CHAPTER FORTY-ONE —
( It made me a pretty convincing corpse. )

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Evelyn's body felt numb. The serum coursing through her veins had stolen the last of her energy. Her limbs were as heavy as stone, her muscles refusing the simplest commands. She could barely hold her head upright. The world around her tilted and swayed in a blur, and sound was muffled as if she were underwater. That damned liquid—HYDRA's creation—had once been used to enslave her mind, and now it claimed her body again.

Her vision was hazy, her eyes glazed and unblinking as they darted toward the figures speaking around her. The voices were distorted, fractured echoes of conversation slipping through the cracks in her consciousness. She clung to reality by a thread, fighting to remember each word.

"It... him."

Steve's voice pierced the fog. Evelyn blinked slowly, trying to follow his words. The sound grounded her just enough to pull her from complete darkness.

"He looked...me," Steve continued, "...didn't...know me."

Evelyn's lips parted slowly, barely forming words. "They... they did to him... what they did... to me," she murmured, her voice slurred, nearly swallowed by the air. "Makes sense. Sorry..."

Steve's brows drew together in concern. He leaned in closer, cuffed hands still reaching out instinctively to steady her. "... not... fault."

"How... even possible?" Sam's voice now. "That was... 70 years..."

Steve nodded solemnly. "... Bucky's unit captured... Zola experimented on them. Bucky... survived. ... Evelyn fell from the train... HYDRA..."

"... your fault," Sam said quietly.

Steve's voice dropped to a murmur, barely audible. "Even... nothing... had Bucky."

Evelyn tried to respond. "I wouldn't... wouldn't be here... todayyy..." Her voice trailed off into a low moan. Her body went limp.

Steve caught her just in time, his bound hands awkwardly cradling her head and shoulders. "Hey! ... help us!" he shouted, his voice laced with panic.

"... doctor!" Sam echoed.

"I'm fine," Evelyn mumbled, though her eyes rolled back, and another moan slipped from her lips.

Suddenly, one of the agents holding an electric rod moved—but instead of turning it on them, they swung it around and jabbed the agent beside them. Electricity crackled, and the second agent collapsed. A swift kick to his head sent him slamming into the truck's interior wall with a sickening thud.

The attacker peeled off their helmet, revealing a familiar face beneath. Maria Hill exhaled, pulling a strand of hair back into place. "Ah. ... was squeezing my brain," she muttered, rolling her neck. She surveyed the truck's interior, her eyes pausing on Sam. "Who's...?"

"Sam Wilson," he said, offering a nod.

"Maria Hill," she replied crisply, pulling a bobby pin from her sleeve and working on Steve's cuffs. "... out of here."

With practised speed, she unlocked Steve, Evelyn, and Sam. Steve immediately shifted to support Evelyn, his arms strong and steady beneath her faltering form.

Maria didn't waste time. She knelt down, pulled out a compact plasma cutter, and burned a clean hole through the floor of the truck. One by one, they dropped through the opening. Outside, a black van waited. Steve carried Evelyn toward it.

The van sped away. Evelyn stirred slightly in Steve's arms, her head lolling but her eyes fluttering open. She was trying to stay present, fighting the drowsiness away. Steve kept an arm tightly around her waist as Maria guided them into an unmarked building.

"She's been drugged by something," Maria called to someone down the corridor.

A medic jogged toward them, his face pinched with concern. "Let me take her."

"She'll want to see him first," Maria said, shaking her head.

Evelyn looked up at her, puzzled and disoriented, her brow furrowing. Steve kept a firm grip on her as Maria led them down a hallway into a dimly lit room. She pulled back a curtain.

Nick Fury sat lying in a hospital bed, alive, though bandaged and worn. His eyes scanned the group as Natasha stood silently nearby, arms folded and expression tense.

"About damn time," Fury grunted.

Evelyn stared at him as if he were a ghost. Fury's gaze landed on her, unflinching. A groan left her lips, half-laugh, half-sob. Her voice cracked, low and hoarse. "Fuck you."

