Steve mentioned something about laying low with a friend named Sam Wilson back in Washington DC, but to be honest, I've been trying to ward off my ridiculously splitting headache for the past couple hours, so I didn't catch much of it. This time Natasha drove, Steve giving her directions once we reached Washington.

Watching our backs, the three of us, grimy, beaten and exhausted, tread up to a fairly nice house in the white-picket fence kind of neighbourhood Steve directed us to. Natasha looks about ready to collapse, and I'm sure I don't look much better. Pity, I was really hoping to make that Victoria's Secret Model Runway show in the next hour.

The super soldier raps lightly on the glass sliding door, fleetingly peering at me in the corner of his eye. He's been doing that since we left Wheaton, as if he expects me to pass out into a coma at any given moment now. Wouldn't mind passing out into a coma right now actually, good way to avoid the world gone to shit and catch some sleep whilst I'm at it.

A dark skinned, average height man with a goatee in an indigo shirt opens the door to the three of us, expression far beyond the point of lost and perplexed. Not the kind of girl scouts selling cookies I bet he was expecting. "Hey, man."

"Your time is up, Samuel Wilson," I forebodingly inform him, the knot in the man's brow only furrowing further. "We have come to collect."

"What is she—?"

"Lilly," Steve sighs, shooting me a disapproving glance before turning back to Sam Wilson. "I'm sorry about this. We need a place to lay low."

Natasha's ever stoic expression pulls tighter as she talks. "Everyone we know is trying to kill us."

The new guy stares between the three of us sternly, deliberating and weighing his words by the look of it. Despite this, he doesn't take long to respond, and appears more decisive than ever in his choice. "Not everyone," he disagrees, stepping aside to let us in.

I amble in last after Nat and Steve, Sam Wilson closing the door behind me. Glancing at me as the other two settle in the kitchen for a short while, he speaks up. "I don't believe we've met, mysterious lady who has apparently come to collect something."

I snort. "My humour doesn't always shine in the most opportune moments. In fact, I have a habit of using sarcasm as a defence mechanism in nearly every inopportune moment." I stick my hand out wearily, a tired smile playing at my lips. "Lillian Nightshade. Thanks for being cool about this."

"No worries Lillian," he lightly grins, accepting my hand and firmly shaking it. "Sam Wilson. I'm cool about a lot of things."

"Mind if I call you Sammy? I already have one friend named Sam."

His laughter is heartier now, retrieving his hand back with renewed warmth behind his eyes. "Man, I don't think anyone has called me Sammy since the fifth grade."

"Well, I'm breaking that streak. Thanks Sammy."

"Sam," Steve calls, grasping the attention of Sammy and I. "You have somewhere we can get cleaned up?"

My new friend Sammy nods, jerking his head in the direction of a hallway. "Down the hall, my room. There are towels in the cupboard under the sink in my bathroom too – you guys look like you had a building dropped on you."

"Ha, accuracy hurts," I mumble under my breath, running my hands down my back and stretching forward, hearing a resounding crack. Huh, that feels better.

Steve smiles graciously, but still despondent behind that soldier facade. He's had that look since discovering that HYDRA really isn't gone, and has come back to haunt him once again. He and Nat start making their way down the hall, but when I make no move to follow, Steve pauses and glimpses at me expectantly. "You coming, Lilly?"

"I'm gonna hang here for a bit," I wave him off, stiffly moving to sit at the island counter in the kitchen. "I need pain meds, water and a vodka on the rocks."

Sammy looks concerned. "It's breakfast time...?"

"And a piece of toast."

Another laugh rumbles in Sam Wilson's chest at the response, shaking his head as he uncrosses his arms. "Whatever the lady wants."

"Ha! Haven't been called that in a while," I grin, glancing back to Steve and spying his still troubled look. "I can clean up here, don't worry."

Cap nods once reluctantly, moving to follow Natasha down the hall.

