Chapter 3

Elia couldn't breathe. Not with the metal arm locked across her chest, pinning her against the soldier.

She couldn't even struggle. Not with the way he had her locked against him. She could barely move her legs, there was no way to get enough leverage to fight against him.

Her eyes darted around wildly. The group made their way through the gated neighborhood silently, staying in shadows, the wooded edges of the large lots.

It was a familiar route to Elia. She had driven through here daily, having built trust among the elite power brokers who lived here. Word of her discretion spread along with her kindness towards their children and she had found regular side jobs that had paid well enough to take care of her student loans and buy a more reliable car.

She didn't know which house they were going to at first. But as they got closer, she renewed her efforts to find a way to free herself.

Not Adelaide. They couldn't be going to the sweet little girl's home. Elia wouldn't let them.

But she couldn't stop them. The men dispersed into the shadows that the security lighting didn't reach. One of the men approached the electrical box on the side of the house and one by one the lights flicked off. When the back door was cloaked in darkness, the soldier hauled her to it. He pressed her face close to the retina scanner.

Elia immediately squeezed her eyes shut. She wasn't going to let these men anywhere near the fragile little girl or her family.

The soldier gripped her chin and his fingers pressed against her jaw. Elia shook her head, silently defying him.

"Use the syringe," Rumlow said.

In alarm, Elia tried to see where he was. A mistake. The soldier immediately turned her head and her open eye was caught by the scanner. She heard the click of the secure door unlocking.

The soldier opened the door and slipped inside with her. One hand pinning her in place, the other over her mouth to keep her silent.

She knew her way through the downstairs. The kitchen, the living room, the den. They were all familiar. When the soldier moved towards the stairs, she bucked against his hold, her cry was muffled. Adelaide would be sleeping in her bed. At the end of the hall he was steadily walking down.

He stopped at the first door. Eased it open.

Elia could barely make out the a form in the bed. But she knew it would be Adelaide's father. Adelaide's mother would be at her daughter's bedside until the child drifted into a sound sleep. How many nights had Elia sat next to Adelaide, monitoring her breathing, her oxygen saturation, as Mrs. Marks perched on the edge of the bed, brushing her daughter's hair back and singing a quiet lullaby? Senator Marks and his wife had been nothing but kind to her. They had even invited her to their family's Fourth of July barbecue.

Elia fought with everything she had, when the soldier released her mouth she drew a breath, ready to warn him.

But a shot blasted before she could scream. The soldier did set her aside then. Elia's legs nearly collapsed under her. Numbly she stood, staring.

He moved toward the bed, methodically wiping the handle of the gun and positioning it in the senator's limp hand. He pulled a folded piece of paper from his vest and set it on the nightstand. Elia blankly stared at the paper, the words she could see barely registering. A suicide note.

A creak sounded from the hall.

Elia's muscles tightened, springs coiled too tight.

The soldier turned from the nightstand and looked toward the door.

"No," Elia whispered. It was too late for screaming. Screaming would draw the little girl in here and Elia would never wish that on the child.

The soldier ignored her and moved toward the door. Small footsteps came closer in the hallway, following after the quick adult footfalls outside the door.

"Mommy?" came a small voice.

Elia shifted, blocking the door. She quickly flipped the lock and turned back to the soldier. His eyes narrowed slightly. With grim determination, he moved toward the door. He moved to shove Elia out of the way.

She wouldn't let him get to Adelaide. She saw his arm coming toward her with enough force to toss her aside. It was instinct to grab his hand and wrist and step aside, letting his own power carry him past her and to the ground while Elia whirled away.

Elia spun back, ready for him to come at her again. He laid on the floor, eyes dark and assessing her.

"Oh crap," Elia whispered, staring at his intense gaze.

Five years of Judo. The classes were supposed to give her some feeling of control. An outlet for the panic attacks. And she had actually learned Judo during that time.

But she had never actually used it. Not off the sparring mat. And even then only timidly.

But she had just thrown the soldier to the ground.

He was still staring at her. Not moving. His eyes…they weren't blank. They moved over her, like he was trying to place her. Then he looked over at the bed. At the body.

His eyes darkened, something going on behind them. When he looked at her again, he was anything but in control.

He was going to kill her. Elia knew it.

#

The soldier hadn't even seen it coming. The woman had thrown him efficiently, his hand and wrist in a lock as soon as he was in her reach, in a grip so perfectly positioned, he couldn't move his arm. He had been thrown to the floor with his own momentum. Enough force that his breath left his lungs.

He looked at the woman. He could see fear in her eyes. But every line of her body also showed her determination to fight. It was…familiar.

But that didn't make sense.

A shadow ghosted across some far corner of his mind.

