POV: Mrs. Barnes

Once the elevator has left, I wait for our pursuers to spot me before running in the opposite direction. The time they spend hunting me down is time saved for Bucky to get away. I just hope I can hold out long enough, because I have neither his speed nor his stamina.

However, I manage to lose them by sneaking into a corner. When I venture out to check if the coast is clear, my chest swells with hope. I may still have a chance to catch up with him. I race for the stairs and climb them at top speed, surprised by the resistance of my lungs.

Just as I have one more floor to climb, a door bursts open, revealing a costumed man. He's wearing a helmet similar to the one Bucky's best friend, the former Captain America, used to wear and his black suit features red and white stripes across his torso.

"Gotcha."

I don't have time to catch my breath before I have to dodge this newcomer who's trying to catch me. My back hits the wall as I back away from him. I send a kick into his stomach to push him back, nearly twisting my ankle from the unexpected hardness of the impact. Not only does the man not move an inch, he laughs at my confusion. I take advantage of the fact that he's too busy giggling to slip through his fingers, not losing sight of my aim. I duck his attempt to grab me by bending down and kicking his ankle. He loses his balance and his head hits the railing of the staircase with a loud "bong".

Ouch. Good thing he's wearing a helmet. Hold on, why do I even care? I should be running instead of worrying about the state of his neurons.

Before I can reach the end of the landing, a fist slams into the wall less than an inch from my face. Pieces of plaster fly off and the wall cracks around the hole left by the impact. My eyes dart back and forth between the crater and its author. That strength...

This brief hesitation is enough for him to grab my wrist. I try to free myself, but his grip is firm. I certainly know that strength. It reminds me of Bucky's. Although he's always held back during our training sessions for fear of hurting me, I can tell when a man's strength is greater than an ordinary man's, whether he goes to the gym regularly or not.

It's at this moment that I remember a move Bucky once taught me. He showed me how to use my balance to fight bigger and stronger than me, even letting me take him down once. In a last attempt, I let Bucky's voice echo in my head and follow his instructions. My opponent loosens his grip just enough for me to free myself.

However, I have no idea how to deal with this obvious speed discrepancy. The Super-soldier quickly catches up with me, swearing. His fingers compress my arm, cutting off my circulation.

While my opponent is not even out of breath, my whole body is clearly out of energy. I have to face the facts: no matter how hard I fight, I don't have the physical strength of a Super-soldier.

"Come on, stop complicating things unnecessarily. Just come with me."

"You make it sound like I have a choice. No need to tourniquet me, dude." I protest before examining him, wondering what kind of guy is hiding under that suit. "Looks like your helmet isn't as strong as your skull."

He runs his hand over his helmet and notices the impact left by his collision with the railing. He sighs as he removes it. Once his helmet is off, I finally see his face.

Of course, it had to be him.

John Walker.

Why didn't I think of it sooner? I can't say that Bucky and Sam have done him any good press, and neither have the videos of his performance with Captain America's shield during his short term as America's icon.

If it's any consolation, I've at least given him a bruise on the top of his forehead—although it's already starting to heal.

"Remember me?" He smirks. "I think we've got mutual friends."

"Friends isn't the word I'd use. Want them to kick your ass again?"

"That's not happening." He says with an unpleasant chuckle. "Let them come, I can take them both."

"A guy can dream."

"Ah! There she is. Took you long enough." A woman with a lock of blue hair matching her long coat stands before me, scanning me from head to toe. "I had no idea the Power Broker had such trouble keeping his merchandise under lock and key. She's got you pretty bad, John."

Her sarcasm and mockery almost make me smile.

"Contessa Valentina Allegra de Fontaine." She introduces herself.

Well, Sharon has definitely decided to celebrate international crime.

"Who?"

The woman with the double-barreled name sighs and hands me a business card. "I don't like to repeat myself."

I look blankly at the blank piece of paper, white on the front and black on the back.

"I know you're due at a party, but I'm glad to have a word with you before escorting you there."

Almost tired of having to ask this question yet again, I refrain from rolling my eyes. Why do bad guys always have to be so suspenseful?

"What do you want with me?"

"I'm more interested in what you want."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I'm going to save our time and assume that you're aware of everything going on around this little reception. I'm sure you're a reasonable woman. You wouldn't want the serum to fall into the wrong hands, would you?"

"Because you expect me to believe that yours aren't dirty? Your very presence here proves otherwise. Not to mention your guard dog who plays superhero."

"Oh, my dear. We always make sure our hands are washed of all dirt."

"What do you mean, 'we'?"

"Did I fail to mention that I'm CIA?"