Groaning up at the ceiling once he's gone, I allow my eyes to flutter shut and swallow what little saliva is currently residing in my dry mouth. I love Steve, don't get me wrong, but he's had me on edge since Wheaton. I get the feeling he wants to talk to me about my sudden near-fainting experience. I'm going to need a lot of meds before I even think about the kind of lecture or talk he'll want to give me once I go down that hall. "How much pain medication do you have?"

Sammy doesn't even miss a beat. "I got Aspirin, Bufferin, Advil, Goody's, Bayer, Pepto-Bismol, Robax, Ibuprofen, Tylenol, Walgreens, you name it. Back pains, migraines, stomach pains, indigestion, period pains—"

"Why do you have period pain pills?"

"I'm a prepared man, that's why."

I sleepily smile through lidded eyes, tilting my head down from staring at the ceiling. My elbow perches itself atop the counter, chin resting in the palm of my hand. "I feel like my head is going to spontaneously explode and I'm going to puke up every single one of my organs at any given moment. And it's not my time of month."

"Aspirin and Pepto-Bismol it is."

Drained and ragged, I silently observe Sam Wilson move around the kitchen calmly filling a glass of water and rummage through his medication cabinet, eventually returning to me and handing me a couple pills, a cap full of Pepto-Bismol, a glass of water and a flask of what I pray is vodka. "Toast is on the way. Though, I don't think alcohol should really be mixed with—"

I down the pills in one go, followed by the cap of syrup, then a large gulp of water. Now focusing on the flask, I smirk half-heartedly. "I've mixed worse."

"Right," he replies, curiously holding my gaze for another fleeting moment before returning to bustling around the kitchen. "I would ask how he knows so many pretty women, but he's Captain America, so that kinda answers that."

"You think I'm pretty?" I grin widely, taking a sip of the flask. Yup, vodka. Not strong enough though. Nothing these days seems to be strong enough for my liking, not after all the Asgardian mead I had back on Asgard.

"Underneath all that dirt, knotted hair and torn clothes, yeah."

The realisation of just how dishevelled and filthy I look finally hits me full force. Staring down at my torn chestnut brown hoodie and grimy yoga pants, my lips form a thin, exasperated line. "Right, this." Leaning back and gripping the hem of the hoodie, I stiffly pull it over my head, ignoring the rigid muscle pain. Now in a thick strapped black tank, I nod my head towards the kitchen sink. "Do you mind?"

Sammy gestures towards the sink obligingly. "Be my guest."

Lifting my other hand up lazily, both elbows now propped up on the counter; I idly twirl my wrist and watch the small stream of water course out of the faucet, gliding through the air towards me until it forms a water glove around my hand.

Sammy drops the carton of orange juice at the same time his mouth drops open. "Holy shit."

Smirking falteringly, I wipe my water gloved hands down my face and through my hair, the water picking up all the dirt and grime and sweat on the way, but not leaving a single drop of water in its wake. Rubbing down my neck and arms next, I extract the last of the filth from my skin and remove the water from around my hands like I'm peeling off gloves, scrunching the water and dirt into a small ball and tossing it leisurely into the sink like one would with a ball of paper into the bin. When I look back at Sammy, his mouth is still open.

"And that's a normal thing for you?"

"Water, ice, fire, yeah," I shrug, playing the nonchalant card.

"Fire?" He repeats, still making no moves to continue on with breakfast. Shaking his head, Sammy laughs in disbelief. "Man, why am I not surprised that Steve has friends like you?"

"Because he's Captain America," I flatly reason, taking another sip of the flask. "Plus, he only keeps me around for protection against another 70 years worth of ice. I don't think the grandpa's old body is built for another time jump like that."

"Oh he keeps you around for more than that."

Instinctively, my eyes narrow skeptically, the man finally returning to finishing up breakfast now that the toast has popped. "What do you mean by that?"

"You're kidding right?" He grins, a reflection of that boy smile that friends give one another when they know their friend has gotten some female attention. "I thought he was going to start pining like a puppy when you didn't follow him down the hall just then. You got that man wrapped around your damn pinkie."

"And you gathered that from what? One concerned look?"

