Before arriving at Wheaton, I managed to check in on Adelaide and Sam as well as Lewis, but all three of them practically had the same things to say. SHIELD is on lockdown, and a search warrant for Natasha Romanoff and Steven Grant Rogers has been put out. Nothing on me yet thankfully, and Adelaide – being the resourceful yet scary little sister she can be – has been able to hold off inquisitive agents wondering where I've been, informing them that I've fell ill. Apparently, an 'Agent 13' also backed up her story, even though I can't recall having met an Agent 13.

Of course, Tony Stark – being the nosy bastard he is – has left twenty two voicemails and thirty eight text messages, much to the amusement of Natasha, Steve and I. With no small amount of effort, I eventually managed to placate him and make sure he stays out of this, not wanting to condemn him to the fugitive life like the three of us. As far as I know, Tony wasn't involved with the fall of SHIELD and rise of HYDRA, so even though his help would be greatly appreciated, he simply can't get involved, not if this is to turn out like it did before. I can't afford to Barry Allen the timeline again.

Walking around the former military camp feels... nostalgic, for some strange reason. I've never been here before, not once, and somehow it still feels familiar.

Whenever I'm not surveying our surroundings, out of curiosity or to check for incoming hostiles, I cast a glance over at Steve, who looks like he's seeing a ghost everywhere he turns. I smile sadly at the sight, knowing that the soldier in him will always long for this. Long for everything back in 1940's. Long for war.

Huh, I guess that's the biggest difference about us. I can recognise that I love what I do, that despite trying to be normal, I really can't live without fighting and action. Whereas Steve, a man most thinks fight for peace, is actually a soldier who never wants to come home from war. I can acknowledge that I can't leave that behind now, but he has yet admit to himself that he can't either.

"Finding the access point in this place will be like trying to find Waldo in the Sistine Chapel," I snark as we walk, earning a light chuckle from the super soldier and Russian assassin.

Natasha ambles along on an elevated bit of concrete which is the entrance to a building, Steve and I walking alongside her on the dirt ground. A few feet behind the super soldier, I observe him with a watchful eye, not having really known this part of him. The part of him he left back in 1945. The only time I saw it was briefly at the Captain America exhibition, but outside of that, he seems to keep it locked firmly away.

"This camp is where I was trained," he laconically explains after a while, confirming my beliefs and what I had read at the Smithsonian.

Natasha seems only mildly interested, more so focusing on her phone as it reads for any signs of human life in the vicinity. "Change much?"

Steve pauses, coming to a stop and staring absentmindedly into the distance. "A little."

I stop a few feet from him, watching him most likely relive a memory. Another sympathetic smile pulls at the corners of my lips, and even though I feel bad about doing so, I cross the few feet between us and stir him from his reminiscing, knowing that he needs to be fully aware should something pop out at any given moment. "From what I remember reading at that exhibition on you in the Smithsonian, you were quite the soldier, even before the serum. Threw yourself over a dud grenade, wasn't it?"

A short, wistful laugh can be heard after he drags himself from his reverie. "Didn't know it was a dud at the time. Looking back on it though, probably should've known it was. No commanding officer would throw a working grenade at his troops like that."

"But you jumped on it, nonetheless," I point out. "See? Told you that you were Captain America before the serum." I lightly punch his arm in a playful manner, earning another little laugh from the soldier in return. Natasha, however, gives us an update on the situation at hand before he can respond.

"This is a dead end. Zero heat signatures, zero waves, not even radio. Whoever wrote the file must have used a router to throw people off."

"No, there's something here, I can feel it. Can't be a coincidence that the file lead us to where both Steve trained and became Captain America, and where the founder of SHIELD trained herself," I disagree, spying Steve peer past Nat and at a building slightly less decrepit than the rest. "What is it?"

"Army regulations forbid storing munitions within 500 yards of the barracks. This building is in the wrong place."

The building really is ancient I note upon closer inspection as we near it. "Newer than the other buildings too," I comment, unsurprised at the pure ease at which Steve breaks the lock off with his shield whilst I talk.

The immediate onslaught of stuffy room smell and dust tickles my nose upon our leisurely descent down the stairs. Honestly though, I'm hardly surprised that there's some super secret 'shouldn't be here' kind of building in the same army camp that trained both Captain America and the leading founder of SHIELD, Peggy Carter. In fact, now that I think about it, this probably is SHIELD.

