A/N: i worked on this chapter for like a week and yet i wouldnt be surprised if i accidentally left in errors...hope you like this very long one :)

warnings: a lot of cussing

----

"That's them." Steve spotted the pair on the opposite street from his seat near the café window, relieved at the sight after just spending the last few minutes worrying about them. The two were supposed to be here more than 5 minutes ago, he complained as such to Sam, only to receive a deadpan look from him.

"They're cozy, aren't they?" Sam took a sip from his coffee, eyeing the lack of distance between Pietro and Y/N. "I thought he hated her?"

"He did- does." The correction had Sam raising an eyebrow. Steve sighed, "He knows she can't be trusted. Whatever you're thinking, I doubt it."

"But you told me he was her one condition when you asked her to do this." He started counting with his fingers, ticking off the facts he was informed of by the Captain. "Plus he was the one who convinced her to turn herself in, he threw someone off a building for her and I've seen her crack a smile around him, too. You can't deny that."

"What are you implying?"

They watched as the young pair entered the apartment, Pietro holding the door open for her before entering himself. Steve tried not to show the suspicion on his face – if he did, Sam would laugh his ass off at how late he came to the realization.

"Nothing." Sam let out a puff of air, "Just saying...she's a vicious ex-Hydra assassin, yet every time she's alone with the kid, there's not a scratch on him."

"She tried to kill his sister, Sam. Those twins are like yin and yang. If what you're saying is that he has a crush on her, then you're saying he's a masochist."

That made Sam recoil, face twisted in distaste. "I didn't know you had that in your vocabulary, Cap."

"You'd be surprised at what else is in there."

-- -- --

12th floor. 1023.

I repeated the numbers in my head as we walked through the glass door, noticing the abundance of fingerprints smeared on the surface. The thought of one of those prints belonging to him made me shudder, but I managed to stand my ground.

Pietro and I made our way to the elevator, pressing the button to go up. We stood at the side to wait for the doors to open, the murmur of the building being the only thing that was audible to my ears. My heart was pounding, hard. I was afraid, damn it, but that was the last thing I needed right now.

Who knows what he'll do if he was actually here? If we barged into his apartment, would he recognize me and try to kill me? Was I strong enough to fight him off?

The bell dinged, and out came a couple of people – none of them him – who seemed indifferent to our presence, fortunately. We waited until it was clear before going in, an old lady wearing ruby red lipstick and a balding middle-aged man coming in behind us.

The two residents pressed the buttons of their respective floors, standing still in their own corners after. Pietro looked to me, "12th floor, yes?"

"Yeah,"  My voice was stable even though I had spikes clasped around my throat tightly. The number glowed orange instantly after he pressed it with his knuckle.

I focused on keeping my breathing steady, taking slow breaths through my nose, too distracted to notice one more person got on while I was keeping myself from falling apart; a teenager wearing headphones, bopping his head along to the beat. Pietro, next to me, touched my shoulder with his gently. It was enough to bring me back to my senses.

"You're not going in alone, you know that right?" His voice was soft, calming. I felt anything but.

I couldn't bring myself to look at him, too ashamed to be carrying evident fear in my eyes. I settled on looking at my feet while I whispered back, "How would you feel if you were in my shoes?"

Ding. The old lady with the painted lips got off, the doors closing with a whoosh after. The middle-aged man coughed, while the teen yawned and leaned his body against the wall.

"I'd be scared shitless." He murmured under his breath.

Take that and double it, that would be more accurate. The response only came in my head, I stayed quiet for the rest of the ride.

We were getting dangerously close to our destination. Is this what Pietro felt like? The world moving too slow and laggardly, while my body was close to exploding from the rush it was holding in.

I wanted to yell, scream, shout – anything to release the emotions I had sizzling in the pit of my stomach. It wasn't right; here I am, about to lose my mind and surrender my sanity, while they were so nonchalant about the fact that The Winter Soldier was minutes away from all of us. We were in the same building, same elevator, same four walls that contained us and yet it was just another mundane day in their lives while I was on my way to hell.

My head was still bowed, eyes glued to the dirty floor and the dirt-stained sneakers I was wearing. They were a size too big, but better than nothing. I studied the specks of mud sitting on the tip of my shoes. 1...2...3. Big. Small. Medium-sized. One of them looked too red to be dirt.

Ding. The balding man got off, his businessman shoes clacking against the metal floor. Whoosh.

The teenager was still there, his foot tapping in the corner of my eye. I didn't want to look up. I couldn't.

