A/N: This chapter was a lot easier to write than I expected. I don't think it'll be a recurring trend. lol

Hope you enjoy!

She was heavy in his arms.

That was strange for how small she was, how soft. Much of her weight came from her clothes. They were ill-fitted to her frame like she had dressed in a hurry that morning. Not that this was of any concern to the soldier, but he was trained to make critical observations while on missions.

Today, this woman was his mission.

She was to be brought in alive and relatively unharmed. The bump on her head was clearly self-inflicted, so the soldier wasn't worried about getting reprimanded. As he carried her away from the building, she came close to regaining consciousness several times. Her eyes fluttered and she started to speak, but each time she'd slip back into the void before the soldier had to do anything. He was authorized to use non-lethal force to subdue her if necessary, which meant hitting her head in just the right spot to not cause any lasting damage. The soldier could do it, of course. They wouldn't have sent him otherwise.

Several blocks away from the Triskelion, a car waited for them. Black and unmarked with tinted windows. The driver was a man the soldier had never seen before and would never see again. He had no hair and sunglasses. He nodded as the soldier got in the back seat and arranged the target in his lap.

"Hail HYDRA," the driver said.

The soldier nodded. He could speak, but he didn't want to. For some reason, he never responded to that in the way he was supposed to. It just didn't feel right.

They drove for an hour, taking the long way in case anyone had followed them. Looking out the rearview mirror, nothing struck the soldier as suspicious. Just a city full of civilians going about their day. Any one of them could one day be his next target, but for now, they were irrelevant; just part of the scenery.

The woman didn't move much anymore. Her head lolled back and forth as the tires ran over bumps in the road, but her eyes never opened. The soldier adjusted her in his lap, holding her head steady. A bruise on her forehead or a hurt neck might count as him hurting her. His handlers would think he hadn't been careful with such an important target. They might decide his laziness stemmed from disobedience.

And if the soldier ever disobeyed…

Well, no need to let this man see him sweat.

The soldier stared out the window as the gray and brown city disappeared. Lush green grass and trees took its place. There were several HYDRA bases dotting the East Coast. The one where he had been awakened and prepared for the mission was to the west. This base was smaller and more isolated. Perfect for holding a woman who posed such a high risk to HYDRA's plans. Just what that risk was, the soldier didn't know. It wasn't important and so it wasn't included in the briefing. A good soldier never asked too many questions.

That didn't stop him from having them. A photo had been included in the report, but it didn't do the woman justice. Her hair was much more vibrant in real life, light brown under the shade but sparkling amber in the sunlight. Pale skin was dotted with a light smattering of freckles. The mole on her cheek was almost perfectly round, adding character to her face rather than marring it. When her eyes fluttered they were dark brown like chocolate, dulled now in her near unconscious state but so deep and alive when he found her.

Most striking was her scent. The soldier could hardly place it, but it took him away to another place. Somewhere he might not have ever been to. A forest in the dead of winter. Snow on the branches, wool jackets scratching his skin, the roar of engines driving down a dirt road, a faint cloud of gunpowder in the air.

She was a scientist, or so he'd been told, but she looked nothing like the men in white coats with their clinical gazes and hard, icy hands poking and prodding him. If this was the face he woke up to whenever he was activated, he might actually hail HYDRA for once.

A shame she wasn't on his side.

"Hey," the driver said, glancing out the rearview mirror. "We're almost there. She still out?"

The sound of the man's voice made the soldier's jaw twitch. It was a completely unperceivable action. The soldier was trained to show no emotion while out in the field. Sometimes he wondered if he had any such thing. Moments like this made him fear he did.

"Yes," the soldier said, staring straight ahead.

"Well, keep her that way." The driver grumbled as he turned another corner. The trees steadily grew more familiar, the bumps in the road flattening out. "Wish they'd make you drive for once. I wouldn't mind a girl like that in my lap."

Another jaw twitch. And a finger twitch. There was a knife in the soldier's back pocket sharp enough to cut through steel. If he ran it through the driver's throat…

The soldier swallowed. He was thinking again. The kind of thinking that would earn him a spot in the chair. That man was a friendly and this woman was not. It didn't matter what happened to her as long as he handed her off and completed the mission.

All the soldier cared about was the mission.

A team of STRIKE agents waited for them at the last security checkpoint. The tallest of them took the woman as soon as the back door was open. The soldier did nothing, said nothing. There was nothing more for him to do except watch them carry the woman away into a safe room and wait to be taken in for debriefing.