"Yeah, I did. And if I can tell from one look, I can't imagine how obvious it must be the rest of the time." He places three spreads in front of me as he talks, as well as my plate of toast. "Jam, butter or honey? I got avocado and cream cheese in the fridge too."

"Jam is fine, thanks," I reply, scooping up the butter knife to the side and lathering the strawberry jam to the two slices of toast, flask off to the side for the time being. "I mean, I suppose he might have some kind of interest in me. He did ask me out for coffee after all—"

"So he asked you out for coffee, like an actual date, and you're still questioning whether or not he's interested in you?" The incredulity in Sammy's tone has maximised by now.

Sliding off the kitchen stool, I grab both pieces of toast with one hand, the other reaching for the flask. "I'm a woman; we remain in denial until the man bluntly says it outright or goes in for the kiss." Pushing the stool back in with my foot, I salute Sam Wilson with the hand holding the flask. "Now, if you excuse me, I'm going brace myself and walk down the hall to where I am certain there is some kind of lecture or long talk awaiting me. Pray for me."

"Godspeed you Lillian Nightshade," Sammy calls out after me, earning a chuckle as I do indeed amble down the hallway. "Godspeed!"

The hall is short, and the door is open wide enough for me to spot Romanoff's distinguishable red hair. "Well, I guess I just like to know who I'm fighting." Steve's voice is the first sound that travels to my ears once I breach the doorway, both pairs of eyes turning to focus on me as I casually waltz towards the bed and collapse on it next to Nat.

Ripping off a bite of toast, I chew it lazily before swallowing and offering Nat the flask. "Numbs the... everything, I suppose."

She accepts without missing a beat, her mouthful quite a bit larger than what I expected. She makes a face. "Sam's vodka is cheap."

"I'll take anything at the moment," I blandly reply, the iconic Steve Rogers concerned brow furrow look burning into the side of my face, a palpable sigh breathing past his nose.

It seems Natasha also recognises the familiar look accompanying the tell-tale 'talk' sigh, standing up with my flask and wandering towards the hall. "I'm going to check on Sam, and I'm taking this with me." She waves the flask to accentuate her point, warranting exasperation on my behalf.

"That's my cheap vodka!"

"Possession is nine tenths of the law. You'll get over it." With that being said, the Russian assassin disappears from sight, leaving me alcohol-less in the presence of Steven Grant Rogers about to launch into one of his talks.

Dramatically groaning, I fall back against the bed sheets and throw my free arm over my eyes, awaiting the inevitable. And the inevitable does not disappoint.

"How are you feeling?" Whoop, there it is.

I grunt. "I feel like stabbing someone."

"Stabbing isn't really an emotion, it's more of an activity... that I hope you don't do to me."

I can't help the small chuckle that escapes the back of my throat at Steve's response, craning my neck up to stare down body at the super soldier sitting on a chair at the base of the bed, propping my elbow back to lean against it. "After all we've been through Cap? I would never." I say it in a playful tone, but mean it 100%, and he knows that.

He smiles briefly, before his face tightens with concern again. "I'm serious, Lilly. You've never reacted to using your powers like that before. If you're over exerting yourself—"

"No, it's not that," I wave him off, fully sitting up straight now. God, what do I even tell him? What can I tell him? 'Hey, Steve. So, I was fostering this all-powerful cosmic stone inside of me for like eight months, and my real father – Loki, the crazy ass Norse god who kick-started that alien invasion back in New York – finally got rid of it for me by using another all-powerful cosmic stone, but it turns out that there are some pretty whack side effects to it all, including my powers screwing around. No biggie though, no need to worry your pretty little head about it, just focus on HYDRA and how your World War II boyfriend is going to come back from the 'dead' soon, working for them.' Yeah, probably not going to blow over that well.

Instead, I settle for "My abilities are... evolving, I guess." Partial truth, Loki did say that my ice and fire powers would become a hell of a lot stronger after all this, once my fire powers actually come back. "My body is going through a lot because of it. Side effects aren't that great, as you saw back at Wheaton. In fact, my fire abilities are... kind of out of commission at the moment because of it."

Steve's eyebrows shoot up. "Out of commission? Like you can't access them?"