"He's listening to Lady Gaga."

What?

I stopped my impromptu analysis of the red stain to look at the man beside me, giving him a quizzical look to which he responded by pursing his lips and pointing them in the direction of the teen in front of us.

The music from his headphones was loud enough for anyone standing close to him to hear, more so to my Enhanced ears. I don't know how I didn't notice it before, but Pietro was right. It was Lady Gaga, the familiar sound of Poker Face blasting through the headset.

Pietro started to snicker, an amused breath escaping him. I gave him a weird look, mouthing to him to stay quiet. It seemed to set him off more.

He started bopping his head along, leftrightupdown. What the hell was he doing? Fucking dancing?! Bombs were going off in my head and he was dancing to Poker Face like we were just casually riding the elevator and not about to meet Hydra's most notorious killer?

While I was trying to figure out if the speedster accidentally inhaled laughing gas, he started to move his shoulders in a rhythmic sway, mouthing the lyrics at me passionately.

I can't even lie. I was...taken aback. It was so weird.

The kid left right before the second verse of the song played, putting an end to Pietro's little show. He pouted, a silent 'aww' pouring out of his mouth in disappointment. I waited until the doors closed to whip my head around and speak out loud, "What the fuck was that?"

I was surprised to find myself just weirded out. Not angry or annoyed, but curious as to why I had witnessed that scene with my own two eyes. Maybe a little freaked out, too.

He could practically see the question marks haloing my head with the look I was wearing on my face. All he could do was smile and shrug, "You looked too serious."

Ding.

He stepped out of the elevator.

My eyes darted to the panel of buttons, the number 12 angrily staring back at me.

Oh.

In the midst of his performance, my attention was taken off of the fear that was trapping me by the second. Look, I'm not dumb. I'm not all thorns and spikes either. I can appreciate a good deed when I see it, and what Pietro did for me was most definitely on the very short list of favors I had done for me.

My heart skipped a beat when I realized that he was the only other person that had added on to the list besides...

No. I can't think about her, not now – thoughts of Haadiyah made my heart ache too much.

"That was, um...that was creative." I murmured. He was leading the way, I was just following suit, too engulfed by my thoughts. I cleared my throat, preparing for the reaction he was going to give me. "Thanks."

Not a sight you see everyday, thanking the enemy for calming your nerves. If past me could see me now, she'd laugh in my face. I held my breath, waiting for the inevitable riposte. But where I was expecting a grin and a smart quip, he only tilted his head in reply. I nearly missed it, but I managed to catch him mumbling 'no problem' before he continued walking. I wanted to think about it more, to ask him why and what made him do it. Suddenly, his blue eyes resembled a nostalgic pair of green ones; gentle, empathetic, kind. It gave me that woozy feeling again.

"1013, we're close."

The numbers on the door made me take a sharp inhale, and then I was fully aware of where I was and what we were doing. There was no time for me to let the thought sit, not when trepidation and trauma was just around the corner. I could practically smell the uneasiness on me.

I looked around, taking in the familiarity of the interior. Just like the last time I was here, the hallway was poorly lit with flickering fluorescent lightbulbs. The buzz emanating from the electricity rang in my ears, acting like my own personal horror movie soundtrack, making me wish Lady Gaga was distracting me from my thoughts again.

Pietro walked ahead of me, his broad shoulders blocking my view. He was quick on his feet, pace twice as fast as usual. I knew that he was itching to make use of his powers, but Rogers had been adamant on laying low, unsure if it would alert The Soldier if our Enhanced selves went zooming around the building.

We dashed past five other doors, the numbers blurring in our haste. The doors were identical in size and color, but varied in décor. Few of them had ornaments hanging from it; some of them wind-chimes and religious adornments, the others aged holiday decorations – most likely beautiful when they had been hung up but have now worn down, pale in color and misshapen. The ornaments, potted plants and welcome mats made it clear that they were lived-in homes.

The number 1022 made me halt, my breath catching in my throat as we crept up to the next door.

1023.

"This is the one," I nodded, blinking twice to confirm my vision hadn't gone bad. Pietro glanced at me with a tense knot between his brows before raising his fist to knock on it.

Nothing happened.

The air was heavy with suspense, cutting off any oxygen that I had access to before.

"Fuck this." I groaned. With a light push to the speedster's side, I copied his movements, albeit a bit more vigorously. "Is anybody home?"

Pietro moved closer, his chest pressing lightly against me. He shook his head, as if to convey his doubts. I knocked again, louder this time. "Hey, open the door, we need to talk to you!"

