MARCH 2012

Steve's eyes fluttered open slowly, the crystal blue of his irises reflecting against the light that lit up the small room around him. A man's voice could be heard in the near distance, further luring Steve from his slumber. It didn't take him very long to figure out that the man's voice was coming from a radio. The man was reporting about a baseball game, one Steve had already been to, and this confused him greatly.

Steve glanced around the room as he lay on the cot provided for him. He looked to be in a typical 1940's environment, but there was just something about the situation that was far from right.

After several seconds, Steve finally sat up in bed, swinging his legs over the mattress and onto the floor. He seemed to be rather concentrated on the man's voice echoing quietly throughout the room as he attempted to figure out what was going on, but his mind couldn't quite seem to make sense of anything that was happening.

The door to Steve's room opened several moments later, and Steve was forced out of his concentrated state. His eyes landed on a woman dressed in reflection to that of the 1940's; her hair was dark and curly, and her lips were painted a deep red color. She sent a welcoming smile his way as she shut the door behind her, though Steve's facial expression didn't change. If anything, her presence only made him feel more suspicious.

"Good morning," she spoke to Steve as she glanced down at her watch. "Or should I say afternoon?"

"Where am I?" Steve inquired cautiously.

The woman hesitated only slightly before answering him. "You're in a recovery room in New York City."

The man's voice on the radio sounded again and Steve glanced back at the contraption before once again fixing his eyes on the brunette in front of him, his confusion and suspicion becoming more prominent than before. "Where am I really?"

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

"The game," Steve said. "It's from May 1941. I know, 'cause I was there."

The woman's smile dropped from her face immediately, and Steve stood up from his spot on the bed, slowly trailing over to her.

"Now, I'm going to ask you again," he continued. "Where am I?"

"Captain Rogers. . ."

"Who are you?" Steve exclaimed.

The door opened in front of Steve, revealing several men in black tactical gear. In his startled state, Steve grabbed two of them and threw them clean through the wall of the room, further revealing the truth behind his location.

"Captain Rogers, wait!" the brunette called out to him, though she went ignored.

Steve ran as fast as he could through the strange building, avoiding anyone he came into contact with. Agents attempted to apprehend the Captain without harming him, but to no avail. Steve was much too fast and much too strong for any of them.

In seconds, Steve was out of the building and on the streets of New York City. He ran, not at all sure what his destination was, but when he caught sight of his surroundings he was forced to a stop. He had been to the city multiple times in his lifetime, but he couldn't ever remember it looking as it did. It was so colorful, so vibrant, and not to mention far more technologically advanced than he remembered. It startled him greatly.

Steve turned as the sound of car horns could be heard behind him, and he looked to see several black vehicles barreling towards him. They came to a rather abrupt stop in front of him and behind him, and in seconds, men and women alike were hopping out of the vehicles and onto the street below. Steve was much too flustered to even think about trying to get away.

"At ease, soldier," one of the men called as he approached the Captain from behind.

Steve turned around to face the dark-skinned man (Nick Fury) who had addressed him. He wore all black, and over his left eye sat an eye patch. He had an aura of authority about him that Steve seemed to notice immediately.

"Look, I'm sorry about that little show back there, but we thought it best to break it to you slowly," the dark man spoke to Steve.

"Break what?" Steve responded breathlessly.

"You've been asleep, Cap," Nick told him. "For almost seventy years."

Steve's face fell slightly as he tried to process this man's words. If they were true as he so unfortunately believed them to be, it meant that Steve had lost absolutely everything and everyone, and the thought of it pained him.

"I understand that this is gonna be a little difficult for you to take in, but I have someone here who might help make things a bit easier for you," the Director informed Steve, capturing the soldier's attention immediately. "Agent Jones?"

Before Steve had the chance to even think, a petite brunette dressed in a black, skintight tactical suit appeared at Nick's side. Steve sucked in a breath at the mere sight of her, unsure if he was actually seeing who he thought he was seeing.

"Connie?" Steve breathed out.

He knew it was Connie; he'd recognize her face anywhere. She looked just the same as she had the last time he saw her in 1945, give or take a few years older. The only thing different seemed to be the aura around her, as well as her shoulder length brown hair that he remembered reaching to her mid-back. Her normally bright and happy brown eyes now held a certain dullness to them, though it was hidden by the emotion she now felt from seeing Steve. Steve felt an abundant amount of emotions due to her presence, though he wasn't exactly sure how and why her presence was possible. Connie should have been dead, or at least in her mid-nineties, and she didn't look to be either of those.

"Hello, Steve," Connie said to the man she used to call her brother. "Welcome to the new age."

_____

"So, this is the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division, or S.H.I.E.L.D. as you would call it?"

"Yes."

"And you're a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent?"

"Yes."

