WASHINGTON D.C.
2014

JUNE knew she shouldn't be alive.

As Steve lead her through a neighborhood beyond her recognition, to a porch leading to a house she did not know, it was the solitary thought on her mind. The explosion still rang in her ears, her legs were still numb and every step was agony, but June did not care. She was bristled with anger and with embarrassment. A panic attack. A panic attack. She repeated those words over and over to herself. Her cheeks were hot with humiliation as they hobbled up the front steps, Steve rapping urgently on the door. Was that all it took? Was the simple mention of Hydra enough to send her spiraling? June still felt the effects of the episode; her heart had not settled entirely, her lips were as dry as a desert, the few breaths she managed to take in weak and short. June felt like a newborn foal learning to walk, frightened by the monstrous blue world she suddenly found herself trapped within. She was glad she had Steve to lean against.

The screen door slid aside, and a man greeted them. His complexion was dark, he had a goatee, and he was wearing a purple running shirt and athletic shorts. His eyes were kind. He took in the two before him with baffling calmness, and looking to Steve, he smiled. "Hey, man."

"I'm sorry about this," Steve gasped tiredly. "We need a place to lay low. We're out of allies."

The man surveyed them carefully, then stepped aside. "Not entirely."

• • •

"I'M not sure if you were thinking this," Steve said gently as he stepped from the guest bathroom, a towel in hand as he scrubbed the ash and dirt from his hands. "But I don't blame you for anything back there. Nothing was your fault—that missile was coming no matter what."

June looked up from her tedious attempt to extract a small piece of shrapnel that had buried itself in her palm. Steve leaned against the doorframe, broad shoulders made to look even more broad by the simple tank-top he wore, soot still lingering on his face and in his sandy hair. His arms were crossed as he peered at June with hearted concern, eyebrows raised expectantly. She sighed.

"Maybe," she mumbled. "But I didn't make things any easier. I'm sorry."

"You apologize too much," Steve told her, tossing the towel down and moving to sit across from her upon the bed. "Can you tell me why you froze up?"

"I didn't just freeze up," June argued faintly. "I had a damn panic attack. All because—" She caught herself, biting her lip in frustration. Idiot. You can't tell him.

"Because what?" Steve prompted softly.

June could not meet his eyes. She gnawed on the inside of her cheek, internally at war, fighting the urge to  reveal to this man, whom she hardly knew, every nightmare that had ever haunted her, every torture she had ever endured. He might resent her if he found out everything, for there was so much she knew, so much information she should have disclosed earlier. But Steve had been nothing but merciful since they had met . . .

"Because of Hydra," she shot out, surprising herself. "Hydra and I . . . we go way back."

Steve didn't blink. "How far back?"

"Far enough." June stared at her hands shamefully. "It was never dead, not really. 'Cut off one head, two more shall take its place.'" She repeated Zola's words with sickened contempt in her voice. "Hydra was never one for creativity. It began human experimentation again."

Steve pursed his lips, nodding wordlessly.

"I didn't volunteer, if that's what you're thinking," June explained defensively. "My family was . . . struggling. We were barely scraping by. My parents had four kids to support, and I just wanted to find a way to help them. I found out our local hospital was paying people to participate in medical surveys and studies, stuff like that. On the day I turned twenty, I went down to the address, and . . ."

"What'd they do to you?"

June shrugged weakly. "The only reason I survived was because I was one of their first subjects in seventy years. They needed to start small. I didn't get anything that would make for a good origin story, or make me a hero. Small things—quickened mentality and comprehension, enhanced physical stamina. Useless stuff in a world of gods and super-soldiers." She smiled meekly. "They couldn't make me an assassin. Something they didn't anticipate was with all that quick thinking would come . . . chemical imbalances. Anxiety. Reclusiveness. Panic attacks. No one wants a defective soldier, you know."

Steve matched her grim smile. "I do."

June shook her head. "Anyway . . . . When they realized they had made a mistake, they got rid of me. Simple as that. Can't say I was too offended, but . . . then I figured out why Hydra was so negligent about abandoning me." June took in a shuddering breath, her eyes shining with guilt and pain and shame.

"They had wiped me off the face of the earth. Jekaterina Ivanov no longer existed. Every record, even the smallest mention of me, was gone."

"What about your family?"

June snorted, trying to appear aloof, but Steve saw the pain in her sharp, angry eyes. "I showed up on their doorstep after being missing for six years, and my parents didn't have a clue who I was. Looked straight through me. My dad thought I was trying to sell him something. My parents grew old and I wasn't there to see. My sister had a baby, my brothers graduated high school. And I couldn't even hear stories about it. There was nothing left for me in Moscow, so eventually I was able to come to America," her voice was soft and embittered. "I guess things aren't much better here."

Steve searched her face, but she was impossible to read. "You mean they erased every memory of you? June, I—"

She waved him off. "Don't feel sorry, it's not your fault. I'm over it."

