To brush away the awkwardness from earlier, Sophie changed the subject and asked Winter—no, James—if she could leave to go buy some food and toiletries for them. His immediate reaction was to frown and say, "No. It's too dangerous."

"Come on, J…James," she said, his name tasting foreign—and yet so normal, somehow—on her tongue. Judging by his expression, he felt just as thrown hearing his real name as she did using it. But he didn't look unhappy, which was her cue that it had been a good move. "We need to eat. Neither of us have had decent food in god knows how long. And you—don't tell me that you don't need a Michael Phelps-sized meal by now."

"A what?" he asked, sounding puzzled.

"Never mind," she said hastily. "My point is, we need food. And toothbrushes and toothpaste. And water bottles." And I seriously need to buy some new underwear. Oh, and somehow get online and Google my name and see if there's a national panic over my disappearance or not. Of course she was never going to admit these things to him.

"I'll go," he said firmly.

"Why?" she asked, feeling irritated. "Because you're a big, strong man and you can do everything better than me?"

He stared at her in a way that seemed to say No offense, but yeah, that sounds about right.

And as offensive as the idea was, it was technically correct. He was bigger. He was stronger—much stronger. And he generally did most things better than Sophie.

But there were definitely things she did better—such as blending in. And interacting with human beings. As shy and anxiety-prone as she was in public, she was aces and spades better than he was, given his decades of no real human interaction with anyone and inclination to murder. And she said exactly so, hoping to make him see reason. His expression remained stubborn but she could tell she'd won the battle when he sighed and said, "And what if you get caught?"

"But why would I?" she said. "It's evening and dark out. I'm wearing different clothes. I'll even wear your baseball hat, if you want. I can't be the only white girl around. Lots of Brazilians have pale skin too. No one will look twice at me. You on the other hand…sorry, but just the way you walk screams dangerous."

"How?" he asked, sounding a little too interested—and pleased, in Sophie's opinion.

"You walk like a predator. Like an…well, like an assassin. All prowl-y and 'Get the hell out of my way or you're dead'."

No, she was definitely right, he did look pleased with himself.

"That's not exactly something to be proud of," she pointed out.

"It is when you're an assassin," he retorted.

"Ex-assassin," she corrected. There was a sticky, awkward moment between them when she suddenly realized that he'd never actually said anything about what his future plans were—nor had he ever actually said anything about retiring from his assassin ways. She looked worriedly at him, suddenly concerned, but he turned away from her and said, "If you want to get food, you'd better get going. I'm hungry."

"Okay," she said uncertainly, now preoccupied with thoughts on whether he still considered himself an assassin or not. She couldn't rationalize or justify spending lots more time with him if he thought he could still get away with murdering people left and right. It just wasn't okay. He was going to go straight now…right? Especially if he was going to meet his old friend, Captain America, and help him stop Project Insight…right?

Yes, she definitely needed to address these problems.

But she would save that all that for a later time. Right now, her stomach was aching with hunger and her heart was aching to know what had happened to Sophie Duran's memory in the States.

James watched her as she grabbed his canvas bag and slung it crossbody-style on herself so no one could steal it. It wouldn't do to lose their only supply of money right now. She laced her Converse up and then jumped to her feet, bouncing on the balls of her feet slightly, feeling awkward. Just being able to look the Winter Soldier—James, she reminded herself sternly—in the face and say goodbye and not have him leap at her and hurt her…

Her throat squeezed shut for a moment and she had to remind herself, It's in the past. Not his fault. Not his fault. You know that. And you forgave him.

"Be careful," he said briskly. "There could still be Hydra agents out in the city."

"Is it likely?"

"Not very," he said carefully. "They think they know how I think. They're going to think my first instinct would be to get as far out of the city—and the country—as possible. But you never know, there might still be someone scouting the city."

"I'll be careful." They stared awkwardly at each other and then she gave him a strange half-salute that didn't make much sense. "Well…see ya." And then she left.

As she was jogging down the stairs, she cringed to herself, her cheeks heating up. Did I seriously just salute him? Why? WHY? Why did I do that?! What is wrong with me? Sophieee. You need to seriously stop doing weird things.

The woman at the front desk glared at her as she walked through the tiny entrance area to get to the street, clearly still angry about James frightening her. Sophie tried to smile at her and convey that she was a totally normal tourist, just out for an evening stroll…without her clearly-unstable travel partner…

She pushed out onto the street and a wave of thick heat enveloped her. The sky was a pretty violet now and golden lights twinkled from streetlights and every shop, making the street come alive. Tightening her pony and pulling the brim of James's hat down over her eyes, she set off. First things first—underwear. It was embarrassing but hey, it was a necessity. She walked down the busy street, glancing at the shop names until she saw a boutique that sold women's clothing in lurid tropical floral prints. It was clearly made for tourists because Sophie couldn't comprehend who else would wear a lime-green muumuu with neon purple orchids printed all over it. She entered the store and walked a quick lap around it. Thankfully they had some underwear at the back and she grabbed a few pairs of everything she needed, hoping she wouldn't get ripped off. The person who rang her up was a teenage girl who was too busy chewing her gum and reading a romance novel to even glance up at Sophie, so she felt pretty confident that she hadn't gotten cheated.

Swinging the bag from the crook of her elbow, she left and set off in search of something she could search her name on. She wandered down the street, her spirits sinking lower and lower with every passing minute. She couldn't see any place where she could access the Internet. She'd been under the strange impression that she'd be able to find an Internet café—but with the rise of the smart phone, such things were quickly becoming obsolete. She searched for a library but this was a commercial area; no libraries to be found.

She leaned against a wall in an alley branching off the street and thought for a moment. She supposed she could give up and search it later—but she'd been disconnected from the real world for long enough. She wanted to know what had happened to Sophie Duran, if the country was searching for her, if people cared that she was gone. She was a white American, the daughter of a wealthy couple. She was exactly the kind of kidnapping victim that the media cared about...so people had to be looking for her.