Impatience took over my anxiety as we were hit with silence yet again. If the pounding on the door still gives us nothing, it would take me approximately five seconds before I'd take my gun out and shoot, hope for the best, come up with a solution later.

I banged the door with the side of my fist this time, shaking it on it's rusty hinges from the amount of force I put in.

"If that fucker's in there, I swear to God-" Angrily, I took a step back and got into stance, lifting up my right leg to kick it. Just as I was about to put my rage and impatience to good use, a multitude of Sokovian exclamations stopped me in time.

"Wait! You can't-" He started to yell but lowered his voice when he realized how loud he was being, looking around to see if any neighbors had poked their heads out. "-you can't just kick a door in!"

"Why not?"

He clicked his tongue, a disapproving expression settling on his face. I had a feeling Steve's antics was rubbing off on him. "The last time we made an impulsive decision, things didn't end so well. Hmm?"

I saw Rumlow's body hitting the ground in my head again, sighing when I realized he was right.

"Steve will be pissed too, and trust me, you do not want to see The Captain mad the second time."

"What are you, his prefect?"

The silver-haired speedster huffed, "Nope, just a man who wants to keep his balls right where they are."

If I wasn't so stressed, I'd be on the ground laughing at that. But as usual, The Soldier wipes out any spark of joy whether or not he was physically there.

"Fine then, got any better ideas?"

Electric blue eyes darted around the place prior to their landing on a specific spot, an eager glint behind them. "I can't say this will work, but it's better than kicking it down."

Before I could ask, he put his hand on the knob. To the naked eye, it would just seem like Pietro was gripping the sphere very, very violently. But a longer, closer look would prove you wrong; blue and silver waves of light surrounded his fingers as it vibrated at lightning speed, the amplitude increasing along with the frequency. I watched in wonder, finding myself bewildered at his ability to control the flow of his powers.

In the blink of an eye, the knob came off, falling easily from the frame. Pietro looked pleased with himself, proudly waving his results in my direction before tossing the piece of metal to the ground.

"That was fucking cool."

He grinned, "You think so?"

"Absolutely." A thought popped into my head, "I'm stealing that move next time."

The grinning idiot didn't get a chance to respond, I was already pushing my way in with one hand ready to pull my gun. I whistled in a sing-song tone, masking my uneasiness with the usual cocky persona. With my legs in a steady position, I did my usual routine of scanning the perimeter.

It was a pathetic little place. The kitchen and living room shared the same space, a shabby couch separating the two areas. I moved my head around, spotting an unmade bed in the corner. The studio apartment was covered in dust, flying specks of it visible in what little light the room had to offer from the tiny sliver in the boarded up windows.

"This isn't Nolan's." I noted, taking in the new sights. I hissed, "Damn it."

Pietro picked up a newspaper from the countertop. "This is yesterday's paper."

"Don't tell me we just broke into a stranger's home."

He opened the fridge, tugging the door open. "Does he eat plums?" A bag of the purple fruit swung from his grip. The image of The Soldier eating plums made my face contort in an odd manner.

"Let's get Rogers." I sighed. "We've got the wrong place."

Part of me was relieved since it meant that I wouldn't have to face him this day. But another part of me wanted to ram my head into a wall. We followed the wrong lead, which meant we failed the mission and had to start over from scratch, which also meant that my chance to leave the country and go into hiding indefinitely was...delayed.

We walked out of the place, Pietro doing a poor attempt at putting the knob back into it's original position. I made sure everything we touched was wiped down, placing them exactly where we found them.

All that effort went out the window when I heard the sound of a bite, finding that Pietro had stolen one of the plums from the bag. I gasped in disbelief, "You told me not to do anything impulsive. What will Steve say if I tell him you stole fruit from someone's fridge?"

He paused, putting his hand in his coat pocket before pulling another purple summertime delicacy. "You have experience with bribery, right?"

Against my better judgement, I scoffed and accepted his offer, biting into the flesh greedily. The sweet tangy flavor made me salivate for more, I gave into my cravings by taking another chomp.

I'm sure whoever's plums Pietro stole wouldn't notice two missing from the bag.

We walked side by side in tired strides through the hallway, back to where we came from, each taking bites of our loot in thoughtful silence.

"I don't get it."

"Get what?"

"I did everything right." My head moved side to side in disappointment. "All the clues were pointing to this, so it made sense. The conclusion makes sense, so why isn't he here?"

