees, then sand, then a river. Lucky I got the window seat.

I decided to take this time and really enjoy myself. You know, when most people go on planes they can't wait to get off it, but this is like a spa to me. Free food whenever I want, movies that I haven't seen in ages, air conditioning, and an ultra comfortable seat.

The airplane ride flys by swiftly and all too soon. We land, and I am almost loathe to leave the plane.

Wakanda is a relatively small country and so is its airport; who can come into Wakanda is very controlled. But because of this, we breeze through baggage claim. Then head outside into the blazing heat where a black, governmental SUV, sits waiting for us.

Everything seems so official, so when Natalie tells me to tie a blindfold around my eyes, I'm rather taken aback.

"Why on earth would I need to do that?" Natalie looks at the driver, a brown man with a pointy chin. They exchange glances and Natalie explains, "Because the location we are going is classified. And, I suppose I should tell you, we're not with the government. Well, not exactly. Were you there when the Chitauri attacked New York?"

I nod, not fully understanding what's going on here.

"Well," Natalie continues, "I was part of the group that fought them off. I'm Natasha Romanoff, otherwise known as Black Widow, and I'm with, or was with, The Avengers. And my friend Steve, or Captain America, he asked me to recruit you to help his friend."

My head is spinning. This is a trap. It has to be; some kind of kidnapping and their trying to blame it on the Avengers. What would they be doing in Wakanda anyway?

"What would the Avengers be doing in Wakanda? Their headquarters were in New York last I heard."

"That was the case. But there was a…. splitting up. I won't get into details, but the New Avengers are now considered vigilantes, and although it might be considered illegal, T'Challa, king of Wakanda, is giving them a secret base to work out of."

So now I'm aiding fugitives but also working under the king's command? Odin help us all.

"And the blindfold is so I don't know the location?"

Natasha's lips curl up slightly and she replies, "That's correct."

What to do, what to do. "If I wanted to back out…"

"Not possible, unfortunately. You don't have a choice now. I'm sorry Ella, I wish I could have told you but they desperately need your help." She reaches over, and, with an apologetic look, ties the blindfold around my eyes.

I don't struggle or even say anything else. Why should I? There is nothing I can do and I'm sitting next to a trained assassin. I was utterly and completely taken advantage of. And of course I'll be doing the same job, but now there is probably no chance of me gaining aid for the Sudanese, considering it would expose king T'challa to his advisors.

Thus, I sit silent. It takes what seems to be two hours, but it's hard to tell considering I can't see the clock. These people must have bladders of steel, I think. Which is a strange thought considering I've just been kidnapped. We haven't stopped once this entire time, and I desperately have to go pee. But I refuse to speak, so I'm forced to hold it just for my pride.

Finally, just when I'm about to burst, we arrive at… somewhere. I can hear the car door slam and voices outside speaking, snippets of conversation reach my ears, "Steve.. Can't stay… have to figure things..'' It all sounds like Natasha. And then someone opens the door. They take my hand and guide me inside the building. I can tell because my feet are no longer walking on sand, but rather floor.

When the blindfold is removed, it takes my eyes a moment to adjust, but there is not much of a sight to adjust to. The room I'm standing in is basically a light blue square with the addition of a table and two chairs in the middle. There are no windows; nothing but a locked door behind me. "Hey!" I yell, banging my fist on the door. "I've gotta go pee!"

The door suddenly opens and I'm knocked back when a tall blond enters. Hot, is the first word that comes to mind. His serious face worries me slightly, though, and the man's humongous arms that look like they could snap my neck with the ease of opening a jar, also worry me a little too.

"Please. Sit." The hot man says.

Unashamed I reply. "Your friends out there wouldn't let me use the bathroom, so no. I need to pee before I speak to anyone." I use my demanding voice. When he stands, I cower slightly but he just says, "Follow me then." And knocks on the door, which is opened by the same man who drove the car earlier. The chocolate man nods his chin at me, but I ignore him, rather following the hunk down the hall.

But as I try to leave the room, he holds out an arm and says in a playful tone, "Whoa there. Don't you want your blindfold?" As he chuckles, I huff, and then let him guide me down the hall with the black tie around my eyes once more. Sunlight comes through the black blinder and I let the warmth caress and sooth me, and help get my mind off of how much I really have to go.

