"Are you sure you want me to drop you off here?" Clint asked, undoing his seatbelt and standing up to face me, slightly hunched over. "I could walk you further in…"

I shook my head, smiling softly at my friend. "No, Clint." I shrugged a dark peacoat on over a gray sweater, pulling my backpack on over that. Clint passed me a scarf and gloves, which I gladly accepted.

Bruce, before all this craziness started, managed to create a medicine to help control the Angel. Added to therapy sessions, it had disposed of her completely. Several days ago, I found a locked box in his lab that had been addressed to me. Inside were several bottles of pills and a letter. The letter explained the purpose of the medicine: keeping my physical appearance hidden. 'It will hurt at first,' he wrote, 'but so long as you continually take the medicine, your wings will not reappear. Each tablet lasts roughly forty-eight hours: so long as you take another before the time period is up, your appearance will remain that of a normal human being.'

It was only after he explained it using the Hulk as an example that I understood the gravity of his gift to me. Whatever medicine he had been taking to help control his transformations, he had improved to help me control mine. It was too easy for someone to find me when they were looking for a winged girl or one with a trench coat on in the middle of July.

Of course, this was before Sokovia. Now, though, I didn't need the medication he offered: I looked just like everybody else. I had left the medicine in my room, locked in one of the drawers of my desk. I didn't want it falling into the wrong hands. I was still incredibly grateful, though, and I hoped that one day I'd have the chance to see him and thank him for his kindness.

Clint threw his arm around my shoulders as we walked, looking for all the world like a dad walking his daughter around the airport. In reality, he was helping to disguise my limp: even with a couple months of physical therapy, my left leg still twinged quite often, making it hurt to walk. Since a girl with crutches was more memorable than one without, we'd decided against using them, and I used Clint as my cane instead.

"You know where you're going?" Clint asked for the fifth time, glancing out the nearby windows at the foggy skyline a few miles away. Dawn was quickly approaching, and the eastern horizon was lightening quickly.

"I do. You figured out the address?" I asked, letting him guide me to the baggage claim. Voices and automated directions and the sound of bells and car horns bounced off the walls, creating a chaotic atmosphere that freaked me out: life should not be this stressful so early in the morning. The other people in the area seemed to agree with me: a young man to my left was standing still, staring bleary at a Starbucks sign while holding a steaming mug of coffee and a half eaten muffin that he seemed to have forgotten about. A frantic looking group of teenagers, who looked like they hadn't slept or seen a mirror in over twenty-four hours, sprinkled with a few haggard adults sprinted by me, and the dark haired girl in the lead panted something about having five minutes to make their flight to Belfast.

I glanced around the large room, taking everything in. All the signs were in a language I couldn't read or speak. Funny—I could speak English and Russian fluently and could get by in French… but I couldn't speak the language of the country I was about to live in. Typical. Unfortunately, Hydra hadn't seen the need for me to learn very many languages considering how many times I was 'let off my leash,' as it were.

Something hard slammed into my shoulder, and I fell sideways into Clint, glaring at the offender. A middle aged man with a half-shaved beard stammered out what I assumed to be a hurried apology as he regained his balance and took off, carrying a briefcase that appeared to be held together by copious amounts of duct tape and willpower.

Clint steadied me and we continued, reaching the destination with no further delay. He pulled my suitcase—a small black thing with silver zippers and wheels for extra mobility—off the conveyor belt before I could grab it and ignored my exasperated look.

The airport exit was about twenty yards behind me: I could see the streets that branched off in every direction. I held out my hand, raising my eyebrows. "Clint, I need my bag. I can find the building by myself."

He shrugged, rolling the suitcase behind him and out of my reach. "I'm sure you can, but since you've never been to this country before—" he raised his voice as I opened my mouth to interrupt, "—and don't speak Romanian, I feel obligated to at least take you to the right part of the city."

"Clint…" I groaned, reaching up and running a hand through my tangled hair, frowning when my chapped skin caught on it. I sighed through my nose in exasperation but was unable to keep the corners of my lips from twitching up in a smile. "Fine."

He chuckled and ruffled my hair, undoing my efforts to tame it. "Stop complaining," he said, leading me out the doors. I shivered in the cold morning air, burying my chin into the soft wool of my scarf. The air, despite belonging to a city, smelled rather fresh, and the scent of smoke and pastries carried on the wind. "Come on."