"You could've been right. Maybe he was here, before we got to him."

"But how?" The vein in my head was throbbing, "How did he know we were looking for him? Why would he leave his only safe house in the city?"

"The phone call?"

"It was your voice, not mine. He doesn't know who you are."

"So, maybe he was just nervous. It's not like this was our only hope. There's more papers to go through than money in Stark's bank, we'll just have to look harder."

It didn't make sense to me. He had to be here in Bucharest, somewhere, and the building that had past relations to Hydra was the most likely place he'd be. I can't believe I got it wrong. This is making me feel like shit.

The smell of smoke and the city penetrated through the walls, slits in the cement acting as vents. It tickled my nose, the strong scents invading my lungs. Despite the intrusion, an idea popped into my head.

Never have I ever had a gut feeling go wrong. Unless Pietro's foolishness was contagious, I couldn't shake the feeling off of me.

"Wait." I reached out to stop Pietro. "I have to do something."

I didn't wait to see if he heard me before I closed my eyes tightly, anchoring myself to the floor before diving into my senses completely. It was just like the other day, only this time, I was using my nose and not my ears.

It didn't matter if it had been years since I last encountered The Soldier. He had a distinct scent that I had grown accustomed to while in Hydra. The thick, heavy redolence of sweat and blood clung to him like grime on skin. It was a means of survival on my part, using very method I could think of to prepare myself before he barged into my cell. It was a memory I couldn't erase no matter how hard I tried – his voice, his scent, his face.

Every time I closed my eyes, it was torture, because all of those things – those memories – had been ingrained into my being. It coated me, polluted me, mocked me. His blank stare was technically seared onto the back of my eyelids.  My nightmares were always so hard to wake up from because they felt so real, years of my survival instincts being put to use had unwillingly stored memories into the grooves of my brain, serving as the perfect ingredients for a Nightmare Recipe.

I always hated it, the cache full of horrible things, but now? Now I could put it to good use.

The building was almost overflowing with scents. But then, a sharp smell hit me.

Pushing away all the flashbacks – the bloodshed, the gore and the cruel eyes staring me down like I was nothing...all those months spent in the dark, praying for an escape – my eyes opened the moment the scent entered my system.

"He's here."

———

"-and you're absolutely sure?"

"Yes! Will you please stop asking me that question?"

"It just feels too far-fetched to be true."

Both Natasha and Wanda had been arguing for the past hour, with the redhead pestering the brunette with incessant questions about her twin brother who was currently on the other side of the world. Or to be more specific, questions about her Pietro's growing feelings for Y/N.

"You think I don't feel the same way too?" Wanda's frustration showed in her voice, volume increasing by the second. "I am fighting the urge to go over there and smack him in the head myself. I can hear his thoughts as clear as day, yet I find myself doubting my own powers because it's..."

The witch trailed off, hand running through her hair and then swiping across her face, trying and failing to ease the straining of her muscles from frowning too much. "It feels like shit, knowing he's out there having the time of his life with that – that woman."

Wanda's agitation was understandable. She hadn't forgotten Fury's horrifying exchange with the infamous assassin, her life at stake in the hands of Y/N's rage. Pietro had been there through it all, when the fear overwhelmed her, he was the one who soothed her uneasiness.  You'd think your own flesh and blood would do anything but fall in love with someone who threatened to kill you, but then again, if there was anything Wanda learned in her life, it was that life itself was unpredictable.

"Wait a second there, Maximoff, we don't know the full story." Natasha held a hand up, palm facing Wanda in a mollifying manner. "She might have hexed him for all we know. Your powers may be affected by it, too. He might not know what she's done to him."

There was a heavy ball of emotion sitting on Wanda's gut, making it hard to believe any sort of appeasement from the Widow's part. But even though her heart was telling her otherwise, her head nodded along to the possibility. It did make sense. Romanoff always makes sense.

"Jesus, I told Steve not leave the kid alone. He doesn't fucking listen." She hissed through clenched teeth, "We can't trust that woman. I know how she works, how she's trained."

Her mind unwillingly lurched back to her days in the Red Room, memories of being taught how to take advantage of the opposite gender flicking through like a slideshow. She didn't mention that part to the younger woman standing in front of her with crossed arms, figuring it was best to keep it from the already overwhelmed Wanda.

"Don't worry, she won't try to do anything too stupid. At least in the physical sense, your brother is safe from harm."

"Why should I believe that?"

Natasha took in a deep breath, looking up to the ceiling as if her answer was written on the pristine plaster. "Because she needs him alive if she wants to survive."