Steve and Connie were sitting in one of the headquarter's many conference rooms. Connie was speaking to Steve and answering any of his questions regarding everything that now seemed to be going on around him. He was still very anxious, that much Connie could tell, but her presence was doing an excellent job at helping ease that anxiety. Everything around Steve had changed in a single instant, so it felt good to have something around him that hadn't changed, despite how impossible it seemed to be.

"This is all so much," Steve almost whispered.

Connie frowned and reached out to grab his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I know, Steve."

"I was ready to go, Con," he said to her, his pained blue eyes meeting her brown ones.

"What do you mean?" Connie's brows furrowed in confusion and she removed her hand from his.

Steve sighed and sat back in his seat, unsure of how to words was to come out of his mouth in the next few seconds. "Before I went into the ice, I felt as if I had lost everything. Bucky died and then you left, and I didn't know what to do with myself anymore."

Connie swallowed the lump in her throat as Steve spoke; it had been years since she had heard Bucky's name from anyone's mouth, including her own. James Barnes was a topic she liked to stray far away from due to the amount of pain that still lingered inside her from his absence.

"I guess because I had nothing, I had nothing to live for, so when I went into the ice I was ready to go," Steve finished. "But now you're here, so things really aren't that bad."

A small smile pulled at the corner of Connie's lips. "I feel the same way now that you're here, Steve. I've been helping them search for you for about a year now."

"Can I ask you a question, Connie?" Steve folded his hands on the table and looked at her, his eyes hopeful.

"Of course," Connie nodded. "You can ask me anything."

Steve let out a breath before continuing. "How are you here, Con?"

Connie's lips parted as his words entered into her mind and she let out a nervous breath. She didn't like to think about everything that had happened to her in the past to get her to where she was now. Her past was a dark and dangerous place, and she hadn't pulled on such a thread since she had been recruited as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. She knew she had to in order to provide Steve with an answer, though. He deserved a reasonable explanation, especially after she had left him alone all those years ago.

"I was captured in the mountains where Bucky had fallen," Connie told him quietly. "I remember following a frozen blood trail I had originally believed to be Bucky's; I was so determined to find him that I hadn't known I was being followed by one of the Soviet's pesky soldiers. The next thing I remember is this excruciating burning pain inside my body, followed by a horrible cold."

Steve's brows furrowed in confusion and he cut her off. "What do you mean by 'burning pain' and 'horrible cold?'"

"The burning pain, come to find out a year later, was a very potent injection of the super-soldier serum," Connie informed him with a sigh. "And the horrible cold was them putting me on ice."

"I'm so sorry," Steve told her as he reached out to grab her hand.

"For the next sixty-three years I was under complete control of the Soviet Union," Connie continued. "When they needed me, they would take me out of cryostasis, give me a mission to complete, I would complete it, and then they would put me back down until they needed me again."

"What kind of missions?"

A tear slipped from Connie's eye as she thought back on her missions. She remembered every single one of them, as well as every single person she had taken away during those missions. "Missions to eliminate anyone who they deemed a threat."

"Oh my god, Connie," Steve exclaimed. "Why didn't you just run? You could've escaped."

"No, I couldn't," Connie told him. "The organization I worked for implanted this special chip inside either one of my wrists; it was a kill-switch of sorts. If I attempted to escape during a mission or if I showed even the slightest emotion during one of my executions, they would have killed me on the spot.

"I was told that their intention was to break me down in order to show me my true potential and place in the world."

"So then how did you actually manage to escape?"

"Over the years I began concocting a plan. I grew tired of being their puppet, and I grew tired of murdering innocent people for them," Connie growled. "In early 2008, while in recharge after being released from cryostasis, I cut out the switches inside my wrists without their knowledge.

"When they came to retrieve me for my training session, I began my assault. They tried to apprehend me, but I was far too strong for them, not to mention a tad bit too determined. I managed to escape the facility, and I got into the nearest city when I was discovered by fellow S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, Phil Coulson, and few members of his team. He recruited me later that year and I've been here working for S.H.I.E.L.D. ever since, fighting for the people rather than against them."

The corner of Steve's lips pulled into a small smile and he squeezed her hand. "It must make you feel good working for such an organization."

Connie nodded and smiled at him. "It gives me a chance to change the way I used to see myself while under the control of that horrible organization; it gives me a chance to better the bad that has found its home inside me. Here I'm not a monster; here I don't take life away—I protect it."

"I'm really proud of you, Connie," Steve told her. "And I know Bucky would be as well."

Connie wiped away a stray tear and looked down at her hands. "I'm really sorry for leaving you, Steve."

"No," Steve shook his head, "Don't apologize, Con. I'm actually glad you did, given our current status."

"Just promise me we'll stick together, okay?"

"I promise."