Her eyes suddenly fell on an iPhone carelessly poking out of a tote bag hanging behind a woman who sat at a street café, only a few feet away from the alley entrance. The woman was engrossed in a magazine, not paying attention to her bag. Checking to make sure that no one was watching her, Sophie crept forward and then casually knelt, pretending to tie her shoe. She re-tied her sneaker and then slid the phone out of the bag, sliding it into the pocket of her thin cardigan. She stood up and drifted back into the alley, walking deeper and deeper into the shadows until she was sure no one could see her.

Sophie had never actually used a smart phone before. They'd terrified her—tiny little machines of intense power, information, and personal information. They were her own personal nightmare, her own personal weakness. They were almost worse than computers because they were everywhere and most people had more personal information on their phones now than they did on their computers. So Sophie had stayed the hell away from them. It had worked out alright—up until now. She fumbled and fiddled with the phone, her fingers clumsy, trying to figure out how she was supposed to work it. It only had one button on the front so that wasn't too bad and there was a clear arrow that told her which direction to swipe. Thankfully the woman didn't have a password.

She studied the icons on the home screen, trying to figure out which one to use. There was a blue square icon with the lowercase letter "g"printed on it. Sophie stayed away from technology as much as possible but even she knew what Google was. She clicked it and exhaled in relief once a Google search bar opened up. She wiped away the sweat on her forehead, not having realized until now how stressful using a smartphone was. Why did using the screen feel so slippery?

It took her several tries to properly spell her name into the search bar but finally she got it done and pressed the magnifying glass icon to search. It took a few seconds to load and then—

Nothing.

The websites that popped up had nothing to do with her. Several Sophie Durans from various social networking sites popped up, something about soap, some links about some textile designer, some business articles that had nothing to do with her, something about the band Duran Duran… Nothing with her name or face. Nothing about a kidnapping. Nothing about her wealthy parents. She stared at the screen for a moment, feeling bewildered—and then it hit her. Maybe her search only shows her what's happening in Brazil or South America or something. She relaxed. Was there a way to search what was happening in America?

And then, in a sickening moment of clarity, she realized that the woman's phone settings were in English. The woman clearly spoke English, since her phone's language was English. Perhaps she was a tourist herself. Which meant…

Which meant that the Google search settings were probably set to the entire world—or at least included America.

Sophie felt sick with confusion. What was going on? She'd anticipated not receiving heaps and heaps of attention because she'd been such a loner with no close friends—but she'd expected to see something. Fingers trembling, she retyped her name and added the word "kidnapped" next to it and searched again. Again, nothing of relevance or importance came up. In fact, most of the links seemed to be old. There was nothing new, nothing current, nothing to suggest that anyone knew—or cared—about Sophie's kidnapping.

Her legs suddenly felt weak and her vision was going dark around the edges. She realized she was about to collapse and sagged against the wall, trying to control the roiling nausea in her stomach. Her entire body felt sweaty with fear. What was going on? Why wasn't there even one news article about her? No articles describing her personality, nothing about her parents setting a reward for her return or any news, no police statements regarding her disappearance, nothing at all… It was as if no one in the world had noticed that Sophie had gone. She'd been gone for days and days and days now and no one cared enough to deem it suspicious or call the police—or if the police had been called, her apartment hadn't looked suspicious enough to deem it a potential crime…

She realized she was almost hyperventilating and she needed to get the woman's phone back before she realized it was missing. She tried to control her breathing and tears as she fumbled around with the phone for another few stressful minutes, trying to figure out how to cross out the Internet page. She contemplated downloading all of the search results for her name into her mind but there were 845,000 results. That was too much. She could have done it but the migraine it would give her would not be worth it. Neither would the stress of having to delete things from her mind. Deleting always felt wrong somehow—having something in her mind, and then all of a sudden not having it and not really remembering what she had just gotten rid of.

She figured out how to close out the Google search page and clicked the phone's screen off, walking down the alley and wiping at her stinging eyes. She dropped the phone into the tote as she passed behind the woman and continued down the street. Nobody likes being seen crying in public and Sophie desperately kept trying to wipe away the stinging tears that were blurring her vision. Unfortunately for her, they were coming too thick and fast for her to control, and she walked blindly down the street, crying so hard she came close to slamming into several people and not even caring.

Someone caught her arm and she looked up through her tears into the face of a concerned-looking woman. The woman asked her something in Portuguese. Sophie shook her head and gave the woman a watery smile. "I'm fine," she said, not sure if the woman could understand her. "Thank you." She gently pulled her arm out of her grasp and hurried on down the street, leaving the woman staring after her.

Get it together, Sophie. You can't draw attention to yourself like this. You're making people notice you. What if there are Hydra agents around?

So she wiped away her tears and took a few deep, gulping breaths, trying hard to swallow the thick ball of tears and confusion and fear clogging her throat. Her mouth trembled with the effort to hold back tears and she pressed her lips together against the pain that was welling up in her. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. You've been through so much, you can get through this.

But could she? Everything she had been through so far had been hard—but none of it had struck an emotional blow like this. No one knew or cared that she was missing. There were no news stories on her. No missing person alerts. No tip hotline. It was as if she had never existed. She'd vanished and who cared? No one. Even her parents didn't seem to care, because if they had, they would have gone on TV or opened up their own tip hotline, regardless of whether the police wanted to or not. They would have said something to the public. They would have made some kind of statement. Or perhaps they didn't know, which didn't make Sophie feel any better than considering that they didn't care.

Either way, she felt lonelier than she had in a long time. The whole time she'd been kidnapped she'd been imaging and dreaming that people in the U.S.—her parents, at the very least, who did love her in their own, strange ways—were concerned about her disappearance.

She'd been wrong. No one was looking to save her.