My suspicions are only confirmed when Nat flips the switch – funny how this place still gets electricity – on to progressively reveal the number of old fashioned desks lined up down the room, a large path lay bare in the centre which can only draw one's eye to the original SHIELD logo plastered on the wall at the end.

"This is SHIELD," Nat states the obvious, earning an eye roll from me. Thought we walked in on another super secret espionage agency base run by Peggy Carter with an eagle as their logo; thanks for the clarification Romanoff. I'll try not to make that mistake again.

The three of us warily continue forward, taking in every corner and speck of dust for anything that may stick out. "Maybe where it started," Steve says as we walk, his stern soldier face not giving away what's churning in his head.

Upon a little further inspection, we amble into another room, and the three immediate objects in our line of sight are three portraits; one slightly cracked and askew. Peggy Carter I recognise, Nicky wouldn't shut up about her back in the day, as well as Howard Stark; the brilliant mind but prick of a father. Great, just another thing for Tony and I to bond over – daddy issues.

Nat surveys the photos with a critical eye besides me. "And there's Stark's father."

"Howard," Steve corrects, not much in his expression betraying his thoughts about the man.

"Who's the girl?" The Russian assassin asks out of pure curiosity, yet when the both of us spare Steve a glance, for the first time since we've entered the building I can see a small pang of pain flit across his face. Without answering, he merely turns his back, silently deciding that we should move on.

I can feel Nat's curiosity only grow at the reaction, but I nudge her lightly to grasp her attention back from the photo, nodding in Steve's direction to follow.

Of course there's a secret elevator in the secret room in the secret building in the secret army base, one which Steve finds upon closer inspection. Nat has no problems cracking the code for the elevator to work, and soon enough we're on our way down, further and further into the ground.

Unease. That's the only word I could use to adequately describe what I felt the moment the elevator doors reopened and we tread into the eerily dark room. I stick by the super soldier, always finding his presence lulling and comforting, and yet that still can't stave off the foreboding dread that sits in the pit of my gut like I'm trying to digest stones. The fact that I've felt nauseous most of the day doesn't help either.

Nearing the computer panel, the lights decide to spontaneously bring themselves to life, and even with the dark now gone I still find no comfort. It still lies in the corners and edges. "This place gives me the creeps," I murmur to no one in particular, hands shoved into my chestnut brown hoodie.

I can hear a near silent snort of agreement from Natasha at my observation. She waltzes up to the control panel first, a wry, disbelieving, lop-sided smile twitching at the corners of her lips. "True as that may be, this can't be the data point. This technology is ancient."

My hazel eyes spot it before she does, so I tread on up to the ridiculously dusty computers beside her, tapping the one modern high-tech and non-dusty device in this building sitting atop the panel. "Found Waldo."

Natasha digs out the ghost drive and taps it thoughtfully for a few moments, before proceeding to plug it into place in the access point. Instantly, more light floods the expanse room, all the archaic technology springing to life along with it. Great, whoever built this place – and by that I mean whoever in HYDRA – and is trying to get the ghost drive back off us, probably has this entire site monitored. They would know the moment we powered up the secret computer in the secret room in the secret building in the secret base.

So many goddamn secrets.

The main monitor screen flickers on, a computerised, flat voice reading out the question splayed across the screen. "Initiate system?"

Jutting my hip to right side so I can lean on the panel, I stand barely two feet away from Natasha when her fingers reach forward and type away on the dinosaur keyboard. "Y-E-S spells yes."

The sound of even more freakin' computers and systems powering up hums all around us, but I'm distracted from my own unease when Natasha abruptly references "Shall we play a game?" I snicker cheekily, the Russian assassin fairly amused at her own words as well, but upon receiving no reaction from Steve, she launches into an explanation "It's from a movie that was really—"

"I know, I saw it," Steve cuts her off, marginally exasperated.

Stepping back, the three of us watch on warily when green glitches oscillate on the main screen, and I can feel my brows pull further together into a knot when some kind of A.I. asshole forms from the glitches on the screen. "Rogers, Steven; born 1918."

I blink, head snapping in each direction and quickly finding what looks like an old security camera pointed at Steve. "The fuck—"

"Romanoff, Natalia Alianovna; born 1984," the Swiss-German accent continues, neglecting my outburst completely.

