An introverted waitress stumbles into Captain America during Loki's attack on New York. After taking a bullet for him, he lets her go, wondering. She's on the run, but he can't know that. When she meets the Avengers again, escape is all but impossib...
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HER POV
"Duck!" I scream. The solider instantly drops as my knife whizzes through the air, impaling a man who was moments away from shooting him.
"Thanks." That's all he says, and I don't need anything more.
"That's the last one, right?"
"Yeah. We took them all down."
"Mission report?" I hear in my ear. One of Hydra's authorities. "Night Wind, Winter Soldier, do you copy?"
"Target no longer a threat, commander," I respond, wiping my bloody hands on my pants to clean them.
"Report back to base immediately."
"Copy that. We'll be there." The solider glances at me. "Get going. I'll be there in a few minutes. You can give him a full report." I nod and start to run, this fantastic ability I didn't even know I possessed. Not that I knew anything at all. But it makes me fast, agile, and above all, deadly.
Minutes later, I'm in the same lab I report to every morning, letting some assistant tend to my shallow wounds. It's not like there's anything serious to fix. No one ever catches me.
"Good to see you back," the doctor says as he enters. I still don't know his name. Does anyone have names here? It's kind of irritating.
"The soldier's on his way. He will be here momentarily, I'm sure," I say, a slow smirk curling on my lips. "He's just... slow." I twirl my dagger casually between my fingers.
"Practically everyone is slow in comparison to you," he says. I'd have to agree. "Which of you finished the job today?"
"Me," I respond cooly. He makes note of it. "Knife to the back, he never saw it coming."
"That's five in the three months since we recovered you. Most impressive, I must say."
"Thank you, sir."
"Back to your bunk with you. Await instructions," He orders. I nod and exit. I almost stop to examine Strucker's lab. I'm almost never alone and near it, because everyone seems bent on keeping me away. What would I find there that they don't want me to see?
Once I'm safely back in my room, I shrug the brown leather jacket off and flop onto the bed. Every bone in my body is exhausted. There's something called overwork, after all. Makes me not want to do all this. A sharp pain fills my head as I think that. That happens every once in a while, but I don't know why. I close my eyes and quickly fall asleep.
Once I had successfully gotten away from the main area of my mission, I straightened up, gripping a knife. This was it, the moment I had been carefully planning for weeks. I had to do it before they took my memories again. And I was in for the torture of my life if I failed. This had to go right. I wasn't going to get a second chance.
Should I do it?
Yes, I told myself. It's time to get my life back.
With as steady a hand as I could manage, I sliced open a section of my left forearm, gasping at the pain. Instead of crying out, I bit my lip so hard I tasted the metallic flavor of blood. Blood freely flowed down my wrist, but that was the least of my worries. I pulled a small square of silver metal out of my flesh. The tracker.
"Have fun tracking Russia," I muttered, still in pain. I tied a bandage I stole around the wound. Right before I ran, I hesitated. "I'm sorry, James." It's not like he's here to hear me. It feels wrong that I'm leaving him, but I need to save myself.
I ran for hours, stopping only to steal enough money for a cheap plane ticket. Pickpocketing with my good arm. I felt bad, but once again, I was the top priority.
I did my best to seem inconspicuous in the airport. No one noticed a beaten-up girl in an oversized black sweatshirt cradling her arm as she limped onto the plane. Once I was safely aboard, I chanced a question to the man next to me.
"Where are we going? Where are we flying to?" I asked. Not that I cared. Anywhere was better than where I came from. He glared, obviously annoyed, but still answered.
"America. Miami, specifically, but the United States of America."
"Oh. Thank you."
America. I have no idea if I've ever been there before, but I know about it. The perfect location for me. A place of freedom and hope. A place to hide. A place to start over.
"America," I breathed, so quietly that no one could hear. "America."
I jolt awake, sitting up straight in bed. The soldier is staring at me. I rub my forehead, trying to alleviate the pain.
"What's wrong?" He asks. "Bad dream?"
I shake my head. "I don't know what it was."
"Do you remember anything?"
I almost shake my head again, but switch when I realize that I do. Something very important.
"They take our memories," I say slowly, looking up at him. "And my name is America."