Some…kid? No. A man. A small man. Scrawny, like this woman was. But determined to fight. But the man didn't fight him.

The ghosts were chased in with emotion. A feeling of protectiveness that had him ready to move and act. Pride. But he didn't have feelings. He existed to serve the mission. Bring order to the world.

But the ghost didn't evaporate. It also didn't become any clearer. It stayed just out of reach, at the edge of his mind.

He looked at the woman again. She was braced, ready for him. Ready to fight a bully in the alley.

No. That wasn't right. That didn't make sense.

Traces of panic kicked at the emotions. His heart started to pick up its pace.

It was like a record played in his head. One that went around, circular, never ending. Bring order. Complete the mission. It was what he was trained for. His entire purpose. But now the needle didn't glide smoothly over the vinyl. It skipped. There were scratches on the record, interrupting the instructions ingrained in him. Save the guy. Don't let another bully take him down.

No. There wasn't a guy here. Just this woman. The one he was supposed to get back to the compound.

Convinced he had it under control now, he stood.

Voices sounded in the hallway, a hushed frantic woman's voice and a child's reedier answer.

He took a step.

She shifted slightly, countering the move. Her delicate jaw trembled, but she set it, clearly ready to fight him. He couldn't fight her. He turned slightly, sure there was a bully, an oversized punk of a guy, ready to fight.

Punk.

Jerk.

The voices blurred with the scratching record in his mind.

He narrowed his eyes. Took the record off the player and shattered it. He moved toward her and she braced herself, her dark eyes clocking his every move, her hands moving slightly to match his movements. Her chest lifted and fell with breaths that came too fast. She was anything but a skilled combatant. But she had managed to throw him.

He had completed his mission. They needed to get out of there. The door was the obvious choice. But not with her blocking it. He went toward her, but without momentum. She couldn't use what he didn't give her. He reached out and got a hold of her arm. She tried to step back, but she also wasn't enhanced with serum. He kept his grip tight and pulled her along with him.

Out the window. He ignored her gasp as they went out. He grabbed onto the window ledge with his metal arm, his grip digging into the wood and brick. He swung them over the ledge aware of her heart thudding against his chest where he held her against him. He ignored it.

He let go and dropped the two stories to the grass, landing easily, hearing her grunt at the impact against his chest when he landed, still keeping her in his hold. He didn't stop, but set out quickly, keeping to the shadows, threading through copses of trees until they exited the development and made it back to the SUV.

He shoved her in and got in the seat with a quick scan to make sure no one had spotted them. The driver started the engine, the other men closed their doors behind them.

The woman sat woodenly next to him. She stared blankly, straight ahead, her breathing no longer coming in sharp gasps, but slow shallow inhales. She didn't move. She didn't cry. She just stared blankly.

The soldier put her defensive move, the way she had thrown him to the ground, from his mind. It had no bearing on the mission. And the mission was the only thing that mattered.

He firmed his jaw and fought back the shadowy vapors of someone—undersized, outpowered, determined—finding fights and not backing down.

That wasn't reality. Bringing order to the world. That was reality. It was what he was called to do.

#

Cold. She was cold. More than a chill. Numbing, endless cold.

A hand on her shoulder forced her down.

She sat with a dull thud.

"You used the tranquilizer on her," a voice commented. "Was she uncooperative?"

"She cooperated."

That voice was familiar. She had only heard it say two words, but it was familiar. Let's go. Go into Senator Marks' home and shoot him. That's what he had done. He had shot the man. Had been about to open the door and shoot his wife and child.

"He never hurt anyone," she murmured through stiff lips.

The conversation next to her continued.

"Mission report."

"Target terminated."

"He was trying to protect people," Elia said to herself. "His work with S.H.I.E.L.D…it was undercover. No one knew…"

The conversation around her stopped.

"What did you say?"

Elia stared blankly at the tile floor in front of her. But she kept seeing the way the body in the bed jolted when the bullet struck. The spray of blood.

A sharp slap connected with her cheek.

Elia blinked, hardly feeling it.

"What was he doing?"

It was the director. The director of what, Elia still didn't know. Director Pierce. Her thoughts were sluggish. She wondered if they had drugged her. She was pretty sure the syringe had never left the Soldier's pocket. Or was this shock? Is this what shock felt like?

Director Pierce bent over so his face was level with hers. "What was the senator doing?"

Elia thought of all the times she had been in his home. Adelaide had wanted to see her father and Elia had brought her to his office. She had stayed back, out of the way while the little girl ran to her father. Elia had thought of how different her life might have been if she had a father to run to, one who lit up when he saw her. Instead of one who could barely stand the sight of her.