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Evelyn lay on a hospital bed, her body weak but gradually regaining strength. A cold water bottle rested loosely in her hands, and she took slow, deliberate sips. The room's scent surrounded her senses; it smelled like a mix of sewage and metal as her body slowly healed.

Despite her insistence that she'd survived this kind of thing countless times before—being drugged, broken, patched together again—Steve never left her side. He sat perched at the edge of her bed, still in his battle-worn clothes, his large hand enveloping hers in a gentle yet steadfast grip. His eyes were trained on her face as if watching her breathe was the only thing keeping him grounded.

"You don't have to stay," Evelyn murmured.

Steve gave her a look that silenced any further protest. "Yeah," he said quietly. "I do."

Across the room, Nick Fury sat propped up in his own hospital bed, wrapped in gauze and slings, a scowl firmly planted on his face despite his condition. His voice was gruff, but he managed a touch of sardonic humour. "Lacerated spinal column, cracked sternum, shattered collarbone, perforated liver—and one hell of a headache," he listed off like a grocery order.

"Don't forget your collapsed lung," the attending medic added dryly as he adjusted Fury's monitors.

"Oh, let's not forget that," Fury muttered, rolling his eye. "Otherwise, I'm good."

Evelyn gave a faint laugh, the corners of her lips curling despite the exhaustion on her face. "That whole car chase really did a number on you."

Steve wasn't smiling. "They cut you open. Your heart stopped."

Evelyn turned her gaze to Fury, something sharp flickering in her tired eyes. "You used Banner's serum, didn't you? Tetrodotoxin B?"

Fury nodded. "Yeah. Slows the heartbeat down to one beat per minute. Banner cooked it up for stress. Didn't exactly work out for him, but it made me a pretty convincing corpse."

"You should've told me, Nick," Evelyn said, her voice low but heavy with quiet hurt.

Fury hesitated, then met her gaze. "I didn't know who I could trust."

"You could've trusted me," she replied, her voice breaking slightly on the last word. "You trusted me when I was a shell of myself—when I didn't even know who I was. I've trusted you from the start."

A silence passed between them, thick with unspoken history.

"Any attempt on the Director's life had to look real," Maria said from across the room.

"Can't kill you if you're already dead," Fury smirked.

Evelyn's eyes drifted to Natasha. "Did you know beforehand?"

Natasha shook her head. "Not until Maria showed up at my door. She brought me here, and... there he was. I would've told you, Eve. I swear."

Evelyn studied her for a moment, then nodded faintly. "I know."

Maria Hill took out a tablet, her expression serious. She displayed a photograph of Alexander Pierce and images of Strike operatives and other recognisable faces. "These are the only HYDRA operatives we've managed to identify. There are certainly more out there; they are just well hidden."

"That man declined the Nobel Peace Prize," Fury said, pointing at Pierce. "Said peace wasn't an achievement—it was a responsibility."

Evelyn scoffed. "This is why I have trust issues."

"Exactly," Fury agreed dryly.

Natasha stepped forward, urgency sharpening her tone. "We have to stop the launch."

Fury leaned forward and opened a silver briefcase on the table beside him. Inside were three server chips, each one labelled and coded. "I don't think the World Security Council's accepting my calls anymore."

Maria swiped on her tablet and displayed a 3D schematic of three helicarriers and a network of satellites. "Once the carriers reach 3,000 feet, they'll sync with Insight satellites and become fully operational. Fully weaponised."

"We need to breach those carriers and replace their targeting blade with our own," Fury said.

"One or two won't cut it. We need to link all three carriers for this to work because if even one of those ships remains operational, a whole lot of people are gonna die," Maria said.

"We have to assume everyone aboard those carriers is HYDRA," Fury said. "We have to get past them, insert these server blades. And maybe, just maybe, we can salvage what's left..."

Steve finally spoke, voice firm and resolute. "We're not salvaging anything."

Fury looked at him sharply. "Come again?"

"We can't just take down the carriers, Nick. We have to take down S.H.I.E.L.D.," Steve said, rising slightly from Evelyn's bedside.