"Yeah, exactly like that," I nod absentmindedly, staring down at my open palm, flexing my fingers and rolling my wrist. I try dusting off the topic with an air of nonchalance. "Don't need my powers to be of use though; I can still put up a good fight. Like hell am I letting Rumlow get away with all of this." My hand sticks out, offering him the unbitten slice of toast, my other hand now holding the partially eaten slice. "Toast?"

"I know you don't need your powers. You've proven more than resourceful without them. I was just worried, is all. If you think you're alright, then alright, I won't press. Just know I'm here though, if you need to talk about anything." He accepts the slice, a lopsided smile tilting at his lips. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it, and thanks, I'll keep that in mind," I return his smile, taking another bite of breakfast and decisively regarding him with an analytical eye. After swallowing, I decide to turn the conversation around on him. "Always looking out for others first; do you ever think about yourself? Even just once?"

"I have super soldier serum coursing through my veins; I can handle myself a lot more than most people." He shrugs, snapping my attention to his shoulders. The abrupt realization that he's wearing a white tank top, leaving those absolutely astounding muscles out in the open for me to appreciate, finally occurs to me, and now I'm having a hard time not looking.

"Still, you're human," I reason, thankful that I don't blush that easily when he catches me admiring his incredible physique. "You're a soldier, I get that. You're used to not openly showing overly emotional displays of mourning, sadness, affection, etcetera. Soldiers are trained to press those kinds of feelings down on the battlefield. But... we're not on the battlefield right now. So, if you need to talk about anything, I'm right here." I throw my arms out wide as if expecting a hug, just to add emphasis to my words.

"Thanks, Lilly. I'll keep that in mind as well," he promises, taking a bite of his gifted toast, amused by my gesture. "Are you sure you shouldn't be wearing anything warmer, though? In the state you're in?" He asks pointedly, staring at my bare arms.

The thoroughly amused laugh that tumbles past my lips is unavoidable at that point, accompanied by a roll of my eyes. "You may be single and childless, but you're totally a dorky dad."

His smile mimics my own, playfully playing along. "I don't think I like your tone young lady."

"Fight me old man."

"I might just take you up on that, you troublesome youngster."

Having both finished our toast by now, I lean forward and light-heartedly narrow my gaze down my nose at him, a brash, cocky smirk playing at my lips. "I would have you flat on your back in five seconds flat, Steve."

Not true, if anything, I would be flat on my back in five seconds flat.

A kind of confidence and daringness I haven't seen in him since before the fight in Portugal sears behind his eyes. He leans forward a bit himself, arms resting on his knees which are presently bumping into my own. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

I feel my breath catch in the back of my throat, unable to push it down, and unable to let it out. It just sits there, waiting. "Was that an invitation, Rogers?" I ask, voice low.

My chest tightens when I notice those impossibly blue eyes flicker down to my lips for a long second. "Do you want it to be?" he inquires, tone a fair bit huskier than I remember.

The things that this man does to me.

KNOCK KNOCK.

Mother fucker of all things fucking – really?

Both of us sit up straighter to glance at Sam Wilson lingering in the doorway expectantly, a knowing grin broadening across his face, and I'm not the only one shooting him a glare for the intrusion. "I made more breakfast; bacon and eggs and all that. If you people eat that kind of stuff."

"Thank you, Samuel," I grit out between the lips of my very forced smile. He knows exactly what he's doing. "We'll be there in a moment."

That goddamn smirk that I already know I'm going to see often broadens on his face, threatening to tear his face in half. "Well it's warm now, so I wouldn't want it to get cold, Lillian."

"Sam," Steve intervenes, voice very tight, and strong enough to immediately grasp all attention within the vicinity. Ooh Lord, that's his commanding Captain America face. "We'll be out in a moment."

This time, Sammy decides to get the hint. "Yeah alright, okay. Warning you though, I ain't holding Natasha back if she decides to go after your plates. That woman is real hungry."

I don't even bother keeping a smile up by this point. "Noted. Thanks."