He'd most likely never see that woman again, but even as he was led away down another, darker hall, her scent on his hands still lingered.

Lights.

Words.

Motion.

Jane drifted in and out, unsure if the blurry floors and scuffed black shoes were just a part of her dream or reality. Before this she was somewhere else, back at Camp Lehigh or the London bar. It was impossible to tell; the dream was already leaving her. All she had was a vague sense that it was a good one (her lips were warm and tingling) and that this new one would be much darker.

There was pressure on her arms and back. It was hard to do more than wiggle her arms up and down. When she tried opening her eyes, light flashed and she had to close them again. The ache in her skull worsened her cognitive functions and clouded her thoughts. Why did it hurt so much? She must have hit it on something.

No, she had hit something. She remembered that. Almost.

Words came from voices talking over her head. There were at least two, both male and unpleasantly gruff. It would've been nice to pop her ears, but her hands wouldn't budge. When she tried to break free, something shook her hard and the voices grew frustrated. 'Fiesty one' they said. Was that her they meant? If she could get her mouth to move, she might ask them.

Awareness returned slowly. Jane knew she was moving, though her legs were stationary. They were dragging her, the toes of her shoes squeaking faintly against linoleum. Every time she opened her eyes, they stung a little less. The world came back into focus. She was in a narrow hallway full of doors coated in chipping white paint. At least three men surrounded her, whispering in what sounded like Russian. None of them looked at her, even as it should've been clear she was awake.

"This'll go a lot easier for you," a cold voice said in her ear, "if you'd get on your feet."

It was Rumlow. She knew it without looking and she could smack herself for not trusting her gut on that one.

'No, no, this isn't your fault,' she told herself. 'They kidnapped you. You did your best to escape. How could you have known that rogue SHIELD agents would come after you, almost like…'

Turning another corner, they came upon a set of double doors with a menacing skull and tentacles painted under the blacked-out windows.

"Oh shit," Jane mumbled.

Someone in her 'entourage' jabbed her in the back with a gun. She squeaked and straightened her spine, stumbling on weak knees as she forced her legs to work. Even with her feet on the ground, she felt no less unreal. The world swayed like walking in a bouncy castle. Bruises were already forming under their calloused fingers. No matter how fast she ran or how little she struggled, they just wouldn't let go.

"You know," a blondish man side to his overly muscular and bald-headed friend, "when they said we were bringing in a scientist, I didn't think she'd be so hot."

His tone made Jane shiver. Turning away didn't help. She could feel his eyes all over her body.

"Hey," Rumlow barked, "you remember your orders? We need her alive and unharmed."

The blondish man put up his hands. "I wasn't doing anything. Just talking."

"Yeah, out your ass," Rumlow muttered. Any hope Jane had that he might have a hint of real concern for her was dashed when he jerked her forward. "Better pick up the pace, Doc. I know how to not leave marks."

"Don't call me that." Jane's throat was sandpaper dry. If only she had some water. "What do you want with me?"

"What don't we want?" the blondish man said.

This time, no one reprimanded him. Probably because they were about to hit a dead end and there was only one door at the end of the hall. Two men guarded it. Their faces were different but their matching suits, haircuts, and posture made them all but indistinguishable from each other. Dimly, Jane wondered if they'd been hired solely for how intimidating they looked. If so, they were both prime candidates.

They stepped aside as Rumlow unlocked the door with a keycard. Inside was a windowless room with powder blue walls and flickering strip lights. The only furniture was a metal table and two cushionless chairs. Jane was forced into the one closest to her, which also happened to be bolted to the floor. Chains went around her wrists the second Rumlow let go of her. A man with a scarred face fastened them tight enough to leave her in discomfort without cutting off her circulation. He glared at her as he worked, just to keep her quiet and lord his power over her if nothing else. Jane would've loved to remind him that they hadn't restrained her legs, but that would sooner earn her a bullet in her brain than a chance at escape.

"Relax," Rumlow said as he and the rest of his men backed out of the room. "All you have to do is answer a few questions. You'll be fine."

His smile made it clear exactly what 'fine' meant. Swallowing bile, Jane turned away from them. There was another, inner door on the opposite wall. A simple, rectangular frame with a silver handle. It appeared to be locked, though there was no way to tell. When Jane tested the reach of her cuffs, she could barely bring her fingertips together. As she was clearly no threat, her captors exited the room, locking the door behind them. Now it was just Jane and her thoughts.