Fingers snapped in front of her face. "The senator," Director Pierce reiterated, his voice sharp. "What was he doing?"

Elia could see the papers on the desk. She was nothing more than the hired help. No one thought of her seeing anything. And she hadn't cared. Hadn't realized how much she actually saw until it all came forward now, mixed in with reliving the senator's death happening in front of her.

There had been video calls, too. She had overheard those. His office was off the kitchen where she fixed Adelaide's snacks. Those calls had impressed her.

"He was going to talk with someone named Fury," she mumbled to herself. "He knew who had infiltrated the Senate. HYDRA. Who the agents were." None of it had made sense, but she had picked up on his passion for clearing the highest level of government of those people. "He was a good man. He shouldn't have to die."

She was barely aware of Pierce stepping away from her, talking to someone else. "He knew more than we realized. Framing him for Fields' death will make him look like a traitor to S.H.I.E.L.D. Let's work with that."

Footsteps started toward the door. Elia couldn't lift her head to look and see if they were leaving her. She couldn't move. She just kept replaying all the time she had spent at the Marks home. And her last visit there. To murder the man.

"What about her?" another voice asked.

There was a pause. Elia wondered who they were talking about.

"She knows more than we realized. She can offer more than just access to homes. Keep her."

A grip on her arm. Elia distantly thought it was hard enough to be painful, but she didn't feel anything.

She was hauled to her feet.

Without fighting, she let the man pull her toward the door.

The winter soldier was still standing. His dark eyes on her.

She glanced at him as she was pulled past. Confusion warred with some sort of…distress in his eyes.

None of this made sense.

None of it felt real.

Her cell had grown familiar and she caught herself from falling when the man gave her a hard shove into the small room.

She sank down onto the cot.

Maybe none of this real.

She closed her eyes.

Please let none of this be real.

#

Steve kept his head down, ball cap low over his eyes.

The narrator's voice came overhead, describing every part of the Smithsonian exhibit.

Steve barely heard it. He wasn't there to learn. He had lived it. But this was the closest he could come to where he belonged. The people he had lost.

Steve drew up in front of a mural, a picture of himself at center, the Howling Commandos stretching out on either side of him.

He would give anything to be with those guys now. He knew them. He trusted them.

He didn't understand S.H.I.E.L.D. Or this world he was in. Half the time he was lost, and the other half the time he wished he was.

He moved away from the picture of the men who were no longer alive. But they had been, when he went into the ice. Or most of them.

"Barnes is the only Howling Commando to give his life in service of his country."

Steve wanted to argue with the overhead narration. Bucky hadn't given his life. He had lost it. Because of Steve. He hadn't protected his friend. After all the times Bucky had his back, when it really mattered, Steve hadn't had his.

Steve had managed to find more scrapes than just about anyone in Brooklyn. He had found himself cornered in a diner, a bookstore, an alley… And Bucky had been there. When Steve wasn't going to give up, and he was getting pounded, Bucky had been there. He had driven the bully away.

Steve stared at the old video footage, Bucky smiling, laughing next to Steve. No idea what was coming. But even if he had known, he wouldn't have changed a thing. But Steve would have.

He'd give anything to talk to someone who would understand. Someone from his own time.

#

The door to Elia's cell opened.

She tensed. She couldn't go on another mission. Or face that soldier—the one with dead eyes who had killed without flinching.

No one entered the cell.

Elia didn't move. She wasn't about to risk it. Not knowing what might be coming next. It had been a long night, lying awake, frozen to her cot, not feeling, but replaying everything she had seen.

Still no one came into her cell.

Was this a trap? She knew what she was doing here, now. Her retinas had been used to access Senator Marks' home and assassinate him. But did that mean she was useless to them now?

There wasn't any sound from the long, windowless hallway outside her cell.

Elia stayed, unmoving.

Seconds and minutes dragged by. But Elia refused to be lured out only to face whatever was out there. An isolated cell was safety. Out there was unknown.

Nothing. Not even the sound of the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Silence. Complete and total silence.

She wasn't moving.

#

"She's compliant," Pierce commented, watching the girl on the surveillance screen.

She stared at the open door to her cell, but didn't make any sign of even checking to see what may be on the other side of the door, including her freedom.

Rumlow stood alongside him, the Winter Soldier on the other side.

"She has more information than we realized. We had only searched as far as our first target and the access she had. We missed how deeply embedded she is in the security world."

"Her?" Rumlow asked, looking at the frail figure on the cot, her eyes blank.

"She worked for a private nursing agency part time. She impressed patients and families with her discretion. Apparently, she was picking up more than anyone realized. We need to mine that information now." Pierce turned to the Soldier. "Bring her to the procedure room."