A door is opened soundlessly and I'm lightly shoved in. "My eyes are not all-seeing you know!" I yell at the closed door. Huh, like I could tell their location by the trees outside. But I don't say anything more and instead relieve myself on the toilet.

The bathroom is practically the same as the previous room, except this one has a toilet and a small window high up. As I'm about to climb onto the potty to get a peek out the glass, a pound on the door stops me in my tracks. "All done in there?" The bulging biceps one I assume is Steve, aka, Captain America, asks.

"Yes." I reply. And with that, I am led back down the hall and taken to the room. My stomach has been a mess ever since I left the camp, but now that I am some kind of captive, I am even more on edge. I take my seat nervously, and "Probably Steve" sits down across from me. He leans back in his chair and eyes me suspiciously.

"I hope you understand, we have to take precautions. The last psychologist I encountered turned out to be a revenge-bent Sokovian. I don't plan on making that mistake again." I stay quiet.

"Natasha said she explained our current situation with you, so I won't talk about that, except to say this: This location must," He leans forward slightly for emphasis, "remain a secret and if you do anything to jeopardize that at all, you will be living in this room for possibly the rest of your life." My eyes widen but I wasn't going to go off telling my many (non) friend about this place, so I don't really have anything to worry about.

"What about when I have finished working with the patient? I'll still know the location." This could be problematic. And what about my family? I have to see them again.

"You let us worry about that. But, rest assured, you will get to return home, or wherever you choose, I just do not have the answer to that question right now.

"Now," Probably Steve continues, "we are going to use a lie-detector to determine if you are a safety risk or lier. Bring it in!" He yells. As the driver man brings in a large computer on a movable stand, he says to me, "I'm Steve, by the way."

I raise my eyebrows. "Hi. I'm Ella." The temptation to shake his hand is overwhelming, even under the circumstances, because, my word, it's Captain America. But I try to act slightly annoyed, rather than starstruck.

The chocolate man is typing something on the computer and looks at me, grinning. "I'm Sam."

"Nice to meet you. I guess." Steve and Sam exchange looks. They attach a finger clamp and small patches connected to wires, all which feed into the lie detector.

Steve grabs a file that sat on the moveable tray, and sets it on the table, tapping the papers into alignment. Business like, he opens the file to reveal words typed with spaces between them for my answers.

Folding his hands on the table, Steve begins, "First we need to establish a baseline. So I'm going to start by asking you some simple questions," He clears his throat. "What is your full name?"

"Ella Anne Walin." I reply simply. My stomach is soothed at the calmness of the process. It's actually very cool. I mean, you see these kind of things on TV shows like Lie to Me and other crime dramas, but I never thought it would be done to me.

Steve writes my answer under the first line, and looks up at Sam, who says, "That's the truth." Continuing, Steve asks, "Where are you from?"

"Greenville, South Carolina." I had lived in Greenville my entire life. To be honest, that was one of the main reasons I went to college in New York. I wanted to be free. All my life I had done the same thing; went to school, came home, did homework, and watch TV. Never deviating.

I only had a best friend when I was a child and she moved away, leaving me on my own. It didn't help that I'm pretty anti-social; I would rather read than go to a party any day. But I have this undeniable need for people. So that's what made New York so appealing.

It was fast paced and exciting; people were everywhere and I was bound to find someone who I could relate to. But it didn't really happen. I made a few friends but it was the same as always; we just didn't click enough to have that bestfriend bond. So I have remained to this day, with the exception of my dear older sister, my own best friend.

The hard chair is getting uncomfortable, and I've been sitting so long my whole body aches to stand up. But all these wires hold me down, like a puppet tied down by their strings.

Sam nods at Steve's questioning glance, confirming that my answer is the truth, and then the hard inquiry begins.

"Have you ever heard of or worked for an organization by the name of Hydra?" Cap's eyes bore holes into mine and I shrink back in my chair ever so slightly.

Of course I haven't worked for Hydra, but I have heard of them, practically the whole world has. What really has me worried is the fact that my grandfather used to work for Hydra. Surely they wouldn't kill me over that though. Right?