He lingers for a few moments, purposefully, before finally walking back and out of view. Scowling half-heartedly, I return my attention back to Steve. "My Sam is better."

That beautiful laugh of his is all I receive as a result of my bitterness. "I'm starting to think so as well. Agent Hemmings at least knows his boundaries."

"No, no he doesn't. He's just desperate for me to get back in the dating world –" Meaning: for me to get laid. "– so he wouldn't interrupt moments like that." I pause, realizing just how forward and blunt that really was, and wince. "I know you said you weren't ready for that kind of thing yet but... we still on for that coffee?"

There it is. There's that completely dorky smile. Mildly flustered, he nods, having cast his gaze down momentarily in his abash state. Staring back up at me, it occurs to me that no, I'm not broken. Not whilst he's breathing. But God, he could break me with those eyes. "I asked you, didn't I?"

"You did," I blithely agree with a small, breathy chuckle. "All the more reason to kick some HYDRA ass and punch Rumlow's perfect teeth in once and for all."

***

After organizing a plan over breakfast, Sammy handed in his 'résumé', which consisted of some pretty badass experience in the army, including these kind of high-tech wings called the 'Falcon' that we have to break into Fort Meade just to get our hands on. I'm not even going to pretend I understand half the crap that goes on these days, but robo-wings? Dude looks like a Pigeon Transformer for Christ's sake.

Having kept my backpack in the car, before we left I quickly changed into the upgraded suit Stella and Lucas had devised for me. Still goes all the way up my neck, in fact, between the polymer-Kevlar one piece suit, and fitted combat boots and gloves, the only part of skin on display is my face, having decided to forgo the half-way ski mask this time around. I was fiddling with some last adjustments with the gloves when Steve came in, leaning against the doorway and nodding appreciatively at my suited form. "You had it upgraded. Tony?"

"I have other friends outside of Tony who are pretty good with this kind of stuff too," I dodge mentioning their names specifically, reaching up to adjust my earpiece and grin at him in the reflection of the mirror I'm facing.

"I'm sure Tony's ego took that well," Steve sarcastically says, attempting to hide his smile. His eyes drop to the light brown accentuating parts of my otherwise all black suit, head tilted curiously. "Black and brown?"

"People... on the streets took to calling me the Nightingale before I joined SHIELD," I answer, swallowing down my pride to spew out another lie. "Nightingales are brown. In spite of that, black and red used to be the colours I favored. They were a symbol of my old life, my old self." The colours of the Hand. My life as an assassin. "But... SHIELD helped. I'd like to say that SHIELD is what made me go straight, but honestly, it was Tony, you, even Natasha." As well as the rest of the Avengers, and the Fantastic Four. "These are my new colours. New me."

"I never saw you wear black and red. When you started you just wore black," he comments thoughtfully, surveying me quizzically.

"Was still trying to figure out who I am." Fingers run through my short, wavy, amber brown hair, the tips of it yet to dust my collar bone in length. "Thank you for helping me with that."

We're staring directly at each other now, a warmth and comfort only he provides spreading through my chest. "I'm glad I could help," he unabashedly admits, smiling once before heading back the way he came. "Now come on, we have a fort to break into."

Which we did, a lot easier and quicker than Sammy expected us to as well. It didn't take us long to track down Jasper Sitwell afterwards, which leads us now, where I'm currently positioned atop a building with a sniper in hand, snickering quietly as I watch Sam Wilson instruct Sitwell exactly what to do from where he's sat at the café, rather enjoying his drink.

"You're going to go around the corner to your right. There's a grey car two spaces down. You and I are gonna take a ride."

I eye Sitwell through the scope of the sniper, reveling in how affronted he appears at the command. "And why would I do that?"

"Because that tie looks really expensive. And I'd hate to mess it up." That would be my queue.

Allowing the red dot of the laser to dance over Sitwell's tie, more quiet laughter brews in my chest at the controlled panic that suddenly floods the man's face. He tries looking for me, scanning the tree line obscuring my whereabouts, but to no avail. Always got weasel vibes from this guy, and would really like to 'Bingo was his namo' him all across that expensive tie.