The soldier moved without reaction. Pierce looked back at Rumlow. "I have to be at S.H.I.E.L.D. Find out what she knows about the members of the security council."

Rumlow nodded. He watched on the screen as the soldier approached the girl. She froze. She didn't fight. She let him take her by the arm and lead her from the room.

Convinced she wasn't a problem, Rumlow left the surveillance room to meet them in the procedure room.

#

The Soldier ignored the woman's leaden footsteps. As if she was no longer present in her own body, she came along with him.

The procedure room was as familiar as his own bunk. Or the cryo chamber. It was where they wiped his memory. Where they worked on his arm. Where she had stitched his side the first time they had pushed her to tend him.

He thought of how gentle her hands had been. Unlike anything else in this place. But then thought of the surety and force she had thrown him to the ground with. He looked down at her.

Her face was drawn, dark eyes hollow.

He kept his steps steady. Pulled her to keep pace with him.

The doors slid open in the procedure room. The chair was center, the room revolved around it.

He kept her away from the chair and brought her to a plain chair at the side of the room. Rumlow came in shortly after them.

He went without a word to the metal cabinet at the back of the room and pulled out a vial and syringe. The Soldier stayed at her side, preventing any movement from her.

She stared at the syringe as Rumlow approached. The Soldier braced himself, ready for her to throw Rumlow, but she only sat like she had lost any will to fight.

Rumlow stuck the syringe in her arm and pressed the plunger down.

It only took a minute for her entire posture to change, her shoulders sagged, her head lolled slightly.

"Name," Rumlow said.

Without hesitation she answered, her words soft, slightly slurred. "Elia Anderson."

Elia. The Soldier had only thought of her as the prisoner they needed for access to secure homes. He stared down at her. For the first time he realized she was young.

"Who were your clients through the homecare agency?"

So slowly, it didn't seem like she was going to answer, she mumbled a list. "Adelaide Marks. Grace Fields. Jenna Hawley. Matthew Hawthorne. Liam Malick. Mai Li."

There were at least two family members of the security council members and one child who was a close acquaintance, also the child of the secretary to Hawley.

"What do you know about Councilman Malick?" Rumlow asked.

Groggily, her head drooped.

Rumlow snapped his fingers in front of her face. "Councilman Malick," he said sharply.

"His nephew likes ice cream. Chocolate," she mumbled.

"Not his nephew," Rumlow said. "The councilman."

"His wife left him," she said almost too quietly to hear. "He lost money."

"Good," Rumlow said. "How did he lose the money?"

"I'm not supposed to know." Her words came through lips that barely moved. Her head didn't lift.

"But you know," Rumlow countered, not backing down.

The Soldier made mental notes of the information. This was valuable. Priceless. They would finally be able to get the Security Council under their authority. Stop S.H.I.E.L.D. from the constant chaos they allowed in the world.

"He has a mistress," Eli's words were faint, trailing off. Her head finally lowered all the way. "Marissa." She started to collapse forward in the chair. The Soldier stopped her, her weight heavy against his hand.

"Perfect." Rumlow clearly had what he needed. "Bring her to the mess hall. She can eat there. Pierce wants her to be an asset. We'll treat her like one."

No longer a prisoner. The Soldier eyed her dispassionately. She was part of the mission now. The same mission as him.

Rumlow straightened and looked down at her. "She's no threat to anyone here."

The Soldier thought back to her easily throwing him past her, his shoulder still aching where he had landed. She was hardly a couple inches over five feet tall. She wasn't a threat.

Without a word, he half lifted her from the chair. She moved willingly, no sign of the burst of fight he had displayed earlier.

There wasn't anyone else left in the room. He was used to the space. He worked missions with these men, nothing more. He wasn't used to having someone at his side. Especially someone vulnerable.

She didn't offer any information now that Rumlow wasn't questioning her. She just moved along wherever he moved her.

The mess hall door was open. It only would close if they had to lock the underground facility down. The Soldier brought her in. The talk that always quieted when he entered stopped.

The Soldier was aware of eyes on them. But it didn't matter. These men were weak. They were disposable. Pierce rotated them through and treated them as such.

He got the woman in a seat. His tray of food was waiting for him. He stood silently while the man behind the stainless steel counter dished up a second tray with smaller servings and slid it to him, avoiding his eyes.

The Soldier took both trays to the table. He shoved her tray towards her. She would either eat it or pass out. It didn't matter. She would get another chance to eat tomorrow.

The Soldier focused on his food. She sat with a vacant look in her eyes. He ignored the quiet talk around them, some of it clearly about the girl. But there had been other assets brought in, some unwillingly at first, who had assimilated. The looks would die down and she would be nothing more than the information Pierce needed to mine from her.

#