Steve was entirely unconvinced, but did not waste his breath showing June sympathy she did not want. Instead he asked her, "What made you choose the FBI?"

June looked him in the eyes for the first time since they began speaking. "I can function pretty well when my life isn't hanging on the line. There wasn't exactly an option for a domestic life after everything, as I'm sure you can imagine. But it turns out all that mental enhancement could get me a degree in no time, and with a green card and a changed name, I was an agent before I knew it. I teamed up with Shield every now and then, the CIA, too. Thought I was doing some good in the world, stopping people like Hydra. I'm not so sure, now."

Steve continued to gaze at her. "Is there anything else you want to tell me?" His tone was not mocking, or irate. His offer was genuine.

"There were others," June said almost immediately. "Most of them died during the experimentation. But some didn't. There were twins." She paused, as if debating whether or not she should continue. Whatever doubts June may have had, she squandered them quickly. "And the Winter Soldier was there, too. He'd been there longer than any of us. He was kept in cryogenic freezing until they had an assignment for him. I only saw him once, but . . . rumors fly, even in a place like that."

"Did he have a metal arm?" Steve asked.

June nodded slowly. "Yeah. If he's really who we're looking for, it's gonna be a challenge. He never failed a mission. Not once. And if he came close, they . . . they hurt him. You could hear him screaming no matter where you were."

"Poor guy," Steve huffed. "I wish you would've told me this sooner."

"Steve, we hardly know each other—"

"I think," he interrupted her, "we know each other pretty well, all things considered. You're my friend, June."

Her eyes softened, and for a moment, she was speechless. She managed at last, "I am?"

He raised his eyebrows in amusement. "Would you disagree?"

June grinned, chuckling halfheartedly. "No, no. It's just been a while since I've had one. A friend, I mean."

Before Steve could reply, the man who had taken them in, whose name June had learned to be Sam Wilson, stuck his head in the guest room. "I made breakfast, if you guys . . . eat that sort of thing."

• • •

THEY ventured into Sam's kitchen, immensely grateful for his hospitality. June approached Sam with a smile, offering him a hand, which he shook warmly.

"I'm sorry to barge in on you like this," she said. "I'm June."

Sam grinned at her in a characteristically flirtatious manner. "Nice to meet you, June."

With a smirk, she darted away from Sam and pulled herself a chair, drawing her legs underneath her. "All pleasantries aside, we've got work to do. We need to find out who in Shield could launch a domestic missile strike like that—"

"Pierce," Steve cut June off abruptly.

She scowled. "As in Alexander Pierce?" June knew that an Alexander Pierce held a seat on the World Security Council, and he and Fury were old friends, but aside from that the aging man did not seem like anything special.

"Exactly," Steve's voice was hard with distaste. "And right now, he's sitting at the top of the most secure buildings in the world. But he's not working alone. Zola's algorithm was on the Lemurian Star."

Sam's playfulness was lost. "Isn't that the Shield ship those French pirates commandeered?"

"Yes," Steve confirmed. "And a Shield tech officer named Jasper Sitwell was there, too. He's in line with Pierce."

June thought for a moment. "You want an audience with this Sitwell, don't you?" She realized. "How do you plan on getting him alone—you're a fugitive, remember?"

"Well," Sam cut in, producing a manila folder and dropping it on the countertop before Steve. "He can't."

Steve took the file with an unsure glance at Sam. It was titled in bold letters "EXO-7 FALCON." He raised an eyebrow. "What is this?"

"Call it a résumé."

June peered over Steve's arm, eyes skimming over the folder's contents and widening as she did. "Wait a second," she pointed to a battered photograph of Sam with a squadron of men clad in military gear. "This is Bakhmala—the Khalid Khandil mission. I've heard stories about that, but I never knew it was you. You're a para-rescue?"

Sam gave a lopsided smile. "Not exactly."

"But they couldn't bring in choppers because of the RPGs," June protested. "How did you get through?"

Sam handed her a second file. "I used these."

June opened the folder skeptically. She was met with more photos, but these were shocking enough to squander her firmest doubt. The contraption Sam claimed to have used was a top-grade solo-flight apparatus, or, in a simpler term, wings.

Steve was impressed, slightly baffled. "I thought you said you were pilot."

Sam grinned again. "I never said pilot."

"I can't ask you to do this, Sam," Steve tried to argue. "You got out for a good reason."

"Dude," the second man laughed heartily. "Captain America needs my help. There's no better reason to get back in."

June was growing eager. "Are there any more of these?" She gestured to the picture she held.

"The last one is at Fort Meade," Sam said. "Behind three guarded gates and a twelve-inch steel wall."

June's brow furrowed skeptically as she looked up at Steve. He did not seem concerned in the slightest.

"That shouldn't be a problem."

• • •

awe guys June and Sam are gonna be BFFs
AND OMG PAPA STEVE TO THE RESCUE LET'S GOOOOO SIN SHIPPERS