I sharply stare at the camera as it turns my way, scowling "You better well stop there—"

"Nightshade, Lillian Veronica; born 1989." I swear to God that the computer almost sounded smug just then.

My nostrils flare in irritation. "Fuck you."

"It's some kind of recording," Natasha attempts to rationalise, only to be shut down by the computer itself.

"I am not a recording, Fräulein. I may not be the man I was when the Captain took me prisoner in 1945...But I am." A photo of a man with a forehead the size of Texas pops up on another screen, and my dread only grows and tightens.

Natasha's tone takes a disbelieving but marginally accusatory turn at the computer's news. "You know this thing?"

Steve seems to instantly flip into soldier mode, cautiously wandering down around the side of the control panel and computers to analyse the system from behind, his baritone taking on mistrustful, flat pitch. "Arnim Zola was a German scientist who worked for the Red Skull. He's been dead for years."

"First correction, I am Swiss—"

"We don't care asshole," I acutely cut him off, glaring into the monitor.

"– second, look around you. I have never been more alive. In 1972, I received a terminal diagnosis. Science could not save my body. My mind, however, that was worth saving, on 200,000 feet of databanks. You... are standing in my brain."

My nose twitches and wrinkles in disgust. "Ew, gross."

"Are you always this petulant?"

"Only when computerised zombie World War II Swiss-German evil scientist assholes decide they want to be a smartass and creepily know who I am, yeah."

"Lilly," Steve lightly calms me down, resting a hand on my shoulder gently once he's come back around to Nat and I. Turning to the Zola computer, he firmly demands "How did you get here?"

"Invited."

"It was Operation Paperclip after World War II," Natasha vaguely explains, not entirely sure of all the circumstances herself. "SHIELD recruited German scientists with strategic value."

"They thought I could help their cause. I also helped my own."

Steve suddenly begins to grow more agitated with Zola, evidently in denial. "HYDRA died with the Red Skull."

As Zola responds, the unforgettable HYDRA logo glitches green on the screen momentarily. "Cut off one head, two more shall take its place."

"Prove it," the super soldier presses.

"Accessing archive." Images and videos of HYDRA, Steve and SHIELD since the 1940s flash across the screen, but whilst Steve and Natasha watch on completely entranced and aghast, I only occasionally flicker my eyes to the screen, opting to further survey our surroundings. I don't trust the douchenozzle whatsoever, and his sudden willingness to cooperate with the guy who is his number one enemy is sketchy to say the least.

"HYDRA was founded on the belief that humanity could not be trusted with its own freedom. What we did not realize was that if you try to take that freedom, they resist. The war taught us much. Humanity needed to surrender its freedom willingly. After the war, S.H.I.E.L.D. was founded, and I was recruited. The new HYDRA grew. A beautiful parasite inside S.H.I.E.L.D. For 70 years, HYDRA has been secretly feeding crisis, reaping war, and when history did not cooperate, history was changed."

"That's impossible. SHIELD would have stopped you," Natasha refutes, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Accidents will happen..."

My head snaps to the screen to see what the scientist means, but by the time I do, whatever he was referring to has disappeared off the screen.

"HYDRA created a world so chaotic that humanity is finally ready to sacrifice its freedom to gain its security. Once a purification process is complete, HYDRA'S new world order will arise." That smugness returns, and if computers could smirk, I'm certain he would be right now. "We won, Captain. Your death amounts to the same as your life... a zero sum."

Snapping from the build up of anger and aggression, Steve lashes out at the main monitor, the belligerent display resulting in a thoroughly smashes computer screen. Heavy breathing darts in and out of his lips, his face wearing the iconic brows of disapproval and soldier scowl.

"Beat me by like two seconds," I mumble bitterly, the last syllable barely falling from my lips when the bitch appears on the smaller monitor to the right once again.

"As I was saying..."

"What's on this drive?" I evenly urge, attempting to steer the conversation back onto its original purpose.

"Project Insight requires... insight. So, I wrote an algorithm."

"What kind of algorithm? What does it do?" Natasha presses, the situation at hand abruptly turning more urgent.

"The answer to your question is fascinating. Unfortunately, you shall be too dead to hear it."

The sudden sound of metal doors creaking and shifting close tears our attention from the screen to the elevator from which we arrived in. Steve snaps to action and throws his shield, whilst I forcefully stomp my boot and watch a path of ice speed across the floor and form a barrier between the two closing doors, but the ice merely shatters under the pressure, and Steve's shield doesn't reach the exit in time.