Fury narrowed his eye. "S.H.I.E.L.D. had nothing to do with this."

"You gave us this mission. This is how it ends," Steve replied, eyes never leaving Fury. "S.H.I.E.L.D. has been compromised from within. You said it yourself. HYDRA grew right under your nose, and nobody noticed."

Fury leaned back, visibly troubled. "Why do you think we're meeting in a cave? I noticed."

Steve took a step forward. "How many people had to pay the price before you did?"

Fury's voice softened. "I didn't know about Barnes."

"Even if you did... would you have told us?" Steve asked quietly.

Evelyn pushed herself upright. "S.H.I.E.L.D. and HYDRA are two sides of the same coin now. You can't tear one down and keep the other. We have to end them both, just in case."

Natasha's voice joined hers. "They're right."

Fury's gaze shifted to Maria, who gave a solemn nod of agreement. His jaw tightened, and then he turned to Sam.

"Don't look at me," Sam said, raising his hands slightly. "I do what they do, just slower."

Fury exhaled and looked back at the two people who were once his agents.

"Well..." he muttered, leaning back. "Looks like you two are giving the orders now, Captain..." His gaze shifted pointedly to Evelyn. "...Parrish."

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The woman lay curled on the metal slab that passed for a bed, her limbs heavy and sluggish. Her veins buzzed with whatever sedative they had pumped into her system—HYDRA's special blend, she figured. Familiar in the worst way. She could barely twitch her fingers, let alone lift her head. The collar around her neck pressed uncomfortably against her throat, a reminder of control.

Suddenly, a voice drifted in from the cell beside her through the painful silence.

"You're not going to die in here, Evelyn."

Her breath caught. She hadn't heard footsteps. No doors opening. Nothing. But the voice was gentle, male, steady, and soothing.

"I don't... I don't know who I am," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know what I'm doing here."

"You've been through a lot," the voice said, never wavering. "They tried to make you forget. But you're stronger than that."

She wanted to believe him. But every thought in her head was broken. Jagged memories flashed at random—blood on her hands, sterile rooms, whispered commands in languages she didn't recognise. She saw herself in reflections and didn't know the face looking back. And now, recently, there was something else. Someone else. A flicker of light amongst the dark.

A man—petite, blonde, smiling softly up at her.

That part didn't make sense. She didn't remember him. She wasn't even sure if he was real. Maybe he was another piece of HYDRA's programming.

"You're not one of them," the man in the cell beside her continued, drawing her back. "Whatever they've told you, whatever they've done... they didn't erase all of you. Not completely."

She clenched her fists weakly, her fingers curling with effort. "Why can't I remember anything that matters? I see things... feel things... but they don't fit. They're not mine."

"They are yours," the man replied. "They're just buried. Caged. They trained you to forget your name. To forget your life. But you're not their weapon, Evelyn. You're a person."

Across from her, another man sat leaning against the cold brick wall, watching her. He had a metal arm and shoulder-length hair, dressed in the same skin-tight black clothes as hers. He tilted his head, eyes narrowed in wary confusion. From his cell, he could see her perfectly—could see her lips move, her dazed eyes fixed on the wall, her weakened limbs twitching with effort.

But there was no voice in the other cell. No one had spoken. No one was there.

He leaned forward and tapped the bars. "Who are you talking to?"

She didn't answer. She didn't even look at him.

The man frowned, his gaze flicking toward the adjacent cell. Empty, just like it had been when they both got tossed in hours ago. His fingers tightened around the bars, the hairs on his neck rising. Either she was drugged out of her mind, or she was—

"I'm going crazy," she whispered. Her voice trembled with exhaustion and something worse—fear.

"You're not," the unseen voice said softly. "You're just waking up."

"I killed people," she said, voice cracking. "I've seen myself do it. I can't even remember their names. Don't know why they mattered."

"You were forced into it," the voice replied. "That's not who you are. They wanted a soldier. Not a person."

She bit down on her lip, hard enough to sting. "But what if that's all I am? What if there's nothing else left?"

"There is," the voice promised. "You're more than what they made you. You have to hold on. Remember the light."

