My blood turned ice cold. Call me Captain America and shove me back in time to 70 years ago because I was frozen.

That voice. His voice.

Uncaring, emotionless, dead.

The same voice that screamed at me when I was bruised and bleeding out on the training room floor. The voice that tortured me, forced me to stand on broken legs just so he could perfect my stance; that for years filled my head with lies, poisoning me with fear so I could be Hydra's perfect soldier. The very same voice – down to the inflections and the way he hissed his words out like the machine they made him to be – that put me through years of hell and stayed there in the back of my mind like a parasite, fueling every single nightmare that haunted me even after I escaped him.

For so long, I've tried my hardest to erase my memories of him and his voice; yet here I was, holding the phone that was connecting me to the very thing that I feared.

"Hello, who is this?" He repeated, and I almost threw up at the sound again.

I wanted so badly to be strong, to be the tough bitch I always presented myself to be, but I couldn't move. I couldn't think or speak. I was frozen, quite literally, to the spot. My mouth felt like cotton and my brain turned to jelly. How pathetic was I?

Before I could even process what was happening, Pietro gently pried the phone from my shaking palms and held them tightly with his free hand, the other occupied with holding it up to his face.

"Yes, is this order number 54?" He quipped, his voice higher than normal. "I'm here, with your food. Right outside your gate now, sir."

"Um, no. I, uh...I didn't order anything. No."

By now, I was floating outside of my body, completely disconnected from the world. But I could hear Pietro's weird high voice and I could feel his warm hands encapsulating mine. It was as if my limbs were made of lead, taking away my ability to move, but my consciousness was pumped with helium instead; taking me higher and further away from the situation.

Although muffled and distorted, I could still hear the whole thing play out. "Sorry. Must have given me the wrong number."

Just like that, he pressed the end call button and the phone went back into his pocket. I guess I must have still been out of it because the next thing I know, he was putting both of his hands on my shoulders, shaking me gently.

Y/N...Y/N...

"You okay? Y/N?" The world snapped back into focus, the clarity in Pietro's voice almost deafening me. "Hello?"

Even at the state I was in, the age-old training kicked in and that part of my brain took over. You know one of those toys back then where you'd turn the key behind it and they'd go running around in circles? It felt that way. The Soldier may be my worst nightmare, but I had a mission to do and my word to keep.

I made a beeline for the table, ignoring Pietro's calls and heading straight to the jackpot where Rumlow kept everything he had on The Soldier. My heart was still pounding in my ears but it was the least of my problems at the moment. Like a madwoman, I searched through the pile haphazardly, barely taking the time to ensure that things were kept in place – Brock was dead now anyway, if he was going to haunt me over a messy table then he'd have to get in line.

The dust flew as I carelessly swept through papers, tickling my nose and making me sneeze.

"Bless you," said Pietro. I turned around to look at him briefly, giving him a questioning look. He only offered a shrug in reply. Bless me for what?

"Quick thinking, by the way. Didn't think it would work, but you did good."

"Well, you looked- " He cut himself off before continuing, "Distracted. It was the only thing that came to mind."

I hummed in response.

"Are you-"

"I'm fine." This time it was me who cut him off. "Just...just look through this shit."

"What are we looking for?"

"A map of this." The image formed in my mind, so clear that I could almost reach out and crumple it in my hands. "The asshat knew where he is. There has to be something here."

"On the note," I held it up for him to see. "12th floor. 1023. We have to find out where this is."

It's funny isn't it? How hard I'm working for both enemies. Using all this brain power to help Mr. Walking Flag find Mr. Killing Machine. Yet, the determination of wanting some sort of victory out of this mission was enough for me to put all this effort into it. As sick and twisted as it is, it was a trait hard-wired into me since before I could even shoot a gun; Do mission. Complete mission successfully. Repeat.

My mind kept reeling back to the phone call. It was probably just a minute or maybe even less, but it lasted longer to me. Amazing, isn't it? I've killed people, massacred, but just the sound of his voice shuts me down. The fear made me docile, like a wounded deer surrounded by a pack of wolves. Even if I had the means to take them down, the fear would leave me to get eaten alive.

That was what they hoped for, I guess. Hydra wanted another killing machine and they wanted the ability to control it. Maybe they were tired of babysitting him all the time and wanted The Soldier to lead his fellow clones. Or maybe, they thought I was too difficult to deal with themselves.

Suddenly, the loud blaring of sirens invaded the quiet. It was loud, but not enough that it meant that it was close.

