III: The Girl Who Ran: Dirty Hands and Dark Hearts

VI: Not This

Tatiana leaned forward on her forearms and stared into the mirror. She'd washed off all those horrible layers of powder and glitter. She had also wasted twenty minutes of her life trying to unzip the back of her dress before giving up. It had taken half the time to shimmy out of the garment.

She peered mindlessly at her face, tracing the scars. They had faded to the point where she had to twist her head at all angles to see them. In a couple months, they'd probably be gone completely. The thought sank into Tatiana's subconcious, sending waves of inexplicable apprehension through her.

Tatiana searched her own eyes. Twenty-three years. She had lived dozens of lives in the span of a quarter of one. She'd met thousands of people, done thousands of unbelievable things. Saved innumerable lives. Taken innumerable lives. But her irises looked the same as they always had. Not like her mothers, but not like her fathers, either. Coppery brown, with a smattering of lilac splashes here and there.

She inhaled strongly and rose to her full five feet and eight inches. She pulled on her standard outfit, a long-sleeved shirt and leggings. Tatiana pulled the bobby pins out of her hair and shook it out. The thick curls fell below her shoulders. Coppery brown hair, to match her eyes. A blindingly white streak, now free of the dye Natalia had sprayed on it.

Tatiana's feet ached, and a spike of blade-sharp pain shot up her leg and into her right knee with every step she took through the dark hallway toward her room. She blinked away the water collecting at the corners of her eyes. Why had she let Natalia convince her to wear high heels? She was going to pay for this in more pain tomorrow. She might even have to break out the old cane.

She limped to her door and leaned on the frame, catching her breath. Tatiana hurried to the bed, and flopped on the quilt. Sweet relief.

A shiver rolled down her spine. Alarm bells rang in her mind. She sat up and scanned the room, the pain of a moment ago now forgotten. Nothing seemed out of place. The coordinates she'd searched up earlier were still on her desk. Her coat was on her desk chair. Autumn still leaned vigilantly against the wall next to the open door. Her knives were still on the bedside table.

Tatiana sighed at herself. There was no monster under the bed. Just because she was alone and everyone else was asleep, didn't mean anyone was out to get her. She rolled up in the quilt and faced the wall in darkness.

Tatiana heard the window creak. She was sitting up with a blade in her hand in less than two seconds. She felt cold metal at the base of her skull. Tatiana could see a figure out of the corner of her eye, but it was too dark to make out any details. The cold wind filled the room, stealing the warmth.

"Move or make a sound and everyone in this house gets an involuntary trepanning. Including your Captain America."

American English. Male. West Coast accent. California, maybe? Who cares who he was? He just threatened Steven! "What do you want?" Tatiana's voice came out guttral and vibranium hard. Her hand tightened instinctively around the knife. This was not a good situation.

"Put the knife down, doll." Tatiana gritted her teeth. The man pressed the gun into her scalp, shoving her chin into her chest. "Now."

With a flick of her wrist, the knife was skittering across the wood floor. She evaluated her options. She could try to spin around and drop him, but there was no guarantee that she could be fast enough. She could try to smooth-talk her way out of this, maybe? But she had never been much of a negotiator. And he seemed to have people with him, unless he was lying, which was unlikely. She tried for the diplomatic stance, "I will ask again, what do you want?"

The man chuckled, a light, almost feminine, sound, "I want my money, and I'm going to get it without you, doll."

Tatiana frowned. A hitman, then. This was turning out to be more complicated than she thought. "Whatever they are paying you, I will double it."

"I'm sure you could. Unfortunately, I've gotta code. Gotta stick to it. I've got a piece of paper and everything." He paused and Tatiana heard a rustling sound, "Oh, for darn's sake, why couldn't they just have told me this?" He cleared his throat and said, "Vremya? Is that how you say it?"

Tatiana felt her heart stop. Oh, no. Not this. NO! "You do not want to do this," she kept her voice calm and measured.

The man laughed again, "Trust me, doll, it's three in the morning and I'm standing in some girl's bedroom. And I forgot to close the window, so it's like sixteen degrees in here. You have no idea." Another rustle, "Holy Mary, it's dark in here. Uh, rosovyy."

Tatiana closed her eyes and prayed. The wind cooled the sweat that was collecting at her brow.

"Sem'? Vosstanovleniye? Are these even real words?"

She barely heard him. She tried to control her breathing. In, out, in, out. In. Out. In. Out. "Stop."

"Look, doll, I'm just doing my job. Tridtsat' pyat'."

Five more words. Tatiana argued with herself. Should she try to stop him? Nobody had activated the Summer Soldier in over sixty years. Would it even still work? It felt like it was working, the familiar hot nausea hitting her in waves.

"Urozhay."

She couldn't move. All her muscles were locked in place, her bones fused together. Four more. She stared longingly at the open door. It took all of her self control not to scream.

"Voin."

What were they going to make the Soldier do? There were only three more words to go.

"Beda."

Her mind blanked. All her thoughts were fuzzy and half-formed.

"Dva."

Tatiana's vision blurred and she stared at what she vaguely remembered to be her hands, trembling violently. Her chest was being crushed by an emotion she recognized immediately. Terror. And dread. She was hyperventilating now, and she didn't care. She fumbled for something, anything, to hold onto. An image flashed in her mind, then darkened. No! No! No! She gasped.

"Sila."

The Summer Soldier's sight cleared and her hands stilled. She gulped air into her lungs.

The man behind her lowered his gun, "Uh, soldat?"

The Soldier heard the crinkling of the paper as he shoved it back into his pocket. She stared straight ahead with unseeing eyes. She spoke flatly in her first language, "Ready to comply."

"Grab a coat and follow me, doll."

The Soldier turned as the man climbed out the window. He was middle-aged, with an athletic build and murky gray eyes. She frowned and limped to the door. She closed it and turned the lock before moving to the desk. She grabbed her coat, slipping it on with ease. She grabbed a sticky note and scribbled a few words on it with a shaky hand.

The Soldier clutched the note and pulled shoes on. She teetered past the bed, bumping into the side table. A picture wobbled and fell to the floor, shattering. She looked at it a moment, and let the note fall from her hand onto the mess. She hurried to the window, climbing on the window seat.

The Soldier stared down at the snow covered ground two floors below. She shuddered and jumped.

She hit the snow on her feet, and rolled to try to disperse the impact. Her glasses had fallen off and her knee screamed in pain. The Soldier kneeled and searched for her glasses with her hands, finding them quickly.

The Soldier peered around, looking for the man. She prepared to get up.

A cold, wet feeling spread through her neck and shoulder. Black shadows grew around the edges of her vision, and the snow flew up to meet her head.

"You couldn't have done that earlier?"

"You better hope she stays out long enough for us to move her, Jackson."

"Wasn't that stuff developed to knock Captain America off his feet for a while?"

"Yeah, but does this look like Captain America to you? No. This is something a lot more powerful."

"Well, I want double. She talked a lot."

"I bet you do." A shot rang out and the snow turned black and red.