Another flash—blonde hair, blue eyes. The ghost of a laugh.

"Evelyn?" the voice asked, his tone rising in concern.

"I saw him again," she whispered. "That man. The one in my head. He keeps showing up. Like a memory that's not mine."

"Maybe it is yours," he said gently. "Maybe he's the key."

"What if I hurt him?" she choked out, a tear slipping down her cheek. "What if I... killed him?"

"You didn't," the voice said. "I know you didn't."

"How?" she asked, her breath hitching.

"Because you wouldn't."

"Hey!" the man across from her shouted, louder now. "What the hell is going on?"

Her eyes flickered toward him just for a second. Her pupils were dilated, her skin pale and clammy from the drugs. She opened her mouth as if to respond, then shut it again.

"Listen to me," the voice continued, ignoring the man's shouts. "You're not alone, Evelyn. Not anymore. I'm with you."

"Who are you?" she asked, her voice thin and cracked.

"You don't know me," the voice said softly. His tone was calm, steady. Almost too calm for a place like this. "Not yet, anyway. But I know you."

She blinked. Her muscles were too heavy to lift, and her mind still flashing with images she didn't know were real or fake. But there was something familiar about the voice. It was gentle, familiar in a way she couldn't place, and it stirred something buried inside her.

"I've known you your whole life," he went on. "Even when you didn't know who you were. Even when they wiped everything clean, replaced your memories with commands, your choices with control—I knew you. And I stayed close.

"I watched you survive the impossible. I watched you fight when you didn't know what you were fighting for. And I stayed in the shadows because that's where I had to be. But I never stopped watching. Never stopped hoping that you'd find your way back."

His words weren't just comforting; they were anchoring. She clung to them like a lifeline.

"And now I'm here," he said more quietly. "In the cell right next to yours. They don't know I'm here. And every time they bring you back, I'll be here. Waiting. I'll talk to you, even if you don't remember me. Even if you never say a word. I'll remind you you're not alone."

He paused as if choosing his next words carefully.

"You're more than what they made you, Evelina. You always have been. And when you're ready... I'll help you remember."

Her eyelids fluttered, her strength draining again. Her body slumped against the cot as the sedative dragged her down back into the depths.

"I'll be here when you wake up," the voice promised, fainter now. "Just hold on a little longer." And then it was quiet.

Across the hall, the man continued to stare, unease creeping into his expression as he looked at the woman slumped in the shadows, murmuring to someone who wasn't there.

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"He's gonna be there, you know."

Sam's voice broke through the silence. Evelyn blinked, pulled from her daze, and turned her head slightly toward him. Her eyes, distant and shadowed with memory, flicked back over the bridge railing and down to the river below. Beside her, Steve stood unmoving; his arms crossed over his chest, his expression carved from thought and weighty silence.

"I know," Steve said quietly, his voice low and tight with something between certainty and dread.

Sam took a step closer. The wind tugged at his jacket, but his gaze was steady. "Look, whoever he used to be, and the guy he is now... I don't think he's the kind you save. He's the kind you stop."

Evelyn turned to face him slowly and deliberately. Her jaw was tense, but her voice was firm. "I was like him too, you know—a brainwashed assassin. Fury found me when no one else did. He gave me a second chance." She looked between them, her voice softening. "So yeah—it's possible we can save him."

Steve finally looked up, his eyes meeting Sam's. "And I don't know if I can stop him," he admitted.

Sam's brows furrowed. "Well... he might not give you that choice. He doesn't know you."

"He will," Evelyn said, almost to herself. "I know he will."

A tense silence stretched between them before Steve turned slightly, glancing over his shoulder toward the city skyline behind them. The sun was rising. "Gear up. It's time."

Without another word, he and Evelyn turned and started walking away from the direction they came from.

"You gonna wear that?" Sam called after them.

Steve paused mid-step and looked back. The corner of his mouth twitched—half a smirk, half something far more serious. "No," he said. Then, with steel in his voice, "If you're gonna fight in a war... you gotta wear the proper uniform."

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Pheebs/-rosepetal