Steve's POV

The elevator doors slid open, and Eleanor and I stepped inside. She stayed close to my shoulder—relaxed enough to blend in, but her eyes were tracking everything. Most people wouldn't notice it. I did. I'd been trained to read people long before the serum, and her awareness was... sharp. Controlled. Too controlled.

Rumlow stepped in with a wave of STRIKE agents.

"Morning, Cap," he said, giving Eleanor a polite nod. "Ma'am."

She returned it just as politely, but I saw the tension in her jaw. Barely there, but it was there. She felt it too—whatever this was.

The elevator began descending.

"Evidence Response found some fibers on the roof," Rumlow said. "Want me to get a tac-team ready?"

"No," I answered. "Let's wait and see what it is first."

He nodded.

Eleanor shifted. Not much—just her hand drifting toward her pocket, the one I knew Fury had let her keep a blade in. She shouldn't have needed it around SHIELD.
If today were normal... but today wasn't normal.

One of Rumlow's guys kept brushing the grip of his weapon. Too deliberate. Too nervous.

The elevator stopped. More agents filed in.

"Status?"

"Administration level."

The system confirmed it.

One agent brushed past us with an unnecessary "Excuse me." Eleanor flinched—small, sharp. She didn't like him at her back. I didn't either.

Rumlow sighed. "Sorry about Fury. Messed up, what happened to him."

"Thank you," I said, but my eyes were on the man opposite us. Sweat on his brow. Breathing off-rhythm.

The elevator stopped again.

"Records."

"Confirmed."

Eleanor looked up at me—just one look.

You feel it too?

Yeah. I did.

We were surrounded.

I shifted my stance. She mirrored it, edging a little closer—not behind me, not in front, just angled in a way that said: she'll fight with me, but she'll also fight for herself.

I took a slow breath.
"Before we get started... does anyone want to get out?"

Half a second of silence.

Then everything detonated.

A shock baton slammed into my ribs. Pain flared white-hot. Eleanor moved instantly, reaching for her blade, but an agent grabbed her arm. She twisted, drove an elbow into his throat—clean, trained—but two more pulled her back. She didn't stop; she threw a hard kick into one man's knee.

"Don't hurt her!" I snapped, yanking the baton wielder toward me.
She met my eyes and gave a tight nod.

And I hated that a part of me still wasn't sure if I should trust it.

Magnetic cuffs clamped on my wrist. I tore one free, slammed an agent into the wall. Eleanor managed to knee one in the ribs before someone pinned her shoulders.

"Steve—!" she choked out just as Rumlow hit me with another jolt.

The pain nearly dropped me.

Instinct took over. 

I broke the cuff, elbowed the nearest agent, ripped two more away from Eleanor, and drove Rumlow into the wall hard enough to make the metal groan.

He wheezed, "Whoa, big guy... this ain't personal."

"It feels personal," I muttered, grabbing my shield.

Eleanor broke the last agent's nose with a sharp punch. She stumbled—someone had hit her ribs earlier—but she steadied fast. Eleanor pick up the her former co workers 's wespon and I have her a really work. Eleanor look at me and didn't say anything. 

The doors slid open.

A full firing squad waited for us.

"Drop the shield! Hands in the air!"

I stepped in front of her automatically. She pressed a hand to my back—not hiding, not cowering. Just grounding herself. Maybe grounding me too.

Above us, a vent. A way out.

"Hold on," I whispered.

She didn't hesitate. Just nodded.

I shattered the glass and jumped.

We fell.

Eleanor wrapped an arm around my shoulder; I angled myself over her, shield first. The crash through the glass and through the roof of the lower level rattled every bone in my body. Eleanor rolled out from under me with a groan.

"Well," she muttered, breathless. "That was fun."

We forced the doors open. Alarms blared above us.

"Give it up, Rogers! Carter! You're cornered!"

I grabbed her hand. "Move!"

We sprinted through the corridors toward the garage.

Over the speakers, Sitwell barked, "Mobilize STRIKE units—25th floor!"

We reached the bikes, jump-started one, and tore out of the garage. Eleanor clung to the seat with one hand, bracing herself.

She glanced back once—just once—eyes shining with something like grief before she wiped it away.

"Next time," she said breathlessly, "we're taking the stairs."

I almost smiled. Almost.
"Next time."

We shot into the street—when a Quinjet dropped in front of us, lowering its guns.

"Stand down, Captain Rogers. Agent Carter. Stand down."

I didn't slow.

Eleanor gave me a sideways look. "Hold on," I said.

She raised an eyebrow. "No offense, Steve—you're not my type."

"Doesn't matter," I muttered. "Just hold on."

She wrapped an arm around my waist.

The Quinjet opened fire.

I hurled my shield into the propeller. The engine sputtered. Eleanor fired three clean shots into the opposite stabilizer.

She tightened her grip around my waist as the bike swerved.

The Quinjet dipped—losing balance—and I used the momentum to hop us onto the walkway beside it. I jumped, slamming my shield into the wing. Eleanor fired at the exposed circuitry. The jet spiraled and crashed hard behind us.

We hit the ground running—then running turned into speeding. We got back on the bike and didn't look behind us again.

After a long minute, Eleanor finally spoke.

"We need the file. We need to stop them."

"I was thinking the same."

She let out a soft breath—almost a laugh. "So now you know my name. It's nice to meet you, Steve."

I glanced at her.
"It's nice to meet you too."

We rode in silence the rest of the way—two people on the same side, at least for now.

But I still didn't fully trust her.

Not yet.