~8~

"Has anyone seen Katie?" Steve glanced around the room at the others who were still awake. She had felt the facility early that morning with Clint, saying there were things she needed to do, but saying she'd see him soon. He had been busy all that day with Natasha helping to train the newest members of the team: Wanda, Sam, Rhodes, and Vision. As soon as Katie had been able to walk on her own, Pietro had left, as he said he would, leaving to find his own way with the promise that he'd keep in touch. Tony had gone back to New York City, Thor had returned to Asgard, no one knew where Bruce was… but things were, slowly but surely, returning to normal.

Natasha glanced up from her position on the couch. She was curled into the cushions with a book in her lap, partially concealed by several blankets. Steve sometimes thought it odd that an assassin could seem so normal, so innocent—and then he would think of his sister, and his thoughts would turn sad, and he'd go do something like run fifteen miles or be beaten by Natasha at Mario Kart.

"No," she shook her head. His brow furrowed, and he turned to go. "Did you check her room?" she called after him. He turned his head, looked back at her. She'd lifted her head, revealing the glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. "She's had a rough last couple of weeks."

Steve chuckled dryly at the understatement and nodded before heading out. He'd check her room first and then glance around the grounds… no use panicking if she was stargazing or taking a late-night walk. His sister's room was in the wing opposite his: for the first time in his life, excluding the time they both thought the other was dead, his sister wasn't next door to him. He supposed that it was time: they were adults, after all.

He rapped his knuckles against the door. "Katie?" No one answered. He bit the inside of his cheek as he grew more anxious, and he knocked again, a little louder this time. "Katherine, are you in there?"

He'd been uneasy all day. The feeling wasn't an odd one; since rediscovering his little sister, he'd usually been worried something would happen to her. It wasn't that. It was how distant she'd been the last couple weeks since she'd been cleared to walk and, in the last couple days, to run. She'd pulled back, kept her distance from the others—from him. At the same time, she'd carried herself differently, seemed happier than he'd seen her in years. He didn't know what that meant, exactly.

When she still didn't answer, he opened the door. The lights were off. He hesitated for a split second before flipping the light switches to the bedside and desk lamps, hoping his sister wouldn't get too irritated about being woken up—

She wan't there.

As alarm bells sounded in his head, he took in the details of her room, analyzing the situation.

Katie's bed was immaculately made, the covers and blankets smoothed and folded back with deliberate care. Her pillows were plumped and set gently at the head of her bed, and her teddy bear, the one he'd bought her as a child—he had found it in storage recently and pulled it out for her—, was sitting at attention in the center of all the pillows, propped up in the place of honor. Her books had been arranged neatly on the shelves in alphabetical order by author. A few pencils and pens were sitting upright in a mesh cup on her desk beside a closed notebook. Her closet doors were shut, as were the drawers to her dresser, and the backpack that normally sat against her bed was gone.

The bedside table was cleared: normally it held a water bottle, a notebook, and a few novels… but now it was empty but for the two books, which were standing uniformly in-between the lamp and the wall, and an empty picture frame. It was the frame that told him more than anything else that she was gone.

Steve moved to pick it up, frowning when a cream colored envelope fell from where it had been hidden behind it. So she knew I'd notice the frame first. He reached down and picked up the letter, replacing the frame, and sat down on her bed. 'Steve' was written in her cursive handwriting on the back of the sealed envelope. He took a deep breath and swallowed, gazing down at the letter with a heavy heart as he slid a finger beneath the edge and pried the envelope open. The pages looked like they had been torn out of the notebook on her desk—he chuckled—they probably were. He shook the folded paper open as he began to read.

~8~

"This is it," I murmured, staring ahead at the stone and brick apartment buildings that lined the cobbled streets. The architecture was a blend of old and new buildings, as well it should be: the city itself was more than five hundred years old. It was rather refreshing to be in a city that was so much older than I was, for once.

I pulled closer to Clint as a tour group squeezed past me. It was nearly nine in the morning, and already the city was buzzing with life. Street vendors hawked at passerby, proudly displaying their wares. Several streets down was an open-air market, where farmers sold fruit and vegetables to the public.

Clint nodded, staring down at me solemnly, and nudged my shoulder with his. "You ready?"