"I have never worked for them, but I have heard of them."

"Uh, Steve," Sam says in a worried tone. "What is it?" He asks. And, getting up from his chair quickly and with a screech, Steve stands by Sam and they both stare intensely at the screen. Sam lightly traces his finger on the screen and he and Steve turn to look at me, anger evident on every crevice of their face.

"That's not exactly true, is it?"

"Yes, it is." I reply. My voice spikes slightly.

"Ha, no it isn't." Sam points excitedly at the screen. "Whenever you lie, your pulse speeds, and just now it showed on the screen that it spiked. Now, you didn't go beyond the liying line, the one that indicates deceit, but you aren't tellin us the whole truth, are you?"

I cross my arms. This seems unfair; I am the one who agreed to help them and they think they have some kind of right to question me like a criminal? This really is like Law and Order.

"Well, my grandfather worked for Hydra. But I never would. Can we move on please?"

Steve sighs and loudly plops onto his chair. "Ok, so you haven't worked for Hydra. Have you committed any felonies?"

"Besides getting two parking tickets, no." And even getting those two made me feel terribly guilty.

"In any way, shape, or form, do you want to harm any of the New Avengers?"

"Nope." I reply.

Steve scribbles a few more things on his paper, stands up to look at the screen once more with Sam, then says, looking directly at me, "You passed."

"Yay!" I say with fake excitement. Even though, on the inside, I am kind of excited. This could be the adventure I have been waiting for my whole life. Spending seven years in NY was certainly exciting but it is nothing compared to living with the Avengers for a few months.

Another file is thrown in front of me, this one with the picture of a soldier on the front. The man looks devilishly handsome with a sly grin on his face, his hat crooked to one side, and a strong square jaw.

"This is your patient." Steve explains. Yes, he's good looking; that's always exciting.

I hold the file close to my face to get a better look at the little picture square then carefully flip it open. All humor inside my drains out.

Inside is horror. The man, James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes it says, went from the picture of health to masked, broken, brainwashed assassin. As much information as they could find is listed: the killing of Tony Stark's parents, drugs, weapons, and machines being collected, and more random accounts of anti-Hydra being killed or kidnapped by this man- the Winter Soldier.

It says that this person was and now is in cryo-freeze. I'm speechless. All his memories were washed out and what is in this is mostly all he could remember before going back into cryo- his own choice, it says.

Now I see why they asked me if I worked for Hydra. I mean, I understood before, but considering this was all done to Mr. Barnes for Hydra's benefit, it makes all the anger leave my body in a fit of pity.

My words come out slow, as I try to piece together my thoughts and many questions; I'll have to study this file more later. "This is… this is the person you want me to help?" Disbelief spills out of my voice.

"Yes. It's my friend Bucky. I guess you can see he was brainwashed by being read these words," He taps the page with the picture of a notebook with a red star on it. "Longing, Rusted, Seventeen, Daybreak, Furnace, Nine, Benign, Homecoming, One, Freight Car. When a man named Zemo tried to turn us against one another, he read these words out loud to Bucky and it turned him back into a Hydra-trained, cold blooded killer." Steve looks down at the ground, most likely flooded with grief.

Sam breaks in when Steve tries to speak again and says, "We have found a solution, though. With some of king kitties technology," Steve coughs loudly. With an miffed look, Sam continues, "With King T'challa's technology, there's a way to completely rid the soldier of these trigger words. We're taken him out of cryo in two days, and after we do the procedure we need you-"

Captain Rogers interrupts him, saying, "We need you to help him move past what Hydra did to him. Do you think you can do it?"

I try to take it all in. Nowhere have I seen anything this bad. The same procedures apply: Cognitive Processing Therapy or Prolonged Exposure Therapy. But it could takes months, and even then, success is still a low percentage.

I thought I had seen the worst of it when I tried to help child soldiers. But a brainwashed soldier? It's unprecedented.

"It's possible, I suppose. I think I can help him a little, but full recovery is not near assured."

Solemn looks abound in the room, and I run my hand through me brown hair, pushing my bangs back.

"But I'm willing to try," I say. They and I need to belief this is possible. For Mr. Barnes sake. So I force a large grin and say, "Let's help the Winter Soldier."

/