Time ticked by. There was no clock, so Jane counted the seconds herself. She spent the first few minutes trying to slide down the chair and use her feet to reach the door. This did nothing but pull a muscle in her stomach. That was before she noticed the nearly invisible camera lens watching her from the ceiling vent.

Sitting quietly in her chair, she counted the cracks in the wall and thought way too hard about Steve. Had he gotten away? He had to. Cornering him in an elevator was a good idea in theory, but all it would amount to was giving him more guys to beat up. Once he was finished with them, there were plenty of ways out of the building. He could've stopped the elevator on an empty floor or gone down to the basement. Hell, maybe he jumped. There were few things Jane would put past him.

That would mean he was looking for her. He had to realize by now why she wasn't waiting for him at the cafe or answering his calls. That she'd been taken in by the enemy might not be his first guess, but there was no way he wouldn't figure it out. No one, no matter how careful and concise, could completely avoid leaving a trail. If there was something to find, Steve would find it. Jane held that thought close to her chest as another ten minutes came and went.

On the other side of the wall, men talked amongst themselves. The metal was too thick to make out what they were saying. Only one phrase stuck out to Jane, ringing loud and clear each time.

"Hail HYDRA."

"Hail HYDRA."

"Hail HYDRA."

"HYDRA," Jane whispered, bringing clammy hands to her head. "It can't be..."

The inner door creaked but didn't open. One man said something to another man. The other man answered. He sounded older than the first, mature and experienced. That was all Jane heard before the lock clicked and the handle turned.

In walked Alexander Pierce.

Jane didn't recognize him at first, or her brain wouldn't let her. His suit and tie were the same. As was his warm, grandfatherly smile as he thanked the younger man for his hard work and sent him on his way with a pat on the shoulder. The laugh lines on his face were all the same. The analytical look in his eye as he took her in was as penetrating as when she was into his office with a supersoldier at her side. For one delirious moment, Jane feared he'd been taken, too. HYDRA didn't just want a random scientist, they also wanted the man in charge. Except he bore no chains. There was nothing on him but a manilla folder. He walked freely and spoke to a man with HYDRA on his uniform like an old friend.

"I believe it was Einstein who said 'All progress depends on the unreasonable man.'" Pierce sat down, his smile making her nauseous. "Or woman in this case."

The single word 'what' was on Jane's lips, but she couldn't speak it. She didn't even know what she was asking.

Pierce seemed to get the message. "I know this is all very confusing, and you must have a lot of questions. I'll be happy to answer them, but first, we have business to discuss." He opened the folder. Photos and documents bearing her name spilled out. "Jane Foster. 33 years old. Attended the University of Pennsylvania for your undergrad and graduated from Culver University with a Ph.D. in astrophysics in 2009. Received formal consideration for a Nobel prize for your contributions to astrodynamics and space travel. Skipped third grade! I skipped first grade myself. I can't help but think I missed out on those nap times."

"Wha…" It almost came out. Enough that Pierce paused, waiting to see if she would continue, but she was still too weak.

"Well, I'm sure you don't need me to tell you about your many accomplishments." He slid the folder aside and clasped his hands on the table. "Dr. Foster, I have spent the last few days reading over all your published material. I won't lie and say I didn't have to look up a few things. Unfortunately, I'm more of a politician than a scientist. However, I do have great admiration for innovators such as yourself. Your work is going to change the world, Doctor. It already has. The only question is, who will you choose to work for? Who will benefit from your research? You see, there are times when progress hurts more than it helps, and that's where we come in."

Two men entered through the inner door. For a moment, Jane caught a glimpse of the room inside. Instead of blue, the walls were sickly green, lit up by a steady yet dim single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling by a single fraying wire. It was empty, save for a few boxes and overturned tables. A rat scampered across the floor undisturbed. The men flanked Pierce like bodyguards, the one on the left fixing Jane with an odd stare. He was an average-looking man with dark hair and eyes, and while Jane didn't know his name, she couldn't shake the feeling that she'd seen him somewhere.

But that thought was overshadowed by the swirl of fire rising in her stomach. It came in a flash as the door closed and just for a moment, Pierce's head covered the skull, and he was surrounded by tentacles.

"You absolute bastard," she hissed.