He's quick to follow commands succeeding the very real threat that was made to him, and soon enough, after a brief drive, Steve has him cornered on a roof top right where he wants him.

Nat and I let Steve drag him out first, Sitwell grunting and inelegantly tumbling from Steve's rough throw. Captain America is in no gaming mood. "Tell me about Zola's algorithm," the super soldier gravely commands, power-walking towards Jasper threateningly.

Sitwell stumbles, fumbling to put his glasses back on whilst walking backwards to avoid Steve's path. "Never heard of it."

I remain in the stairwell for a while, Sitwell having yet to see me due to me having stolen a motorcycle to get here instead of the car that carried the rest of them. Wait for Steve's mark.

Rogers isn't wavering in authority and severity for a second. "What were you doing on the Lemurian Star?"

"I was throwing up. I get seasick."

An abrupt staggering on Sitwell's behalf almost leads to him falling straight off the roof, but before he does, Steve aggressively seizes the lapels of his blazer and harshly yanks him so they're face to face. Regardless of it all, Jasper still seems to grow some balls, weakly chuckling in Captain America's face. "Is this little display meant to insinuate that you're gonna throw me off the roof? Because it's really not your style Rogers."

"Oooh," I giddily snicker under my breath, quiet as to not alert him of my presence. Natasha is going to have fun with this. "Go get him girl."

"You're right," Steve shamelessly agrees, brushing down Sitwell's blazer and adjusting it gently. He doesn't even break eye contact with the HYDRA agent once as he finishes his sentence. "It's hers."

At the exact moment that Steve slides out of the way, Natasha ploughs forward with all her power thrown into her kick, boot slamming Sitwell smack bam in the centre of his chest, sending him careening and flying over the edge without a care in the world. Now I really can't help the laughter that wracks my body, one hand thrown over my gut whilst the other is slammed over my mouth. "Oh my God his face."

The sounds of his screams get dimmer and dimmer, Natasha and Steve quite nonchalantly engaging in conversation until Sammy drags Sitwell's sorry ass back up here. "So, you and Lillian huh?"

Steve's demeanor was entirely nonchalant and nonplused until Nat brought me up, removing his hands from his pockets and straightening a little at the casual inquiry. "Nightshade or the one from accounting with the lip piercing?"

"Nightshade. One from accounting is cute though."

"Yeah, yeah." He pauses, casting a glance over his shoulder in the direction of where I'm stood bathing in the shadows of the stairwell. "We're going for coffee later."

"Might even end up scaring some more punks off with firecrackers while we're at it," I note, a wry smirk twitching at my lips.

One of Nat's eyebrows arch, staring between us in scrutiny. "Do I want to know?"

Steve shakes his head, lips pressed together. "Probably not."

The screams increase in volume once more, until yet again Sitwell is harshly tossed onto the rooftop by Sam Wilson in his Falcon gear. Power walking to the centre of the roof where he lies, Steve and Natasha look sterner than ever, whilst I walk up to stand beside Sammy, smirking at this attire. Sitwell has yet to notice me, still face down on the concrete ground.

"I – I can't—" He stammers, at which Steve shoots me an expectant look.

"Lilly."

Even with the back of his head to me, I just know Sitwell's eyes bugged right now. "Lilly—?"

Bending down and wrenching the collar of his blazer up brutally, I move into a crouch and hold the back of him against me roughly. The right side of my face is pressed into his cheek, whilst my right hand snakes around and hovers beside his right cheek threateningly. Fog steadily rises from my partially iced hand, promising a very, very cold demise if he continues to be uncooperative.

"Hey there Jasper! Or should I say Casper? Lookin' a little pale there bud."

The manner in which he stares at me in the corner of his eye, clearly uncomfortable from the close proximity, can only be described as unadulterated horror. "N-Nightshade?"

"The one and only! Well, not really, I have a little sister, but I was born first so I receive all the name rights."

"What are you doing—?"

"I'm Evil Nazi Terrorist Organization intolerant," I flippantly admit, jerking him back and forth for a second as a sign of my absolute willingness to resort to aggression. "So, not a fan of HYDRA. Now, I believe," I hiss, bringing my iced hand closer to him as he shies away from it. "That Captain Rogers asked you a question."