I offered him a shaky smile, trying to hide how badly my hands were trembling by tucking them into the pockets of my coat and curling my gloved fingers around the fabric. I doubt I fooled him for a second. "As I'll ever be."

"He doesn't know you're coming, does he?" Clint asked, lifting an eyebrow.

I shook my head, chewing on my lip. I could feel my heart—normally I couldn't, but now I could actually feel it hammering against my ribs—I was worried it was about to leap out of my chest and splat against the pavement. My breathing picked up to compensate for the oxygen my blood was using up, and I swayed, lightheaded.

My friend sighed and glanced down the row of buildings as I grabbed on to his coat sleeve. "Take your time," Clint murmured, giving me time and space to think. He wasn't forcing my hand, for which I was grateful. He was giving me a choice. He of all people understood what mind control was like, and he understood the importance of giving me a choice.

I took a shuddering breath, trying to calm my heart. It was had gotten pretty easy for me to get out of breath since Sokovia, as well it should have been. The bullets that had taken away my wings had also destroyed most of my avian lungs, leaving me with (enhanced) human lungs instead. It was getting some getting used to.

I wasn't used to being out of breath, so it took a few minutes until I finally nodded my head, keeping my gaze glued to the building that was my final destination. "I'm ready," I breathed. My stomach clenched, and butterflies began to come to life, fluttering wildly against my stomach.

Clint nodded, giving me a small smile, and pulled me in for one last hug. I returned his embrace, pressing my cheek against his chest and doing my best to ignore the people that kept bumping into me. He had been the closest thing to a father I had ever known. I had thought Coulson was that, once, but not anymore. Not after he shot me, convinced I was withholding information from him. Not after he had me interrogated, thinking that I was working for Hydra. No, Clint loved me unconditionally; he had fought for me, defended me, forgave me. And I loved him as well.

"I'll see you soon, Katie," he promised. He winked, and I blushed slightly. "Call me when you're ready; I'll be around here somewhere."

"Bye, Clint," I offered him a small smile as I pulled away, wiping my eyes. "Thank you for taking care of me." I shrugged, letting my arms fall down to my sides, and swallowed hard. "Besides Steve, no one really has. So thank you."

He chuckled and kissed my hair, tightening his grip on my shoulder. I pretended not to notice how his eyes turned glassy with tears. "See you later, kiddo."

I waited until he disappeared around the corner before taking a deep breath, shouldering my pack, and starting towards one of the apartment buildings.

~8~

Dear Steve,

I don't want to beat around the bush or sugar coat what I have to say, so I'll just go on out and say it. I'm leaving. By the time you read this, I'll already be gone. I wanted to tell you in person, I really did, but I knew that you'd either try to stop me or try to come with me, and I couldn't let you do that. This is my choice, and it's my journey, and for the first time in my life, I have a choice: and I'm choosing to go on alone.

I don't want to fight anymore. I've spent my whole life fighting: fighting Hydra, fighting Shield, fighting evil and injustice, and… I'm tired. I don't want to have to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder, Steve. I've given my body, my life, my mind—everything!—to the world, to you, to the team. The one thing I have left is my heart, and it belongs to James.

I'm going to find him, Steve. I don't care how long it takes, I'm going to find him. But when I do, I'm not coming home. He and I understand one another in ways no one else could. We've gone through the same hell, and we've done it together and apart. I can't imagine that you're pleased with my decision, and I'm sorry for that. But I want you to know that I'm happy, and right now, writing this letter, I feel more free than I have in decades.

So I'm leaving. I'm doing what I should have done years ago and building a life for myself somewhere else. I want to be left alone, Steve. I want to go somewhere where no one knows me, where no one's after me, where Shield and Hydra aren't keeping tabs on me—where I can rest.

I've spent too long being angry at Hydra and Shield for what they did to me. I was too consumed by my desire for revenge that I couldn't see how it was corrupting me, not until it was almost too late. The Angel, the Valkyrie… neither women are ones I want to be anymore. I want to be me. Katie. Katherine.

I love you, Steve. I always have, and I always will. You've always been there watching over me, protecting me, and I can't thank you enough for that. But it's time for me to do what you and I and James always wanted for me to do: be free.

I'll see you again, Stevie. I promise.

I love you.