Pierce closed his eyes. "I understand your anger. The man who recruited me was someone I trusted and idolized. I was furious the day I found out what he truly was because I didn't see the truth yet. I didn't realize all the lies I'd been told since the day I was sworn into office."

"You're a traitor," Jane said.

"I'm a realist," Pierce replied. "When I joined SHIELD, it was from a place of idealism. I believed in freedom for all, that it was all we needed to come together and create a brighter future. There are still days where I wish that was true. I wish we could all live in peace without fear of death and destruction… but that's simply not the world we live in, and in this world, freedom is a prison." He stood and paced around her. "Tell me, Doctor, how much do you know about HYDRA?"

Jane refused to look at him. "Enough to know you're full of shit."

One of the bodyguards advanced, only to back away as Pierce waved him off. "History tells us that HYDRA was destroyed following the death of Johann Schmidt. What history fails to realize is that an idea doesn't die with just one man. It didn't with Hitler, and it didn't with Schmidt. He was a brilliant scientist, but an impulsive and overconfident leader. HYDRA would've been stifled under his direction. Without him, we've thrived and remade the world as we were always meant to, from the shadows."

It hit Jane like a bullet, piercing her chest and stealing the air from her lungs. The cuffs seemed tighter all of a sudden, her hands growing numb. She could barely move her fingers the way Fury had typed desperate pleas on his phone in his final moments of life.

Ears everywhere.

SHIELD compromised.

"No…" she whispered.

Pierce didn't ask her what she meant. He knew.

"Don't think I take pleasure in revealing this to you. It's an ugly truth, and I'd never pretend it isn't." He sat down, that stupid grandfather look was back. "But just because it hurts doesn't mean we don't do the right thing. Order and regulation are what the world needs. Freedom diminishes that. It leaves our safety in the hands of the many when only a few have the strength to do what needs to be done. We've destroyed ourselves in so many ways, all in the pursuit of a goal we don't even understand. If we are to progress, it must be controlled, monitored. I know you don't want your work to fall into the wrong hands, Doctor."

He leaned in, as if it would give his words more weight, more meaning. As if dolling up bullshit with bells and whistles made it anything other than what it was. Jane could've laughed right in his face, but the rush of adrenaline demanded a more straightforward response. Hocking back, Jane sprayed his face with saliva. He gasped and shot back. The two men reached for their weapons, but for now, she didn't care.

"If you think that I would ever join you," she seethed, eyes burning, "then you'd better just kill me now."

Pierce stared at her as he wiped off his face, refolding the handkerchief and storing it in his pocket without ever breaking eye contact. It could've gone on for hours- Jane certainly wouldn't be the first one to look away- but Pierce wasn't willing to wait..

"It's understandable," he said, in a tone Jane was rapidly learning to hate. "It would be a lot to ask of anyone to accept something so wildly against their principles. Perhaps too much."

If she could only reach him. Oh god, how good it would be to let everything she'd felt for the last three years out on his horrible smug leather face. Every time she jerked the chains, they felt tighter and colder. Pretty soon, she'd draw blood. Maybe she could throw it at him.

They watched her struggle for a time like it was a particularly dull tv show. Then Pierce returned to the folder, flipping through black and white photos and yellowing documents. "Why don't we put that aside for now. It's only part of why I wanted to see you today."

Jane snorted. "Lucky me."

He appeared to ignore that. "You arrived in Puente Antiguo in November of 2010, is that correct?"

It was right there on the paper. Jane could read it upside-down. She said nothing and after a moment, Pierce nodded.

"Our records show that over a period of five months, beginning in January of 2011 and ending in May of that same year, approximately six atmospheric anomalies were recorded by your equipment. Is that correct?"

She would've given him the exact same 'you're an idiot for even asking that question' look until he felt as small and insignificant as he was. Then her mind caught up with what he was saying and something sparked amid her simmering rage.

Six anomalies, he said.

There were three before Thor showed up. He would've been number four, followed by the day of the Destroyer attack and his subsequent return to Asgard.

Five anomalies.

"You should know about Thor already," she shrugged. "No big mystery there."

"True," Pierce said, perusing the documents. "The first five anomalies all follow a similar pattern, a steady increase of pressure followed by a burst of energy lasting anywhere from thirty and sixty seconds. Impressive for sure, but predictable after a while. Especially compared to the final anomaly."

He selected a sheet of paper and placed it in front of her. At first glance, it was a standard mission report. The kind she used to transcribe and sort through for Peggy. Some parts were handwritten and the writing was barely legible. The parts she could read gave her little idea of what she was supposed to be looking at.