———

Y/N's eyes were next to red with craze, trying to seek out the source of her newfound clue. It was the only thing she could concentrate on – the madness – to keep her from caving in. Her movements were like that of a bloodhound, head snapping in random directions, feet propelling her forward briskly. You'd almost think she was possessed.

You could call it possession; by phobia, by mania, by inquietude. However, Pietro would say it was mental anguish, knowing how traumatized she was because of The Winter Soldier. Of course, he didn't know the extent of it – God knows how closed off the woman was – but it wasn't too hard to figure out from the way she would freeze up at the mere mention of her former trainer.

He watched and followed her closely but was careful to not penetrate the bubble of focus she was in, afraid it would make things worse. The dim hallways did not help their impromptu investigation, with their feet almost tripping over stray objects in their path. More than one plant had been harmed in the process.

The weight of the situation did not go unnoticed by him, his own heartbeat pounding vigorously in his chest. If the ill-reputed man they were tracking down made him nervous, he could only imagine how the very woman who escaped his murder attempt was feeling right now.

He was Hydra's most prized assassin, after all.

"No!" A sharp whisper from her halted his footsteps, "Ah, fucking hell. Shit!"

"Why? What happened?"

"I lost him," The words came out of her mouth in a half-cry, half-growl. "There's nothing. I can't pick up on anything anymore."

"He must have left the building, then."

"You're right. Shit, you're right!"

She tapped his shoulder and zoomed away, a trail of light blazing after her. He wasted no time, catching up to her just milliseconds later, The world slowed down around the two of them, a rush of air sweeping the dust off their feet. Pietro had no idea where she was going, but he'd be damned if he wasn't beside her, running like prey from a predator.

She slowed to a stop in front of the elevator, the same one they were on just minutes ago, her face flushed and her hair tousled. He imagined he looked the same way, maybe worse with his easily reddened skin and wiry hair, but there was no time for him to linger on how captivating she appeared to him. The screen displaying the shaft's stops showed that it was getting closer to the 12th floor.

"This thing is too fucking slow," A growl – a full one – made Y/N's lips curl up in a sneer, evidently peeved at the snail-paced numbers.

He understood that frustration more than anyone else, foot tapping impatiently as an outlet for the energy that was practically bursting out of him. Y/N was fidgeting too, he noted, her right hand tapping against her thigh with a steady rhythm. The speedster wanted to joke about the sight before him, the fact that her impatience had most probably stemmed from his own because of her power mimicry was too ironic to let go of, but of course he held it in. Not the time.

"Forget it. I'm taking the stairs."

"This way," He started to lead her to the yellow door behind them, the 'EXIT' sign acting as a beacon for their getaway.

They didn't even take one step forward, barely even lifting their feet up before the bell dinged and brought their attention back to the pesky elevator. If he replayed it in his mind, he'd see it in slow-motion, despite not even using his superspeed in that moment. The way Y/N turned around at the sound of the bell, the way his body reacted before his mind caught up, and the way the metal doors parted from the center menacingly.

The vision in his head was uncharacteristically slow for someone as fast as he was, yet every second dragged on like a dead body on a graveled road. It was like he could practically hear the antagonizing mechanical whir on the metal rail, the motor turning the wheel, see the pickup rollers sliding lethargically as the doors started to open. It was the slowest he'd ever been, with hitched breaths and a single drop of sweat sliding down his forehead to his temple.

From the elevator entryway, a flurry of bodies exited hurriedly. Women, men, children stepped out of the shaft with the low murmur of ongoing conversations, fading into the distance as they got further and further away.

Among them revealed a figure that he'd only seen in blurred photographs, a real face to the name he's heard a billion times...the one and only man they had been scouring the country for.

Like a tiger crouching, he walked among the people with his head down, the cap covering a good portion of his face from onlookers. If Pietro didn't have Y/N by his side, he wouldn't look twice at the stranger in civilian clothing in front of him. But he did have her, so he turned to face the formidable woman.

One look at her broke the tiger's camouflage.

"Soldat."

Heavy-lidded eyes peered from under the cap, pupils blown as incredulity crept onto his face.

He halted.

There was a catch in her breath, so tiny that it could have escaped Pietro if it wasn't for the close proximity between them. Her right hand had stopped fidgeting, her whole body eerily still as she faced her worst nightmare. He'd never seen her like this before.

"Soldat," she repeated, her heavy accent poking through in shaky utterance. "I found you."