If she'd had any doubt about it before, all doubt vanished now. She was going to have to save herself. She'd been trying and trying to save herself through trying to escape the Winter Soldier, through connecting with the Winter Soldier, through defying Hydra, through figuring out who the Winter Soldier was, through escaping Hydra...yet she'd always maintained the belief deep down that other people were also trying to save her. But they weren't. And so now it really was all down to her.

I am the only person responsible for my safety now. I can't rely on anyone—maybe not even James.

The thought terrified her but also made her feel strangely defiant. No one noticed she was missing, did they? No one cared, did they? She was inconsequential, not important, not needed? She would show them. She would show everyone who had ever ignored her. She would show herself, her past self, that she was important and strong and worth noticing.

And she would start by stopping Project Insight.

Thinking about her new motivation to stop Project Insight helped stop the flow of tears in her. Her heart still ached with pain and confusion but she forced herself to soldier through the pain and keep going. She dried her face for the last time, took a deep breath, tossed her head back, retied her ponytail, and continued on down the street. Back to the original tasks. She spent the next hour buying a slim little backpack for her to carry her own things in, buying toiletries needed for the both of them, and finally buying food for the both of them (Styrofoam boxes heaped high with rice, veggies, and long thin pieces of dark, crispy meat. She had no idea what any of it was but it was cheap and smelled good). And if she still felt any slivers of pain still piercing her heart...well, Sophie was good at burying things deep within her heart.

James followed Sophie out onto the streets. It wasn't that he was concerned with her running away from him; he knew now that she wasn't going to do that (and why would she? Their relationship was no longer one of pain and struggle). But he was still concerned that there were Hydra agents out there—more concerned than he had let on to Sophie. He knew trying to stop her from going would be futile; the girl was wildly stubborn (after all, she'd basically kept herself alive for this long because she essentially refused to die) and he didn't feel like having a fight with her. So he let her go. But he followed.

He tried to tell himself that it was because she was useful to him. Her explanation on why his kisses hadn't helped had made sense in his mind—he'd tried too hard. He'd tried to force it to work. And the mind was a funny thing. When you tried to trick it, it always one-upped you somehow. But she'd silenced the chaos once and perhaps she'd do it again someday. (Meanwhile, he had some thinking to do on her insistence that he could end the chaos in his mind himself; he seemed doubtful of it but then, what did he know about these things?) She was also useful to him because of her still-secret abilities to get information—he needed to ask her about those soon and determine how much he could use them in the future. She also still had information on his past and Hydra wanted her, so she could be used as a bargaining chip in the future.

Basically, she was a handy asset for him, now that he had escaped Hydra. If she got caught, he would lose his edge over Hydra completely.

He tried to tell himself that these were the only reasons he was following her. But he couldn't shake the feeling of concern buzzing in his chest as he watched her leave, his irrational thoughts on protecting her from harm because—

Because—

He shook his head. It was too confusing to really think about it now. All he knew was that despite his rationalizing (and those reasons all were true, to varying extents), he felt...a connection to Sophie. A connection that alarmed him with how strong it seemed to be growing as time passed. An instinct to keep her by his side, to protect her, to…thank her for all she'd somehow done for him. And possibly other things that were too complicated to unravel right now.

So he followed.

He waited a few minutes before following her out onto the streets. She adjusted her hair, tugged her baseball cap down to shield her face—Good girl, he thought approvingly—and then strode off confidently down the street. She was a far cry from the crying, whimpering creature he'd first kidnapped. Now she walked with purpose, surreptitiously scanning her surroundings. She was good but he was obviously better and he knew just how to stay out of her sight. Following people was second nature to him.

She stepped into a women's clothing shop. He didn't think he needed to follow her inside so he waited across the street, sitting at an outdoor table outside a café, crossing one leg over the other and carefully watching everyone who passed. Fifteen minutes later she came out with a bag dangling from her arm and set off down the street again. He got up and followed.

She walked for quite a while, almost twenty minutes, her head swiveling this way and that. She seemed to be searching for something and he had no idea what. She was passing multiple food spots and corner shops that surely sold toiletries. What was she looking for? He frowned as she slipped into an alley and leaned against a wall right by the entrance. She folded her arms, her expression thoughtful, mouth turned down in a frown. He slipped across the street, diagonal from her, so he had a better vantage point. And then he watched in shock as she knelt to tie her shoe—and casually swiped a phone from a woman's bag.

His first thought was that she'd become slick—maybe too slick.

His second thought was that he had to stop her from calling whoever she was going to call. She disappeared further into the alley and he dashed across the street, hiding right around the corner and peering down the alley at her. It was dark and deserted. If he followed her, she would know—and she wouldn't trust him anymore. She didn't look like she was calling anyone so he decided to be patient and watch and wait. Rushing into things was never a wise course of action. Sometimes…you needed to lay in wait like a crocodile submerged just below the murky water, watching, getting ready to strike and drag your victim to the depths below.

She seemed to be typing something and he narrowed his eyes, his sharp eyesight able to take in her face even from this distance. She first looked confused…and then…as the minutes passed…she looked shocked. Her face went white—it was so bleached that even someone without enhanced sight would have noticed—and she staggered back against the wall. She looked like she'd received the worst news of her life. Her shoulders seemed to be shaking. She stared blindly down at the phone and then began jabbing at it. Her movements were clumsy, uncoordinated. She turned and began to walk back down the alley and he vanished into the store right next to him, watching her through a dirty corner window. She carelessly dropped the phone back into the woman's bag, not even seeming to care if the woman caught her, and continued down the street.