The sick, sinking feeling in her gut on the other hand…

"On May 11th, 2011, we experienced a brief but powerful signal disruption, the source of which was traced to Puente Antiguo." Pierce folded his arms. "I believe there was a storm that night. Do you remember?"

It was hard to describe this feeling, like nothing Jane had ever thought a human body could handle. Pain, weight, sweeping dread seeping through every pore in her body. Before, the whole world had felt unreal, like she would wake up and this will have all been nothing but a terrible dream. Now she was awake and weighed down by her own body. Not one of these men would think twice about killing her. No one would stop them if Pierce gave the order.

And if he knew…

"It's been a long time," Jane said softly, squeezing her legs. "Hard to remember every bit of bad weather I saw out there. Sounds like it was probably just the lightning."

Pierce chuckled. "The funny thing is, we thought the same thing for the longest time." One of the guards handed him a photo, which he slid across the table. "Then we found this."

It was face-up, but Jane didn't need to see it to know what it was. The fading sheen, the curling edges, the fuzzy image of a man and woman posing in front of an unimaginable power source. The condition of the photo was pitiful compared to the well-preserved copy she kept in her bottom drawer at home. The one had clearly changed hands several times. Full corners were completely ripped off, and there was a long and pronounced crease right between her and Howard. His face was just as she remembered, though her own could've belonged to a stranger.

"Do you recognize this photograph?" Pierce asked.

Jane couldn't look at him. "I don't think so," she said softly.

He hummed. "The woman in this photo went by Jane Cinderhouse. She worked as a private secretary to Peggy Carter between the years of 1943 and 1945. Does that sound familiar?"

"I know of Peggy," Jane said. "Steve talks about her a lot."

"Of course," Pierce said, mocking her with how sincere his tone was. "The wonderful thing about former Director Carter is that she kept detailed records of all her associates from the early days in the SSR right up until her retirement in the nineties. Strangely, there is very little information on Jane Cinderhouse. The paper trail ends in 1945 when, according to Carter, she returned to Great Britain following the end of the war. However, there's no record of her in England or anywhere else. What documentation we do have is fake. Expertly crafted, but fake all the same. It's as if Jane Cinderhouse just popped into existence one day, and then popped right back out."

Peggy had talked to Jane once about what to do if the enemy interrogated her. Stay calm, be vague, show no fear. It had all seemed so simple back then. "I still don't understand what this has to do with me."

Pierce frowned, tapping the photo. "You don't see the resemblance?"

"It's an old picture," Jane said, trying not to sound too robotic. "She might look like me, but it's hard to tell."

"How about this?" Pierce retrieved a blown up and enhanced shot of Jane's face from the folder. Now it was like looking in a mirror.

"Okay, she does look like me," Jane swallowed.

"And has the same first name as you."

"What, Jane?" she laughed. "That's not exactly a rare name. What are you trying to prove?"

The room seemed to have darkened, though the lights remained bright. Perhaps it was the energy surrounding them. Whatever traces of false joviality had masked Pierce's true intentions were gone. That old grandfatherly look had turned chilling.

"Dr. Foster, we both know exactly what this is about," he said, rubbing his knuckles. "How did you meet Steve Rogers?"

Just as his mask had fallen, so had hers. "A-at a party. We told you-"

"No, that's not the truth," Pierce snapped, "because if it was, you wouldn't have been at the Smithsonian with him two days ago."

One of the guards handed him a phone. Pierce clicked on a video taken from the Howling Commandos exhibit. The cameraman zoomed in on Steve and Jane from behind. The white noise of people around them was muted, their own voices magnified.

'You should be up there,' Steve said.

'You know why I can't be.'

The world was falling apart around her. She couldn't stop shaking. Words failed her as she fought to stay stoic, a battle she had long since lost. She knew not to ask where that video came from; it was an admission of guilt. The question remained until she caught the guard still staring at her, smiling like a cat with a mouse in its claws. It came to her in a burst of soul-crushing horror. She had seen him before. All he needed was a black beanie.

"Excuse me, miss? Do you know how I can get to the planetarium? This is kind of my first time here."

"Oh God…" she whispered.

Pierce pulled a small remote out of his jacket pocket. A larger holographic screen, much like the one in his office, appeared between them. "On the night of May 11th, security cameras at a gas station across the street from your lab picked up an image of you on the roof."

