Six (Captain America)

"Six" part 4: Blank Space

"I don't understand. So you don't know my identity?" I sat at the long conference table. The room was mostly empty; only Maria and Steve were with me. "And I'm a news reporter?"

Maria shook her head. "No, not really. We think, based on this, that you worked for French Intelligence. On December 10, 1979, your convoy was hit on a road outside of Tehran. You were undercover posing as a news team, covering the events of the U.S. Embassy hostage crisis. In case you don't remember, a group of students took 55 embassy workers hostage, and kept them there for over a year. We aren't sure whether you were there to retrieve anyone in particular, or just to gather information. We aren't 100% sure that you were an intelligence agent, but it looks incredibly likely. Your identity only goes back to 1975. Before that is nothing. It's just a shell."

I looked at the folder in front of me. A glossy printout of myself, with different hair, stared back up at me. I hadn't aged a day. I looked from Maria to Steve. "So I've been gone for 36 years? Nearly four decades?" They both nodded. "What happened to the other people in the convoy? I remember them. A fake news team? That explains why my gun was hidden under the seat and was not on me." I shook my head. "If I'd have had it on me, I could have defended all of us. My friends wouldn't be dead. But no, it was under the seat."

"Six, if you'd have gotten to your gun faster, Bucky would have still taken you. You didn't have the serum back then. You weren't a strong enough opponent." Steve sighed, looking frustrated. "He would have still killed them."

"So they're all dead?" I knew Steve spoke of Bucky separately from the Winter Soldier, but they were still firmly the same man in my mind.

"No. They aren't all dead. One lived. His cover name was Patrick O'Flanaghan." Maria slid a stack of photos towards me. I looked at the one on the top. "We don't know where he is now, or who he is, or if he's still alive."

I picked up the picture. "Dan."

"What?" Maria asked me.

"His name is Dan. Dan Lagherty. His real name was Dan." I slid my finger down the photo. I didn't remember much about Dan. But I remembered his name.

"An Irish man was working with French intelligence?" She looked at me, brows furrowed.

"No. Don't be so simplistic. His mother is French, his father was Irish." I stopped. "I don't know how I know that."

"Do you remember the other people in the photos?" Steve leaned forward. I began to flip through them. It was like reliving the dream about the attack, only worse. Now I knew these people were real and had been my friends, and I also knew they were dead. They were all dead, except for Dan Lagherty. They were dead because Hydra had wanted me.

"Frank. Peter. Adrien. Lamar. Bianca. Arman was our contact in Iran." I slid the photos away from me. They hurt to look at. None of the people were over the age of forty. They were all so young. "I don't remember other last names. Only first."

"I'll tell Jim, see if he can get anywhere with a little more info. And I'll start looking." Maria stood up. She made like she was going to leave, but she stopped and turned to me. She looked at the floor, then back to me. "Six, I'm sorry. About your friends." I only nodded, and she took her leave.

Steve and I sat there for a while in silence. I finally spoke. "So I guess we're not much closer to finding out who I am, then."

He shook his head sadly. "Not really, no. But you've given us a good start. Besides, are you sure you're ready?"

"What do you mean? I need to find out at some point." I was absentmindedly tracing the outline of my own face in the old photograph. I did look different. I looked softer. Happier. The last 36 years had not been kind.