She passed right by the store he was in and he saw her face: it was stark white, her eyes huge and glassy with tears, her mouth a pink trembling slash in her pale face. She looked horrible. He stepped out after she'd passed and followed her more closely now, alarmed. What had she been searching for? What had she seen that was so upsetting? So many questions he had but no way to ask them without revealing himself. The frustration he felt was almost palpable. He considered for a moment throwing caution to the winds and showing himself—she'd get angry, but she'd been angry at him before, so what was once more?—but then he realized, from her shaking shoulders, that she was crying. He immediately cancelled his plan. He didn't know how to deal with tears or crying people, especially crying girls who were no longer his mission but rather a partner of sorts. He was James now—or trying to be, anyway—and trying to reconnect with his human side, so she'd probably expect him to try and comfort her. The thought terrified him. He didn't know how to do things like that.

So he continued following, scrapping all plans of showing himself to her.

She was so overwrought that she banged into several people. People gave her dirty looks and surprised exclamations and she didn't stop to say sorry. She was clearly wildly upset—more upset than he'd ever seen her, in fact. And he'd seen her very upset before. One woman even grabbed her arm, pulling her to a halt. He reacted instinctively, sliding out his dagger and concealing it in the palm of his hand, angling himself so that he could throw it and land it in the woman's throat in a heartbeat. If she was a Hydra agent in disguise, he was ready. But all she did was say something to Sophie, her expression concerned. Sophie mumbled something back, shook the woman off, and continued down the street.

She walked for a long while and he noticed that her shoulders stopped shaking with tears eventually. She threw her head back, wiping at her face, and began marching in and out of shops with a determined pep in her step. Her mouth was a flat line and she definitely looked like she was forcing herself to be tough—but she was still being tough. This he couldn't deny and yet again he felt a flicker of awe for her iron will. She seemed so weak and soft at first, and there was a softness to her...but she was still as tough as nails.

She bought a bag, toiletries from a corner shop, and then she grabbed two boxes of food from a vendor that had his makeshift restaurant-cart propped up at a street corner. Judging by the crowd around it, it was a popular spot for local food. Once she'd gotten the food, she turned around and began heading back in the direction of the hotel. He figured she was going back and followed her halfway there before he remembered that he needed to get in before her. He crossed the street, slipped through the crowds like a shadow, and hurried into the hotel. He wondered if the girl sitting at the desk glaring at him—he felt a sting of shame when he recalled how he'd snapped in front of her—would mention him going out to Sophie.

If she did, he'd have to control the urge to kill her. The woman, that was. Not Sophie.

He thought briefly about what Sophie's face would look like if she could read the murderous direction of his thoughts and had to fight back a crooked smile. Tough as nails but as straight as an arrow as well, that girl.

He closed the hotel room door and then threw himself on the bed, trying to look casual.

No…too casual.

He sat on her bed and stared out the window, trying to appear as if he'd been staring out the window this entire time.

No…too spacey. Also, not very believable.

He heard the door handle turning and threw himself into the small chair near the table at the foot of her bed, hurriedly pulling out a dagger and beginning to polish it on the hem of his shirt. This was normal, right? He was used to cleaning his weapons. His weapons were his life, an extension of his body.

Sophie stepped into the room, turning to close the door behind her, singing "I'm baaa—" and froze when she saw James sitting hunched in a chair, slowly cleaning a gleaming dagger, staring menacingly at her. She stared at him, feeling a little scared, and slowly said, "Okay…are you…planning on killing me?"

"What?" he asked, blinking.

"You—you're sitting in a chair, glaring at me, very dramatically cleaning an already-clean dagger in front of me," she said uneasily, slowly sidling into the room, not taking her eyes off him for a moment. "That's pretty freaky."

"I— No, the dagger was dirty," he said, still looking perplexed. "I wasn't trying to—I wasn't going to kill you. I was just…cleaning my weapons."

"I don't know, it looked pretty clean to me," she murmured.

He looked irritated. "Are you saying I'm lying?"

"Whoa, relax, Win—James," she said, holding her hands up. "I'm just kidding! You remember what kidding is, right?" This was also a joke but judging by the frown on James's face, she may have hit closer to home than she'd intended. "You—you don't remember kidding around?" she asked, shocked.

"I do, sort of," he said, sounding frustrated. "I mean—I have memories—I remember myself laughing, hearing jokes, teasing someone—the blond guy—"

"Captain America," she said automatically.

His jaw tightened. "Right. Him. So…yeah. I remember kidding around. But it feels so…foreign now. Like I shouldn't be doing it."

"Why?" she asked curiously. "I mean—other Hydra agents are allowed to have lives, feel emotions, be people. Why weren't you?"

"Because it's frivolous to kid around," he responded quietly, looking carefully at the dagger in his hands, twirling it slowly. Sophie was mesmerized by its gleaming blade. "It's frivolous to feel emotions that can hinder your missions. It's frivolous to have—to have personal relationships that can tie you down and confuse your thinking and obstruct your loyalties, your priorities, your goal. It's unnecessary to be a human when you need to be a killer—the best killer."

"It's not frivolous, it's normal and healthy and good," Sophie said fiercely, placing a Styrofoam box on the table next to him. She grabbed her own box and sat on her bed. "You know that, right? That Hydra is wrong? They lied to you. It's not frivolous to be a human. It's your right to be a human. You should never have to sacrifice your humanity for your work."

"If that's what you could call what I did for them," he said dryly.

Sophie's mind scanned over all of his files and she suppressed a shudder. He was right; could what he'd done even be called "work"? He'd committed so many heinous acts under Hydra's bidding. He was behind some of the most famous murders and assassinations in the past half century. She couldn't believe she was staring at the man who'd killed John F. Kennedy and so many other prominent people in history.

"Well, you get my point," she said finally. "Now eat."

For a while neither of them spoke, too busy shoveling food down their throats. James finished before Sophie, crushed his Styrofoam box into a small cube, and launched it across the room into the garbage can. Sophie knew he was probably just being efficient but it was such a teenage guy-ish thing to do that she choked on her rice, half expecting him to shout "Kobe!" But of course he would never say anything as frivolous as that, because Hydra had stripped him of anything that resembled a personality.