Catching it with practiced ease, the super soldier's head snaps back to Natasha the same time mine does, only for her to report "Guys, we got a bogey. Short range ballistic – 30 seconds tops."

"Who fired it?" The Captain asks.

Controlled panic flickers across the Russian's face. "SHIELD."

She all but launches forward and tears the ghost drive from the access point, whilst Steve frantically searches for cover. Lurching towards the grates in the ground, I begin to lift it up when Steve moves to help me, ripping it from the ground and tossing it to the side with a single hand.

"I am afraid I have been stalling, Captain. Admit it. It's better this way."

"I'll form an ice barrier, get in there," I rush out, but Steve doesn't plan on having much of that, slipping the hand with the shield around my waist and the other around Natasha's.

"We are, both of us... out of time."

We reel forward with a desperate rigour, when the heat and ire of fire and debris begins to tickle and lick at the backs of our necks. Falling into the ditch, Steve raises his shield above our three heads, but the small vibranium protection can only do so much. Raising my own hands up fiercely, a small, pained cry slips past my lips when the quickly constructed ice covering cracks and groans under the pressure of however many tons of debris, sweat trickling like a gentle dew drop down my brow.

Another wave of nausea kicks in, the sudden impulse to throw up and fresh layer of sweat lathering my back and face denting the force and power in my ice shield. Even with my eyes screwed immovably shut in pain, and the deafening explosion and cave in of rubble, I can still hear the palpable panic and alarm in Steve's voice. "Lilly!"

The hand holding his iconic shield had been removed from around me once we jumped in to hold it protectively above our heads, so the sudden feeling of his other free hand – which I had presumed was around Natasha – desperately taking a firm hold of waist again and tightly pulling me against him with an iron grip, is unexpected to say the least. With all the will power I can muster, I unscrew my eyes with great difficulty, my recently acute vision in the dark staring up and taking in every line of unadulterated apprehension and anguish in the super soldier's face.

The debris eventually begins to slowly settle, the aches in my muscles screaming for me to let down the ice barrier surrounding us. Almost psychically, Steve can sense this. "Lilly, let it down, slowly."

Not one in a position to currently argue, my muscles progressively loosen up and allow the ice to crack and thin, Steve's own grip around me constricting, Natasha looking alright as she too is pulled up flush against Steve for cover under his shield. The rubble gently settles around and atop the vibranium shield, until the ice is gone completely and I nearly fall unconscious on the super soldier.

As darkness speckles and obscures my vision, I dart in and out of full consciousness, hearing the groans of Steve pushing and digging us out of the collapsed building. After a while, when all has fallen silent except for our collective ragged breathing and the occasional bit of tumbling rubble, he temporarily rests me up against a section of a still standing wall, Natasha coughing off to the side in a desperate attempt to breathe, like me.

I'm sick, I can tell that much. Only problem is, I never get sick, and not like this. Not in a way that affects my powers, especially after all the training I did on Asgard to boost said powers. This can only be some twisted, unmentioned side effects of my withdrawal from the dark stone.

Loki you little shit, next time I would prefer a heads up. At least Addie shouldn't be in a state as bad as me; not like she had a building dropped on her.

"Lilly? Lilly are you alright? Say something."

Eyes fluttering weakly open again, I find Steve's face incredibly close to mine, something I would've taken great pleasure in any other time, but right now, whilst I feel like I want to puke up everything in my stomach and every goddamn organ in my body, is not as reassuring as it usually would be. Spluttering and coughing to the side, so as to not do it in his face, I feel a small smirk tug at the corner of my lips.

"HYDRA... what a bitch."

A/N: Woww I have a HSC test tomorrow (NSW, Australia big end of high school exams) and I haven't studied for the subject but blah, I wrote a chapter instead. Whoops.

So, yes, as @missfandomfan was quite adamant about, the dark stone problem did go away too easily. We'll see more of that to come though, especially in the infinity war book.

QOTD: Would you guys like an imagines/one-shots book of my OCs and Marvel/DC characters? Like "Imagine if Lillian Nightshade was assigned a contract to kill a target Deadpool was also after" or "Imagine if Lilly and Steve adopted a puppy together". You know, stuff like that. I would also do Marvel-DC characters/reader imagines if y'all wanted it.

Thanks for reading and that's all for now, bye! :) xxx

~ T.L