Grainy black and white footage showed a dark figure hovering over a large mechanical device. The playback slowed as lightning hit. Going frame by frame, Jane's face was clearly visible. Pierce flipped through several more frames until another bolt of lightning hit, and for one single frame-

"It's double exposure," she mumbled, unable to make out the features of either Jane on the screen. "Has to be…"

"But it's not," Pierce said, taking one final photo out of the folder. Two photocopied signatures one on top of the other. The first was decades old, bearing a name that almost belonged to her. The second was fresher, newer. Taken from a notepad. "If there's one thing I've learned in my time, it's that the truth often has no concern for our petty ideas of reality. Sometimes in order to find reason, you have to think unreasonably. You have to think like a scientist. Science tells us there's a ninety-eight percent match between these two handwriting samples. Thank you again for the autograph, by the way. My granddaughter was thrilled when I told her."

Jane touched the ring through her shirt before she could stop herself. Not that it mattered if they saw. She'd been stripped bare, leaving her cold and exposed before their unfeeling eyes. Tears fell unobstructed. Peggy's voice telling her not to give up had died. There was nothing left to do except try not to scream.

Pierce narrowed his eyes. "So, Doctor Foster… or do you prefer Miss Cinderhouse?"

It was too hot in here, her clothes too thick and the chains too tight. Every inch of her was drenched in sweat, but the heat outside couldn't compare to the fire inside. "Don't you dare call me that."

One of the guards snorted. The other, Jane's museum friend, scowled at his partner. Maybe they had a bet going for how fast she would break.

With that final confirmation, Pierce was ready to smile again. It was as slimy and hideous as ever, but with an added hint of triumph that made Jane wish for a knife. "Thank you, Doctor. I'm glad we're finally on the same page."

If he expected an answer, he was out of luck, both because Jane wouldn't give him the satisfaction and because she couldn't get her jaw to move. Everything from the head down was frozen as waves of miserable horror engulfed her. The most she could manage was a pathetic hiss that she hoped sounded like a curse.

"Obviously, we want to know how you managed it," Pierce went on like nothing was wrong. "I don't expect you to tell us right away as I'm sure you need time to let all of this sink in. I hope you'll come to a decision that will benefit you."

Jane glared at him. "Benefit you, you mean."

"They may very well be the same thing," Pierce replied. "The world is about to change, Dr. Foster, and change requires sacrifice. I believe you want what's best for the world, but are you willing to make the necessary sacrifice?"

She would've loved to spit on him again. That designer suit jacket was too pristine for someone like him. Seeming to realize where her thoughts were headed, Pierce nodded to the guards, who approached her with dark intent.

"You must be tired," Pierce said, gathering the papers back into the folder. "A room has been prepared for you. Think about what we've discussed here. It may not seem like it now, but one day, you and I could be good friends."

"Friends," Jane sneered. "Like you and Fury?"

Pierce didn't react, at least not that Jane could see. "Sacrifices, doctor. We don't have to like them."

The men unlocked the chains and forced her through the door. They were gentle enough that she could almost fight back. Pointless as it was, she wouldn't allow Pierce the last word. "George Bernard Shaw."

He paused at the inner door and looked back at her. "Excuse me?"

"'All progress depends on the unreasonable man,'" Jane smirked. "Shaw said that, not Einstein."

They stared at each other until Pierce grew bored and made his exit. The two guards jerked Jane forward, walking her like a child through the bunker. Past countless agents staring at her with varying levels of curiosity, disdain, and debauched interest. The blondish man from before lingered with his friend, grinning at Jane with deceptively clean, white teeth. He had too many, like a shark with a wolfish gaze.

He said something in another language as they passed. The words were slimy on Jane's back, making her feel tiny and shriveled up. Fear coursed through her blood in tandem with anger, but she'd only let the latter show. If she lived for fifty years as their prisoner or if she died tomorrow, she never again let them see her cry.

The soldier was to speak to the director following his debriefing. It had gone well, or so he hoped. Nobody yelled at him and he wasn't immediately thrown in the chair. They even gave him a small meal packet and some water. It was dry and flavorless, but delicious all the same.

Trying to recall past missions was hard. The soldier knew he'd been activated many times over the years. He'd seen footage of old assignments, both successful and not. Only once had he truly failed to complete a mission and needed backup to finish the job for him. It had been one of his first times out. The target somehow dodged every one of his shots, almost like he'd missed him on purpose. It was shown to him every time they activated him as a reminder of the importance of following orders. While there were many things the soldier didn't know, the punishment for failure was something he'd never forget.