She got up and shoved her box into the trash because she didn't have the hand-eye coordination to ever make the shot to the garbage can, and then gingerly picked up their dirty clothes. He watched her as she made a grossed-out face and carried them over to the bathroom with pinched fingers. She filled the sink with hot water, made one last face, and plunged her shirt into the sink. James had gotten up and drifted over to the bathroom, leaning against the doorway to watch her. He looked calm and contemplative as he asked, "Tell me how you figured out the information on me."

She jumped a little on the inside but maintained a casual expression, scrubbing her red dress with the bar of soap, rinsing it thoroughly, and wringing all the excess water out of it. She turned away from him to spread her sopping wet dress across the shower bar and asked, "What do you mean? I…hacked into the computer and looked at your files."

"You did, did you?" He sounded skeptical. "Interesting."

He believes me! Wow, maybe I'm getting better at lying—

"Except that doesn't explain how you memorized the entire layout of the base."

Shit.

"I have a photographic memory," she lied casually, trying to make it sound convincing. She shoved her tights into the water next, starting the process of scrubbing with soap, thoroughly rinsing, and wringing out all over again. These clothes seriously needed to be cleaned. They were disgusting cesspools of blood, sweat, and dirt.

"Oh really?" he said. "Okay. There's a painting hanging in the room over one of our beds. Whose bed is it hanging over?"

Double shit. "I don't know!" she said indignantly, trying to sound offended. "I didn't notice because it's not important!"

"That's not how photographic memories work. And you know it."

She bit her lip as she let the now-dirty water swirl down the drain and refilled the sink up with fresh water. "I…" Come on, Sophie. You've gone through so much with him. I know you're scared because this has ruined your life—but he risked his life to help you escape from Hydra with him. He's not…like them. She plunged his weird combat vest-jacket top into the water and tried to scrub it best as she could, considering a good portion of it was a tough leather material covered with buckles and straps. The water turned a murky rust color because of all the blood that came off. "I just…"

"You have to tell me," he said forcefully.

She glanced sharply at him. "Excuse me?"

He exhaled through his nose. "Should have known that would piss you off. What I meant was…you can trust me. I'm not going to tell anyone."

But she wasn't worried about him telling anyone. She was worrying about him being as disgusted and disturbed as the others had been. But he was different from then, right? Unlike them, he'd seen—and experienced—more than his fair share of weirdness, brutality, and dark, dangerous things. He was tougher than them, and far less likely to fall into emotional hysterics. He simply didn't…care.

"Can I tell you tomorrow?" she asked, scrubbing at the dried blood on the inside of his top and trying her hardest not to gag.

His eyes narrowed. "But you will tell me tomorrow."

"I have no choice, do I?" she snapped. "Considering you'd kill me if I didn't."

"You're damn right I would." He vanished into the room, apparently satisfied now that she'd agreed to tell him her secret. She rolled her eyes, huffed privately to herself, and began washing his combat pants. What had her life come to, that she was washing the blood out of an assassin's pants and had promised to tell him her most well-kept secret? Unbelievable.

Sophie slept better than she had in days but she still tossed and turned. For one thing, she was afraid that Hydra agents would break down their door at any moment. For another, it was almost claustrophobically hot in the room and the fan didn't do much to help. She wondered why it was so hot here when the streets hadn't even been that bad, before she remembered something from one of her high school science classes: heat rises. As a result, she looked wan and sticky when she finally gave up trying to sleep around five a.m. She sat up and looked at James. For some reason she'd assumed he would rise early like some sort of army sergeant—but he was still fast asleep. His face was pale, deep shadows under his eyes, face scruff an almost-full beard at this point; he looked exhausted and innocent, and she felt a moment of strange fondness for him. Then she got up to take a shower.

She put on the same clothes she'd worn yesterday and wandered out of the bathroom, yanking her newly-bought brush through her straight, damp hair. James was sitting up at the edge of his bed, feet resting on the ground, blearily staring out the window. He had the typical glazed-slash-grumpy expression of someone who'd woken up when they really didn't want to.

"Freedom making you lazy?" she joked.

He didn't answer.

She rifled through her bag and pulled out the razor and shaving cream she'd gotten for him. "Here. Use these."

He took them and looked at them, frowning slightly.

"You know how to shave, right?" she asked, suddenly alarmed. "I'm not going to shave your face for you."

"Of course I do," he snapped. "I just… I think I normally did it after a mission. In a room with scientists watching me."

Sophie made a face. "Excuse me, what? Scientists watched you shave? Why?"

"No, I mean…they just stood around, waiting for me to be done. So they could continue cleaning me, assessing me, feeding me, taking my vitals…" He listed these off in a mechanical voice, as if it were totally normal for a grown man to be treated like a lab rat and given no privacy or agency at all.

"Well, today is your lucky day," she said, trying to sound cheerful and not at all horrified at what he'd gone through. "You get to do it all by yourself in the bathroom with no one watching you. Enjoy."

While he disappeared into the bathroom and showered, she made both their beds and tidied up the room (not that there was much to tidy to begin with). Then she organized her bag and sank down onto her bed. What was going to happen now? He was going to ask her about her abilities, that was obvious—and she was going to have to tell him. There was really no avoiding it at this point. But after that…what then? He hadn't shown any enthusiasm for her plans about contacting Captain America and stopping Project Insight—but they had to do that next, didn't they? What else was there left for them to do? It wasn't as if they could stay in this hotel forever, hiding out from the world and eating cheap (but tasty!) street food.