Katherine S. Rogers

~8~

I took a deep breath, gripping the straps of my backpack with shaking fingers. My hands rubbed against the soaps before dropping to my sides, and then I knocked lightly on the splintery door.

The butterflies in my stomach seemed to have changed form and were now jumping around like toddlers on a trampoline, and I thought I might be sick. There was a faint sound of shuffling from inside, a creak of the floorboards as someone heavy shifted their weight.

I stilled, watching the peephole intently. My toes curled up in my boots, rubbing against the wool socks I wore. Even inside the building it was freezing, though I couldn't quite see my breath in the air. I ran my finger over my engagement ring, finding solace in the cool metal.

I thought back on my life, and fragments of memories whirled through my mind, flashes of things James had said to me over the years. Some of them I couldn't quite remember, them having been wiped away, but others were forever burned into my memory. All of them were important, shaping our relationship and forming a love that had withstood the ultimate test of time.

"You're really brave, you know that?"

"I'm James."

"I dunno. I guess it's because I don't like bullies. I don't care where they're from."

"You'd never hurt a fly."

"You are not a burden."

"I'm always gonna be here for you, Katie."

"I'm with you till the end of the line."

"C'mon, Katie! You can go faster than that!"

"I joined the army."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm always gonna defend you, Katie. Don't you know that?"

"When can I see you again?"

"You're my Angel."

"You, my darling, are far better than any dream."

'Stay safe, alright? Stay outta trouble.'

"Katie! Darlin', what's wrong?"

"I'll always come back. I'll always come home to you."

"I need to tell you something."

"I love you."

"I was drafted."

"Nothing's gonna happen to me. I promise. You hear me? I promise. Nothing's gonna happen to me, and nothing's gonna happen to you."

"I love you."

"Will you marry me?"

"You think we'll ever have kids?"

"I love you, Katherine."

"Thank goodness I never lie to you, then."

"I don't want you to get hurt."

"Feel that? That's not gonna stop anytime soon. I promise. As long as that's beating, I'll love you; I'm not gonna let anything hurt you. Nothing is gonna happen to me."

"I don't want anything to happen to you."

"You shouldn't have come. But I'm glad you're here."

"Get her!"

"I… I know you. You're her. The girl I dreamed about."

"You have to get out of here."

"Go, get out of here!"

"Don't look back, sweetheart—don't worry about me. Run. Run!"

"Katie!"

"Wake up. You have to trust me, okay?"

"Run! Katie, run!"

"Who the hell is James?"

"Why are you looking for me?"

"I know you."

"I know you. Katie."

"I love you."

"I'm sorry I was gone for so long."

"I'll find you. I promise."

I had known him at every stage of his life, from childhood to adulthood… and I loved him now even more than I did then, even though I didn't know it was possible. A sort of peace settled over me as I remembered some of the last words he spoke to me. He knew me. He knew me. He remembered me: and nothing was ever going to change that, not as long as I was still breathing. I had fought for him, for us, just as he had, and I was going to keep fighting until the day I died.

I opened my eyes as the door swung open. I was holding my breath, trembling with anticipation and fear. My heart stuttered, skipping a beat when pair of familiar blue eyes appeared in the doorway. The butterflies in my stomach reached their crescendo, whirling together and dancing wildly and bringing tears to my eyes. A moment later, a relieved smile joined his blue eyes, a grin that reaffirmed my love and trust in him, in James, the man I loved.

I had found him. After decades of searching, of missing him, of holding onto the memory and thought of him and praying that he was still alive, I had found him.

He lurched forward, picking me up off the ground and embracing me, holding me close to him. Without bothering to set me on the ground he kissed me, curling his fingers into my hair as he pressed his chapped lips against mine, pressing his other hand against my back and keeping me from falling. I wrapped both arms around his neck, curling my fingers into his hair as I returned his embrace, smiling into the kiss and sighing when he deepened it. When he finally pulled away, we both were out of breath, and he was crying.

"Katie."

James finally set me on my own two feet, keeping one hand on me waist and rubbing circles on my cheek with his flesh and blood thumb, cupping my jaw with the rest of his hand.

He looked me straight in the eye, and the lines of pain and grief seemed to vanish, revealing in all his glory the man I had fallen in love with so many decades before.

"I love you."

End of Part 2