That they gave him solid food could only mean he would be active for a while. The longest he'd ever been awake was ninety hours, and he'd been almost happy to go back in if only so he could close his eyes without fear of a bullet.

What they needed him for next was unclear. No one was telling him anything and it wasn't his place to ask. After a quick maintenance check on his arm, he was ordered out of the infirmary and that was all. So it would be the director who gave him his assignment. Whatever it was, he'd carry it out precisely and without hesitation. Just as he'd been made to do.

Two men walked behind him, making sure he stayed on course. They were approximately two steps behind him from the sound of their steps. One was significantly shorter than the other and they both carried at least one weapon on their belts. They were light on their feet, but lacking in strength or durability. If an enemy attacked, the soldier couldn't count on them for backup. If he tried, he could probably kill them himself. Snap their bones, squeeze the air out of their lungs...

But of course he wouldn't because they were on the same side. He shouldn't even think such things.

Up ahead, a woman was escorted out of an interrogation room. It wouldn't matter except it was the woman. The mission. The soldier paused midstep but kept going as the momentary flicker of shock left him. Of course, she was still on base. They'd wanted her enough to send him after her. Now they were taking her to the barracks. Even he didn't have a room to himself. All he had was the chamber, which, he supposed, was all he needed anyway.

The soldier only saw the back of her head through a gap between her two guards. This time she was walking on her own. So she had woken up. The last few hours must have been pretty confusing for her. The soldier still didn't know why HYDRA wanted her. None of the questions he'd been asked alluded to her name or what she'd done. If he had to guess, she was a criminal, one of HYDRA's top enemies and a threat to global security. Any threat like her could be easily contained. Those men were clear amateurs who wouldn't know their asses from a shotgun barrel, but they subdued her with a simple clench of their fists. The woman was not trying to escape, though when the soldier caught a glimpse of her eyes, he saw pure determination.

"Keep moving," one of the guards commanded, shoving her forward. "Unless you want my foot up your ass."

"Well, if that's the only action you can get," the woman muttered.

The soldier smiled. He didn't know why.

Despite her backtalk, the woman did as she was told. The floors in this wing were old and dirty, whole chunks of tile ripped up from incidents the soldier knew nothing about. It would be no surprise if she tripped, but she managed to avoid the cracks without losing speed. This wasn't enough for the guard, who pushed her hard enough to make her stumble.

"I said move!" he shouted.

The woman fell on her hands and knees, hair draped over her face like a blanket. The soldier could no longer see her, but he heard her wordless growl as she tried to catch her breath.

"What the fuck did you say to me?" the guard raged.

He pulled her up by the hair and she kicked him in the shins. It was instinctive, not a conscious act on her part. The soldier could tell right away, but his teammates lacked the hyper-awareness he'd been blessed with. All they say was a disobedient prisoner, and it wasn't long before they had her surrounded.

"Ignore them," one of the men behind him said. "It's irrelevant."

There were two kinds of people out in the field: targets and irrelevants. The targets were the people he killed. The irrelevants were everyone else. Any irrelevants were to be ignored and avoided at all costs. Letting a bystander get too close or see too much ran the risk of turning them into another target.

The woman began the day as his mission. Now she was irrelevant. She mattered as much as a single grain of sand on the beach. Or a rock in the middle of a forest. Five men held her down as she struggled, gnashing her teeth and demanding they let her go. Two of them reached for their guns. Someone reminded them that they needed her alive. Another pointed out that there was plenty they could do without killing her.

Yet still, the woman fought. She fought as hard as her scrawny body would allow. The man she kicked whipped her back and forth violently as she tried to scratch his eyes out. There was a snap of metal and then a chunk of rock fell out of her shirt and bounced across the floor. It landed at the soldiers' feet. While his guards yelled at the men to clear out, he knelt down to pick it up.

It was a ring, not a rock. Tiny diamonds lined the band. Larger diamonds bloomed like a flower at the center. The metal was clean and well cared for. In fact, it might've been polished recently. The soldier held it to the light, taking in every curve and line and layer. In the right light, it reflected off the wall, white fractals like snowflakes falling at his feet. It reminded him of winter and cold, but also warmth. He could see a man kneeling before the woman he loved, promising to give her the universe if she'd only be his.