"Shit!" I tossed papers around, panic striking. "The body. Someone called the cops or an ambulance. We need to get out of here before they arrive."

"Here!" Pietro pointed to a section on the wall, ripping a piece of paper off of it's pin and waving it to me. "This map has that address on it."

I scanned it quickly, trying to make sense of it. By now the sirens were getting louder.

"No time." There was a bag in the corner, I grabbed it and started throwing everything I could get my hands on inside it. "Grab what you can. We need to leave. NOW."

Having super speed as an ability must make everything in your life easier. I wonder if I could keep him around just so I could Echo him all the time. When time and luck is never on your side, having the power to outrun it is a blessing.

"They're here." He breathed out. I zipped the bag and threw the strap across my chest, ready to make a run for it.

But something stopped me for a second.

I held out my hand for him, grabbing it before he could protest. It felt just as warm as before, when he caressed my face in the hallway. He looked confused for a second, but it was replaced by wide, alert eyes when we heard the commotion from below.

"Ready?" He was already in his running stance, but he looked back at me with his hand holding mine tightly.

I nodded.

-----

"You WHAT?"

"It wasn't part of the plan, he wanted to fall-"

"But you dangled him over a building."

"What was I supposed to do?"

"NOT dangle him over a building?!"

Captain Angry Face was streeessseddd. Understandably, of course. I mean we did kill a man – even if it wasn't on purpose – when we were supposed to lay low. Pietro was getting the worst of his wrath. Something about 'expecting better from you' and 'you were in charge'. The last part ticked me off a bit, judging by the fact that I was the one leading and he was following, but I figured, eh, that argument was for another time and place. Plus, for one, it was saving me from the lecture of a century and two, it made sense. Between me and the speedster, Steve wouldn't expect so much from a criminal slash lifetime fugitive slash ex-Hydra agent.

"I cannot believe you two." He sighed, eyes filled rage that you'd see in an elementary school teacher's eyes. "You killed a man. You robbed his house. You left fingerprints – evidence – all over the place! What part of being undercover don't you understand?"

He's even got the teacher-voice down, damn.

"Chill out, Vanilla Ice." I rolled my eyes. "You're huffing and puffing like a big, bad, annoying wolf. Why don't you just calm down and listen first? Jeez."

I saw Sam in my peripheral pursing his lips together and snickering. Glad to know at least one other person in this room had a sense of humor.

"No, you listen." He pointed to me. "I meant every word I said. You put us in a vulnerable position and that might affect our mission here."

"Tell me, what's the mission again?" My head was starting to pound from all the lecturing. I walked over to where Pietro was and stood behind him. "We're looking for a certain someone, no?"

"That's it. I've had enough of your back talk."

I tapped Pietro's shoulder lightly to let him know what I was about to do.

"We made a deal. I said that if you helped me find Bucky, I'll let you go. But you're not taking this seriously! Is this all a joke to you, is that what it is?"

"I don't know, you tell me." I put the phone on the table between us, sliding it over to him. "That sound funny?"

The previous phone call played out, dial-tone ringing before the infamous voice came through.

"Hello?"

Although it made me physically cringe, the impact wasn't as bad as the first time since it didn't come with the initial shock.

"Wh-...what's that?"

"I think you mean who is that."

The recording continued, Pietro's voice coming through and then his again. This time Steve listened more intently, Sam coming closer to the table to hear it, too. I watched the two of them closely, observing their expressions.

"That's..." Steve rubbed his hand on his chin, "That's Bucky. You found him? You found Bucky?"

He was so...relieved at the sound of The Soldier's voice, a stark contrast to my usual fear-stricken response. I saw the lines in his forehead disappearing in real time, upturned brows in place of his worried look; a genuine, vulnerable reaction.

He really cared about that beast, huh?

"Well, we didn't exactly find him." A meek reply from Pietro replacing Steve's relief with confusion. "Brock Rumlow did. That's why we searched his place. He's been following him for a while."

That was my cue. "Technically, we weren't robbing." I paced quickly to the couch, where the bag was sitting. "We were just cleaning up a dead guy's living room. Not like he'll come looking for these."

"What do you mean?" Sam spoke up for the first time since he came into the room. "What was it that you took from his place?"

I smiled at him, beaming as I unzipped the satchel and poured it's contents all over the table, burying the phone underneath it. Papers, maps, pictures, files, memos, stray pins and pieces of string dropped onto the surface as I emptied the bag with a satisfying shake.

"Gentleman," with a sarcastic bow, I gestured to the newly-made mess. "Welcome to paradise."