By the time he emerged from the bathroom, Sophie had psyched herself up so much to explain her abilities that she blurted, "So about my skills—" but stopped dead when she saw his clean-shaven face. He wore the same clothes as yesterday as well and his hair was damp, hanging loosely around his face. He looked years younger after shaving and a decent night's sleep. He almost looked semi-healthy. For some reason, his blue-green eyes seemed more intense than usual. It wasn't the first time she'd had the thought but she was reminded all over again that the Winter Soldier—James Barnes—was actually a very attractive guy, well-built with handsome features. The long hair and perpetual scowl just gave him a rugged, bad boy look that would probably make most women swoon (until they realized he was actually dangerous).

He noticed her stare and self-consciously snapped, "What? What are you looking at?"

Sophie felt herself blush and looked away, hoping his sharp eyes wouldn't notice her pink cheeks—or at least wouldn't guess why she had pink cheeks. "No reason. You don't look so sick anymore, though. Is your headache…the noise in your head…is it gone? You feel okay?"

He looked surprised by her question, as if he wasn't used to people asking about how he felt. "Yeah, I'm better today," he replied, rubbing his towel through his hair and sitting down on his bed. "It's…quieter in my head. Sometimes it is—it's not always so…loud. It's almost peaceful right now."

"Might have something to do with the fact that you've realized you're not just a robot for Hydra," she suggested bluntly.

"Maybe."

"Anyway." She took a deep breath. "I know you're going to ask eventually and there's no point drawing it out, so I should just get right to it: my abilities."

"How you memorized my files," he said with narrowed eyes. "And Hydra files. And the layout of the base."

She nodded. "Exactly. It's not because I have a photographic memory, although you knew that. It's because I downloaded the information…into my brain."

He stared at her. Clearly he hadn't been expecting this answer. "You download information into your brain," he repeated, his voice heavy with skepticism.

"You think I would lie about this?" she asked, already feeling tired. It was starting all over again—the strange looks, the silences, the suspicion. For the millionth time she wondered why she'd been cursed with this infernal talent. It had brought her nothing but bad things and she'd learned her lesson about trying to use it for her own gain.

"Go on," he said, his voice calm, expression blank, betraying nothing.

She focused on her hands to make this easier. It felt so wrong, betraying her secrets—as if it was going against every instinct she had for survival. "I…I'm not sure exactly how I got these abilities. I know it's connected to an accident I had as a kid. I trespassed somewhere I wasn't supposed to go—and I touched this weird computer that had these symbols in a different language—and I got hit by lightning. I should have died but I somehow lived. And ever since then…I've been able to hold a piece of technology and download whatever information it might hold." She decided not to mention that the computer had belonged to her dad. Who knew what strange things he'd been dabbling in?

His dark brows drew together into a straight line. "You hold technology and pull the informational contents into your mind?"

"Basically, yeah."

"Does this work for every type of technology?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't really tested to what extent my skills work. I know they work on phones, computers, cameras, and DVD players for sure—if there's a movie inside, that is. I can store information and images in my head. I can also delete things permanently, if I want, and once I've deleted it…it's gone. I can't even remember what I've deleted."

"Sounds like a defense mechanism," he said thoughtfully. "To protect you from enemies."

"Or to keep my brain from cluttering up," she muttered.

She expected him to ask more questions about the parameters of her abilities but he surprised her by asking the one question she really hadn't wanted him to ask: "Why haven't you tested your abilities? What's stopping you?"

You have no idea, buddy. She hesitated, not sure how much to divulge right now. She was already opening herself up by telling him about her abilities—did he really have to know about her past as well? Especially when it couldn't be changed? "That's personal," she said shortly.

For one tense moment it seemed like he would press the issue. His eyes narrowed and his mouth opened a fraction, his body instinctively leaning forward, going into hunter mode. He studied Sophie's face—which she was sure looked half-stubborn and half-fearful—and then leaned back and nodded once. "Fine. What other details about your abilities do you know?"

"The more I download, the more it hurts," she said, wincing at the memory of how much information she'd downloaded back at the Hydra base. "First I get this—this high. It's not like a drug. I'm not addicted. I've gone ages without using my abilities. But the more I download, first I immediately feel this—this pull and snap back in my mind. Like my mind is quickly trying to accommodate. This happens in seconds. Then I get this high, like I'm…" She rubbed the back of her neck, feeling embarrassed at her terminology. "Like I'm glowing. Or—or blinking with bright lights. It's hard to explain. I feel like a machine, but a shiny machine. Excited for all the new input of data. And then…the high goes away. And I feel pain."

"Pain."

"Lots of it," she whispered. "The more information I download, the worse my head aches after. Like something is squeezing my skull, a metal band. It goes away eventually but it's painful as hell when it's happening. And sometimes, if it's really bad, I get sick. Chills. Vomit. That sort of thing."

"How bad did it hurt after you downloaded the Hydra information?"

She grimaced. "You don't want to know. And you beating me up didn't really help."

He shrugged. "It had to be done." His tone was cavalier but she couldn't but notice that a dark shadow slid across his eyes for a moment at mention of Sophie's most recent beating. She wondered if she was right, if he felt contrite for what he'd had to do.

"Is that it?" he finally asked.

Sophie stared at him, so outraged she could hardly speak. "Is—is that it?" she gasped. "What do you mean is that it?"

His brows drew together and he looked confused. "I meant—is that all you had to tell me about your abilities? That's all you can do?"

"That's—that's all I can—?" Sophie stammered. She suddenly found herself on her feet, her fists clenched, curbing the urge to punch James squarely in the face. "Is that all I can do? No, James! That's not all I can do! I can get people's bank account information and steal their identities! I can download state secrets into my head! I can find out the most personal secrets of anyone on Earth by accessing their phones and personal devices! I can figure out combinations for digital safes! I can hack into any computer! I can steal nuclear launch c—" She choked on her own fury and blindly shoved past the two beds, pacing up and down the tiny room, running her hands wildly through her hair. "I can ruin people's lives! I can ignore everyone's privacy and figure out whatever I want! And when I d-do—when I get caught—I can be shut out and ostracized and ignored. I can be used as a weapon and cause World War III. I could be put on death row for treason or being an accomplice to genocide or—or—"

"Sophie." James was suddenly on his feet, grabbing her arm and pausing her pacing. "Stop. You're working yourself up for no reason."