"Zola'salgorithmisaprogram!" He hastens to rush out all at once, staring up at Steve terrified, still breathing heavily from the trip over the side of the building. "For choosing Insight's targets."

"What targets?" Steve asks for clarification.

"You! The TV anchor in Cairo, the Under Secretary of Defence, a high school valedictorian in Iowa City, Bruce Banner, Stephen Strange, anyone who's a threat to HYDRA! Now, or in the future."

The super soldier's expression contorts to one of perplexity. "Future? How could it know?"

Sitwell's arrogant laugh causes me to bristle, and when he tries to stand, I move to yank him back closer to me, only releasing him when Steve gives me the nod of approval. Roughly letting go, I rise to a stand and take a few steps back beside Sammy, heatedly watching Sitwell rise as well. "How could it not?" He laughs, voice lowering to a more even level as he launches into an elaboration. "The 21st century is a digital book. Zola taught HYDRA how to read it."

When the rest of us appear unresponsive and unsure, Sitwell stares at us exasperated. "Your bank records, medical histories, voting patterns, emails, phone calls, your damn SAT scores! Zola's algorithm evaluates people's past to predict their future."

By this point, Steve has calmed down a little himself, tone quieter than before but still as commanding. "And what then?"

The small pause in conversation seems to be long enough for the realization of his betrayal to his Sitwell, the man going off into a momentary state of panic. "Oh my God, Pierce is going to kill me."

"What then?" Steve stresses louder, Sammy grasping and tightening his hold around the back of Sitwell's blazer collar.

"Then the Insight helicarriers scratch people off the list; a few million at a time."

***

Sitwell remains sandwiched between Natasha and I in the back seat of the car, Sammy driving and Steve in the passenger seat. Now back on the highway, Jasper seems to be getting fairly jumpy about his betrayal, fidgeting and jittery next to me.

"HYDRA doesn't like leaks."

I snort. I know.

Sammy seems to also have a very low BS tolerance, shooting him daggers in the review mirror. "Why don't you try sticking a cork in it?"

"Insight's launching in sixteen hours," Natasha informs us, a wry smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "We're cutting it a little bit close here."

"I know. We'll use him to bypass the DNA scanners and access the helicarriers directly," our esteemed leader informs us, staring straight ahead.

That tidbit of information seems to send Jay-bird into an even more frantic frenzy. "What? Are you crazy!? That is a terrible, terrible idea—"

THUD.

There's hardly a moment to register the sound of something heavy landing on the roof of the car above us before a metal hand has powered forcefully through my door window, raining pinpricks and shards of glass all over my face. The hand moves past me entirely, snatching Sitwell contentiously and ripping him out of the fast moving vehicle. And to think I almost didn't put my seatbelt when we got in here.

Natasha is quicker than I, having not worn a seatbelt and launching herself forward into the front seat to pull Steve's head towards her, both of them narrowly avoiding being shot. Meanwhile, I've pushed myself up against my car door, breathing heavily as a small shred of alarm twinges in my chest, my liver further below screaming in pain. It's him. Christ it's him.

Sammy slams the breaks with every ounce of his might, the jarring stop enough to throw the man atop the roof onto the road a fair distance before us. Heaving myself forward, one hand holding each of the front car seat head rests to hold me there, all four of us stare in horror at the man with the metal arm crouched in the middle of the road, like a tiger ready to sink it's claws into it's prey.

The Winter Soldier.

A/N: Double whammy in a single week! And I updated In the Dead of the Night a couple days ago! Man, procrastination for studying works wonders for my writing.

Lilly and Steve are getting all cutesy again, which I know you've all been dying for. Next couple chapters leading up to the end of CA:TWS. Some more side effects of the dark stone may follow as well.

QOTD: Favourite genre of books? (E.g. Action, fantasy, romance, etc.)

AOTD: Crime/mystery. Though I do love some historical fiction and fantasy.

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

~ T.L