"And I don't suppose you're here to stop this charade?"

"Well, I could. But I don't feel like it. You see, I have America's best interests at heart. I'm sure you understand. Your husband is a veteran, after all."

"CIA wants Super-soldiers? Is that why they recruited this guy?" I point to the one that is still compressing my arm.

"Who doesn't want Super-soldiers? With two of them all to yourself, you're in no position to act all high and mighty."

"Well, if you want the serum, queue up or fight, I don't care. You're dealing with the wrong person."

"Yet I have the power to get you out of here. Doesn't that interest you?"

"You want to know what does interest me? I want my family to be left alone!"

"Let me show you something."

Walker on our heels, the CIA agent—assuming she's telling me the truth—leads me to a balcony overlooking a large room. It's a sort of combination of an art gallery and a reception hall. People in fancy attire are chatting among themselves with a drink or an appetizer in hand, wandering amid the works of art on display.

"An art auction?"

"They're not exactly here for the art." She smirks.

"You don't say." I reply wryly.

I notice in the crowd the curious individuals in green and yellow suits I spotted earlier, as well as some faces that have already made more than one appearance on the news. But most of them are strangers to me, even though I can easily guess that I'm the only one lowering the crime rate in this room.

I don't see Sharon anywhere. I guess she's still meticulously cultivating the mystery surrounding the Power Broker's identity.

"Scary, isn't it? They're here because they want what you have. Your family can't be left alone until you do your part, and you know it. I can only suggest a less painful path, maybe even a more rewarding one."

I ignore her words and continue to scan the room. No offer from this woman could possibly inspire confidence.

"Is this some sort of supervillain Comic-Con?"

"You're funny." She turns to Walker. "I like her. Don't you?"

"Can't say we really had the pleasure to hit it off." He says without a hint of enthusiasm.

"Great, you'll have plenty of time to do that tonight."

"Hold on, he's going to stay with me?"

"Have fun! We'll meet again soon enough to continue our conversation. I think this little party will open your eyes to what you really want for your family."

She walks away, leaving me alone with the babysitter she's assigned to me. I quickly free myself from his grasp.

Walker sighs and puts his helmet back on, rolling his eyes. "Don't think I like it any more than you do."

"At least we agree on one thing." He puts a hand on my back and pushes me towards the stairs so we can join in the fun.

"Don't touch me." I stop to stare into his eyes.

"So you've got this creepy staring thing too. Learned it from your cyborg boyfriend?"

"You're pathetic." I hiss through my teeth. "So if I'm getting this right, you didn't make it as Captain America, so you became this lady's minion? Don't expect me to believe she actually works for the CIA."

"Actually, she does. Although, you know, everything is always more complicated."

"The CIA isn't looking for a team of Super-soldiers. But she is, isn't she?"

"You really think I'm gonna answer that?"

I sigh. Maybe he doesn't even know the answer. I eye the platters passing among the guests. My body seems to remember I haven't eaten or drunk in hours. It doesn't help that there's one more little being to feed.

"I think I could use a drink." I declare as we enter the room. "They don't have soda or juice on their menu?"

"Well, this is the kind of party where there's nothing but champagne and seafood."

"Great. I can't even enjoy the free food."

"Why?"

"Because..."

Because champagne and seafood are anything but a pregnant woman's diet. At least that's one secret I can still keep. And I should.

"Because your presence is ruining my appetite, that's all."

"I see. So that's how it is? You hate me too, like your friends do? How easy it is to demonize me. Do you think I'm proud of the way things happened? You have no idea what it was like to carry that shield and face all these people's expectations."

"You seriously expect praise when you're helping those who are after my family? When you're keeping me in this place full of people who'd kill me in a heartbeat if it meant they could get their damn serum faster?"

I clear my dry throat, scanning the waiters' trays for a drink or food that's not forbidden to me.

"I don't hate you, Walker. I'm mad at you. I know it wasn't easy to carry Captain America's legacy on your shoulders, and neither is it for Sam. It's not for me to judge you for your past actions. All I see is that now you're not on my side."

I end up choosing an edible-looking petit-four and turn to him.

"That serum, tell me. What good did it do you?"

Although I see the confusion in his eyes, he doesn't get the opportunity to answer me, as a man is already approaching us. His look of a predator having spotted his prey sends shivers down my spine.

Much to my surprise, Walker shifts slightly in front of me. I could almost mistake it for a protective gesture.

I feel like I've had my fair share of surprises for the day, and it's high time it came to an end. Of course, I still have to survive the night. I really hope it's worth it.

I hope Bucky made it out.