The largest man pinned her to the ground. That was it. She was done. While she screamed, they debated what to do with her. As long as the director didn't find out, it was all fair game in their eyes. They were nice enough to move to one side, leaving room for passersby. The soldier's guard tapped him on the shoulder.

"Let's go," he said.

The soldier stared at the ring.

It was irrelevant. He knew that. None of this mattered when he still had a mission to complete.

He had to move now. The woman was no longer his mission. She was irrelevant.

He had to move.

She was irrelevant.

He had to move.

She was irrelevant.

He had to move…

Jane knew she would die here. Whether it was by their hands or her own suicidal stupidity, this was the end of the line for her.

And that was okay. It was great even. No more worrying. No more lonely nights full of nightmares. If Steve was out there, he'd find her body soon enough and give her a proper burial. That he might pull off a daring rescue in the nick of time was not a possibility she was willing to entertain. False hope was not the last emotion she wanted to feel. Not when there were so many groins she could kick in before the lights went out. She'd gotten two so far. Three to go.

"You'd better stay down," one of them seethed, wrapping a hand around her throat. "I'm gonna give you one more chance, hear me?"

"Fuck… you…" Jane choked.

He slammed her head back and she saw stars. When she tried to inhale, her throat refused to take air. His nails punctured her skin, leaving trails of blood creeping down her neck. She tried to grab his face, but another man held her arms.

"Not too much or she'll die," someone said. "Just knock her out."

No, he'd kill her. She could see it in his eyes. The writeup would be worth assuaging his ego and she'd be dead in one of the most painful ways possible. Seriously, the asshole had a gun. Why'd he have to go for strangling of all things?

Jane closed her eyes. He was too ugly to be the last thing she ever saw. Instead, she pictured Bucky, his perfect eyes and smile. If there was a world beyond this one, maybe she'd see him again. Maybe they'd have another shooting lesson and she could finally tell him the truth…

She could breathe. The man's hands were gone. They'd been ripped away, taking the rest of Jane's captors with them. Now they all had their guns drawn and aimed at a man all in black.

The man from the shadows.

He held her would-be killer by the throat. The HYDRA agent thrashed and kicked, but he couldn't break free. He was a ragdoll to be swung and thrown around, and then the man did throw him straight into the closest gunman. Both of them collapsed to the floor, but the man wasn't done. He took out the third agent with a punch to the chest, sending him flying. A shot rang out, but it bounced harmlessly off his left shoulder. The man from the shadows sunk his fist into the man's jaw, knocking him out cold.

The last agent standing attempted a direct attack, trading blows with the man who matched his every move like he knew in advance what they'd be. When he was finished toying with his opponent, he picked him up and threw him through the nearest glass window. More agents were on the way. Alarms blared. The man ignored it all and stalked towards Jane.

She scrambled backward, but he was too quick. Instead of attacking, he took her in his arms, turning her away from the hoard of HYDRA agents ordering him to stand down. Jane couldn't hear them over her racing heart. Only a few of them spoke English anyway. Somewhere in the crowd was Rumlow, and she felt a dim sense of glee at how pale he was at the sight of the carnage.

The man responded to none of their commands. He didn't seem fully aware of where he was or what he'd done. Jane tried to catch his gaze, but he wouldn't look down. Blue eyes stared straight ahead at either a group of friends or a swarm of potential enemies. There were at least fifty he'd have to mow down to get out. A feeling settled in Jane's stomach, terrifying but oddly reassuring, that if he wanted to, he could.

One by one, the men parted, creating a gap to let their leader through. Pierce approached the Soldier, who held tight to Jane even as his muscles relaxed and his head fell. Now all was silent. An explanation wasn't necessary. He looked at the injured man and Jane's shivering form locked in the Soldier's embrace and knew exactly what had happened. Like a scientist before a peculiar new discovery, Pierce studied them. If he had a stick, he might have poked at them.

"Soldier," he said, his voice lower than Jane had ever heard before. "What's the meaning of this?"

The man, the soldier, had lost the look of a hunter on the prowl. Now he looked more like prey. "They touched her."

After a moment, Pierce nodded. "And you didn't like that."

"No," the soldier said.

"Why not?"

It hurt. Every part of Jane's body hurt like hell, but she was only just feeling it. All it took was looking in the soldier's blue eyes. At the silver sparkle shining between his fingers.

"Because she's mine," the soldier said, pulling her closer. "She's mine…"