"Let go of me!" she shrieked so loudly that he let go with a startled expression. She immediately felt bad for screaming at him but didn't quite know how to apologize right now. Her entire face felt hot with anger and humiliation. How dare he not see the implications of what she could do? How dare he not realize how much pain and fear her abilities had caused her?

Because you haven't told him, a small voice said fairly deep inside her mind. How would he know what your abilities have done to you? How could you expect him to know?

BECAUSE I WANT SOMEONE TO KNOW! She sank down onto his bed and covered her face with trembling hands, breathing deeply. She knew she was being unfair and stupid and overly-harsh. It wasn't his fault he didn't know her life story. She was taking out her frustration on him for no reason. But she didn't know how to stop because on the inside, she ached to have someone realize what this had done to her. She wished to god there was someone out there who could feel what she was carrying around inside of her and take it away from her without her having to talk about it. Wipe her clean. Erase the bad memories and fear and guilt and paranoia and humiliation and anger.

But, of course, there was no one who could do that. Because she had to save herself. She had to find peace herself, just like she'd told James to do.

She wiped her eyes and pulled her hands away from her face. Sniffling slightly, she raised her head and cleared her throat. Acting like she hadn't just blown up at him for no reason, she said in a low voice, "Trust me. I can do a lot of bad things. And I can be used by a lot of bad people. I can be punished in a lot of ways. And I can ruin a lot of lives…including mine." She bit her lip. "In fact, I have ruined my own life in some ways."

"How?" he asked, his voice still calm. It was as if the more emotional she got, the more he withdrew back into an eerie emotionless state.

"That's one of those personal things," she reminded him dully. "Trust me, you do not want to know. It's not important for you to know. Just stupid…human stuff."

"I'm human," he said, a strange expression crossing his face.

"Of course you are," she said, feeling shocked. "I didn't mean to imply—"

"I know," he interrupted. "Forget it." He folded his arms and looked at the wall, lost deep in thought. "So you can download information and bypass any security possible—as long as it's digital or electronic. That's interesting."

"Interesting how?" Sophie asked uneasily. She didn't like the calculating look on his face. What was he planning? "Win—James?" she asked. He didn't respond, still staring off into space. "James," she said a little more loudly. He jumped slightly, his head jerking up to face her, eyes wider than usual.

He exhaled in a hiss and rubbed his temples. "It still sounds…so weird…"

"What are you planning to do next?" she asked, trying to sound calm. "We're going to contact Captain America next, right?"

"Captain America?" He barked out a harsh laugh. "Are you insane? I'm not contacting him."

"Why not?! He's your old best friend! He's the only one who can help us stop Project Insight!"

"I have no interest in meeting in him," he snapped. "Just like I have no interest in stopping Project Insight."

Sophie's mouth fell open. "What do you mean, you're not interested in stopping Project Insight?" she asked weakly. "So many people are going to die!" She jumped to her feet again, her hands shaking by her sides. "You're—you're saying that you know Hydra is going to murder millions of people soon—and you know someone who can help us stop them—and you don't care? You're not interested in saving the people?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying," he said coldly.

SMACK. Sophie's hand cracked against his cheek, snapping his face to the side, before she could even think about what she was doing. A ringing silence settled between them as she stood there, frozen, staring at her hand and then up at his bright red cheek. She'd never hit anyone before in her life and she'd hit him without even realizing what she was doing. It was just that he'd made her so angry with his callous, cold-hearted refusal to help people he could have—to be brave and face his past like he should—

He let me slap him. The awful realization dawned on her and she took a step back away from him, swallowing. His reflexes were so fast that he could have easily grabbed her hand and stopped her. He could have easily broken her wrist in revenge for trying to hurt him. He'd once promised that he would do that and much worse if she ever challenged him again. But he'd let her hit him.

He slowly raised his head to look up at her and it was his expression, more than anything else, that undid Sophie. His eyes were dead, his expression withdrawn and blank, as if her hitting him hadn't done anything to him—or as if he'd—

As if being hit was normal for him.

Sophie's legs gave way and her knees hit the ground with a loud thud. She pressed a hand to her mouth, trying to stifle her shame, and he frowned, tilting his head and sliding onto the floor next to her. "What are you doing?" he questioned. "Did something happen to your legs?"

The fact that he'd already moved past her slap as if it was nothing to him made her feel even worse and she shook her head, her mouth still covered with her hand. "I didn't…I didn't mean to hit you," she said, feeling horrible. "That was—inexcusable."

"I've hit you," he pointed out carefully, as if she could have ever forgotten.

She laughed but it didn't have any feeling in it. "I know, but…but you didn't know what—or you didn't want to. You just did it because…because you had to. But I hit you—I hit you because I—I wanted to punish you." The room spun around her as she realized it was true: he'd said something that had angered her and she'd wanted to make him feel pain because of it. She'd wanted him to hurt. What kind of person did that make her? She'd never had such dark impulses before she'd met him. Had he done this to her? Or had his presence exposed a nastiness in her that had always existed?

"Hit me," she suddenly said fiercely.

He stared at her as if she were mad and slowly began to edge away from her. "I don't think you know what you're saying."

"I do know what I'm saying! I wanted to punish you and I hit you! That's disgusting! I don't know what's wrong with me. Hit me. It'll make me feel better."

He sighed. "I'm not going to hit you."

"Why not?" she demanded. "You've done it so many times now that it should be routine practice—"

"Because I'm not!" The words erupted out of him with surprising intensity and she flinched away from him. "I didn't—I didn't want to beat you up at the base, okay? Do you think I wanted that? That I liked that? Because I didn't. So I'm not going to do that again!"

