Chapter Eleven: Steve Rogers

Knocking on the door of Sam Wilson's place, Steve rubbed at his face. So many 'what ifs' were flying through his head. What if Sam didn't answer. What if he didn't want to help. What if… The door was pulled open, and Steve met Sam's eyes.
"Hey, man," Sam greeted hesitantly.
"I'm sorry about this," Steve said. "We need a place to lay low." Zoë gave Sam a small finger wave.
"Everyone we know is trying to kill us," she said.
"Not everyone," Sam corrected. He opened the door wider, letting them enter. He glanced around the street, then closed the door when he didn't see anyone.

Once inside, Sam showed them to a bathroom. Steve ushered for Zoë and Natasha to go ahead of him as he stepped back with Sam.
"Can I borrow your phone?" Steve asked. "I gotta call Maggie."
"Sure." Sam fished out his phone, passing it to him. "Imma make some breakfast."
"Thanks, Sam."
Sam grinned at him, "Anything for Captain America."

Dialing Maggie's number, Steve put the phone to his ear as he leaned against the entry-way wall.
"Morning, Sam," said Maggie. Her voice was groggy. She'd clearly just woken up.
"Maggie, hey."
"Steve?" He heard her sitting up. "Are you okay?"
"I'm not gonna make our date tonight, just wanted to let you know."
"That's too bad. Running away with some model or something?" He could hear the smile in her words. Always trying to make him feel better.
"No-one competes with you."
"Well, then maybe you should meet me tomorrow at the studio."
"The studio?"
"It's Veteran's night," she reminded him. "I would like another dance."
"Will do. I'll see you tomorrow."

Hanging up, he walked to the living room to see Zoë staring intently at the wood grain of Sam's table.
"Are you okay?"
"She's fine," Natasha said, appearing behind him.
"What's going on?" he questioned.
"I just—when I first joined S.H.I.E.L.D., I thought I was going straight. But I guess I just traded one illegal group for another," Zoë murmured. "I thought I knew whose lies I was telling, but… I guess I can't tell the difference anymore."
"There's a chance you might in the wrong business."
"Yeah, well, I'm planning on retiring anyway."
"I owe you," Natasha suddenly said.
Steve shook his head, "It's okay."
"If it was the other way around, and it was down to me to save your life, and you be honest with me, would you trust me to do it?" Natasha pressed.
"I would now. And I'm always honest."
Zoë scoffed, "Really? It took you months to tell me about Maggie."
"You never asked."
"Mmmmmm."
"Well, you seem pretty chipper for someone who just found out they died for nothing," Natasha remarked.
"I guess I just like to know who I'm fighting for."

Sam's voice startled them as he poked his head out from the kitchen.
"I made breakfast. If you guys eat that sort of thing." Zoë snorted as she stood to head into the kitchen.
"So… the question is, who in S.H.I.E.L.D. could launch a domestic missile strike?" Natasha asked as she picked up a piece of toast.
"Pierce," Zoë replied quickly.
"Who happens to be sitting on top of the most secure building in the world," Natasha nodded.
"But he's not working alone, Zola's algorithm was on the Lemurian Star," Steve reminded them.
"So was Jasper Sitwell," Zoë shrugged.
"So, the real question is: how do the three most wanted people in Washington kidnap a S.H.I.E.L.D. officer in broad daylight?"
"The answer is: you don't," Sam said.

He dropped a file in front of Steve who opened it.
"What is this?" Zoë questioned.
"Call it a resume." Natasha picked up a photo of Sam with his para-rescue team.
"Is this Bakhmala?" Natasha asked. "The Khalid Khandil mission, that was you." She looked over at Steve with a frown. "You didn't say he was a para-rescue." Steve glanced at a photo of Sam and his partner.
"Is that Riley?" he asked quietly.
"Yeah."
"I heard they couldn't bring in the choppers because of the RPGs," Zoë remarked.
"What did you use, a stealth chute?"
"No. These."

He handed over another file and Steve flipped through it. It was for a project called Falcon. It showed Sam high in the air with a pair of mechanical wings strapped to his back. Steve looked up at him with a confused expression.
"I thought you said you were a pilot."
"I never said pilot," Sam corrected.

Shaking his head, Steve closed the file.
"I can't ask you to do this, Sam. You got out for a good reason."
"Dude!" Sam grinned. "Captain America needs my help. There's no better reason to get back in."
Steve sighed, "Where can we get our hands on one of these things?"
"One of what things?" Zoë asked. She frowned when she was ignored.
"The last one is at Fort Meade, behind three guarded gates and a twelve-inch steel wall." Natasha's ears perked up at the challenge.
"Shouldn't be a problem," Steve said.
"I'll drive!" Natasha said. She jumped to her feet, hurrying out the door.

Handing Sam his phone back, Steve glanced at Zoë.
"Want Maggie to get the kids?" he asked.
"What kids?"
"The ones you were with at the musem… they aren't yours?"
"No, their dad is an agent and asked if I'd babysit for the day." She hated lying to him, but it was for her kids safety.
"Oh." Zoë stood, stretching tiredly.
"Come on, Cap. We've got ground to cover." Steve gave her a fond smile before following her out the door.

A few hours later, Steve had Jasper Sitwell's shirt tight in his hand as he shoved the man against the edge of a rooftop. Natasha was glowering beside him as Zoë stood nearby, her stance comfortable and relaxed compared to the other two. It was just another day on the job.
"Tell me about Zola's algorithm," Steve demanded.
Sitwell shook his head, "Never heard of it."
"What were you doing on the Lemurian Star?"
"I was throwing up, I get seasick. Agent Aetós knows this. Now, is this little display meant to insinuate that you're gonna throw me off the roof. Because it's not your style, Rogers."
"Yeah, but it's mine," Natasha growled. She kicked him off the roof and he fell screaming.
"Ooooo!" Zoë called to Steve. "What about the movies?"
"What about the movies?"
"I'm trying to come up with date ideas."
"I don't really know if we're at dark theater setting yet."
"Ah, still on fully lit rooms."
"Yep."
"Sounds good, I'll keep thinking."

A second later, Sam dropped Sitwell at Steve's feet. The man held up his hands in defense.
"Zola's algorithm is a program… for choosing Insight's targets."
"What targets?" Steve asked.
"You! A TV anchor in Cairo, the Undersecretary of Defense, a high school valedictorian in Iowa city. Bruce Banner, Sara Reyes-Fitz, Stephen Strange, anyone who is a threat to Hydra! Now, or in the future."
"The Future?" Steve repeated. "How could it know?"
Sitwell laughed, "How could it know? The twenty-first century is a digital book. Zola taught Hydra how to read it. Your bank records, medical histories, voting patterns, e-mails, phone calls, your damn SAT scores. Zola's algorithm evaluates people's past to predict their future." "And what then?" Steve asked. "Oh, my God. Pierce is gonna kill me."
"What then?"
"Then the Insight Helicarriers scratch people off the list. A few million at a time."

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