"But I don't get it!" she said just as fiercely. "How can you—how can you feel guilty about hitting me and not want to hurt me again—but not feel guilty about letting millions of people die?" He hesitated and she pressed on, sensing that he was weakening. "Millions, James. Innocent people with parents and kids, with jobs and friends and pets, people who don't deserve to die. Brilliant people whose only mistake is being too smart for Hydra's comfort. Can you sit back and let so many innocent people die when you have the choice to save them this time? When you know you have someone out there—an old best friend who could help—"

This had been the wrong thing to say. His expression darkened at the mention of Steve Rogers and she immediately wished she could take the words back. "I am not going to meet him," he spat out in a strangled voice, his face turning a funny shade of red. "I'm not—I don't know—I don't want to meet him! I wouldn't even know what to—how to—" He was stuttering, almost rendered incoherent by his alarm at the thought of meeting Captain America. "And I'm sure he'd rather not— No! No. Okay, Sophie? No. I'm not…I'm not…"

"Okay, okay, fine," she said desperately, breathlessly. "Forget him! Forget Captain America! He doesn't exist, okay? I'll erase him from my memory! Then will you help stop Project Insight? Just you and me! We could work together, figure something out, tell someone—tell the government—"

He laughed harshly, getting to his feet and running his metal hand through his hair. "Really? You think we can do that? The Winter Soldier and the girl who can steal state secrets, march up to the government's door and present ourselves like meat to dogs? Put ourselves out in the open, where Hydra is always watching and waiting? And how many government officials do you think are Hydra?"

"I…" Sophie faltered. She hadn't thought about that. Was Hydra really that far reaching? She hadn't thoroughly read their files yet so she didn't know. She'd been preoccupied with other things. "We could…we could do it alone, then…"

"Just me and you," he said sarcastically. "A one-man and one-woman army, take on something we know nothing about. Especially you, with your amazing combat skills and strength."

Sophie's face colored. "Shut up."

He smiled bitterly, almost meanly. "Do you get it now? There's nothing we can do—and I'm not meeting him! I don't need to. And I don't want to. So that's it."

"So what's your next plan, huh?" she shot at him. "Hide out here forever? Run away and live in some cave?" He shrugged, infuriating her even further. "Fine, you want to be a coward! What about me, huh? I get to just waltz back home—right into Hydra's waiting arms?"

"It's obvious, isn't it?" he said calmly, ignoring the fact that she'd (quite unfairly, she knew deep inside) just called him a coward. "You can't go back. You can never go back. Hydra will always be waiting for you. You'll have to hide for forever."

"What, with you?" she asked incredulously. "Just be Tarzan and Jane in the wild for forever?"

He frowned. "Just be who?"

Sophie couldn't answer, she was so upset. Her head was spinning dizzyingly and she collapsed against the wall. What was she going to do? She was stuck. He was absolutely refusing to meet with Steve Rogers. She understood he was frightened and nervous, and normally she would have been all for giving him as much time as he needed to come to terms with his old best friend's existence—but he was right. She and him couldn't stop Project Insight on their own. They needed a hero and Captain America was probably not only the easiest to track down, he would have the most reason to meet with them and help them. They had to meet him…but how could she convince James? He was adamant about staying away from him. He wanted to disappear off into hiding, for god's sake, and it sounded as if he intended to drag Sophie along with him. Sophie cared about James by now and she wasn't planning on abandoning him, but nor did she want to spent the rest of her life in hiding with him. That wasn't a life at all. It was allowing fear to win. She wanted to go home. She wanted him to go home—to the one person who had known him when he'd been normal James Buchanan Barnes.

Her stomach roiled nauseously, reminding her that she hadn't had anything to eat in a while. A sudden idea came to life inside of her like a match lighting a tiny flame. Softly at first, just pale glowing flickers, and then burning brighter and brighter. "You're right," she lied faintly, trying to make herself sound as convincing as possible. "It's… We can never go back. I can never go back." She surreptitiously pinched herself hard and allowed tears of pain to glaze over her eyes. "I thought—I thought I'd see my parents again, but—" She swallowed. "And all those people…" A tear dripped down onto her cheek and just then, her stomach let out a loud grumble. Perfect timing! Thank you, stomach!

"Can you go get us something to eat?" she asked just as faintly. "I feel sick. I don't want to go out."

He studied her face, presumably a bit suspicious by her sudden change of heart, but apparently her sick expression and tears were enough to convince him because he nodded and pulled on his combat boots.

"Get some more money, too," she sniffled. "And could you—could you find some clothes for me? And you, too, I guess. I'm tired of only having two pairs." Her stomach was hurting more and more painfully with every passing moment as the reality of what she was about to do dawned on her. She knew James wouldn't hurt her now—but she couldn't help but feel a flicker of terror at what his reaction would be if he knew what she was going to do next.

"Fine," he said. She watched him strap various weapons to his person, trying to look as numb and dejected as possible, letting her shoulders slump as if she'd totally given up on life. It wasn't that hard to do because she had a lot of practice giving up on things.

Well, not this time. This time I'm going to do the brave thing even if it kills me.

He nodded once to her and gave an odd flick of his hand that could have passed for a wave before stepping out of the room. She waited for four very loud heartbeats—

Thump.

Can I do this?

Thump.

Yes, I can.

Thump.

I need to be fast.

Thump.

GO!

She leaped to her feet and raced to her shoes, yanking them on as fast as she could. She tied her hair up into a bun and took a moment to take a deep breath and send a prayer up to the heavens that this worked—before tip-toeing to the door, peering to make sure he wasn't laying in wait somewhere (knowing how clever he was, she wouldn't have put it past him to have figured out she was planning something), and then flew down the stairs, her heart pounding in tune to the beat of her feet on the metal steps.

Time to contact Captain America on her own.