A Note From The Author:

One for sorrow,

Two for joy,

Three for a girl,

Four for a boy,

Five for silver,

Six for gold,

Seven for a secret, never to be told.

Eight for Heaven.

Nine for Hell.

Ten when you sing to the Devil himself.

-Nursery Rhyme

Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel or any of it's characters and place. I only own a few original characters and concepts.

[ chapter rewritten 10-17-15 ]

Names are important. They are a source of identity. They can tell us who we are, are an anchor, a grounding force. A thing which often someone has even if they have nothing else.

Cara Fox was not born with her name. She chose it, as she chose the person she wanted to be. Maybe that was one of the reasons she was drawn to Bucky Barnes, the man whose name had been taken from him. The man whose entire self had been stripped away, leaving a shattered soldier in its place.

On the day that she met him, the Captain America exhibit was crowded. People swarmed to learn about Steve Rogers, from his past and present, and about those who fought and lived with him. the vast majority of the attention, however, was on only Captain America. The walls dedicated to Howling Commandos had noticeably less people gathered in front of them. The one for James Buchanan Barnes was no different, with only a single observer, standing motionless with his face shadowed by a baseball cap, staring at the picture of the man on the wall.

Cara ran straight into him.

He caught her when she nearly fell, gripping her arms just under the shoulder, keeping her steady while simultaneously looking extremely threatening. Slowly, she raised her eyes to meet his, as he held her arms tightly enough to almost hurt. His dark blue eyes bore into hers, although they seemed distant, lost even, and were, of course, now glaring at her.

"Watch where you're going," he snapped, his voice sounding like it hadn't been used in a very long time.

"I'm so sorry," she said. "I wasn't paying attention."

He paused, as if really seeing her for the first time. He blinked once, looking her up and down, and deciding that she was not a threat. In fact, he looked mildly regretful of his sharp tone. He met her eyes again, but broke away quickly.

"It's okay," he said quietly. He seemed to try and release her, but his left hand simply tightened. It was covered in glove. He frowned at it.

"Dammit," he muttered, his other hand flying to his wrist. After a moment of struggling with it, he let her go, stumbling backwards. Looking at the ground, he turned to walk away, weaving through the crowds, cradling his arm like he was hurt.

"What's your name?" she asked, following him. He glanced back down at her, pausing for a second.

"I… I- My name is… Bucky."

"Cara."

"Nice to meet you," he said, not looking at her. He kept walking.

"How do you like the exhibit?" she said, making small talk.

"It's okay," he said, staring at a distant place on the wall. "Some of it's inaccurate."

"Really?"

He nodded, still not looking at her. His expression were distant, and vaguely sad.

"Maybe I'll see you around, yeah?" Her fingers brushed his arm. He flinched slightly.

"Yeah," he said. He still didn't look at her. He kept walking. Cara smiled as she stopped and turned around, facing the Bucky Barnes exhibit. She smirked as she looked down at her phone, a small green dot moving away from her current position. Putting it back in her pocket, she removed the light and translucent glove on her left off, the extra trackers still on it. Placing it into her bag, she looked at the black and white picture of Bucky in front of her, and crossed her arms.

Phase 1, complete, she thought to herself, sighing as she studied his features. Now then, for a ghost story, you weren't that hard to find, now were you?

[About Two Weeks Earlier, Hours Before the Fall of SHIELD]

"I can take care of myself," Cara said, speaking into her phone. She sat in her hotel room, feet tucked under her as she lay curled in the chair by the window, watching the people move in the streets below.

"Not this time you can't," the cool voice of Natasha Romanoff said.

"I've done this before."

"You understand what's going to happen-"

"Because you won't tell me."

"Listen," she heard Natasha snap. Her fellow spy sounded as anxious as she'd ever heard. "This is it. There's no more SHIELD after today. And all your secrets are going to be dumped everywhere. Everyone will know who you are. They will know what you are. The shit they have on you, you'll be dead by next week, if you don't go under now."

Cara sighed, untangling her legs and leaning forward. "What are you doing, Natasha? What's happening?"

"I can't tell you."

"Is Rogers there?"

"Yes."

"Barton?"

"No."

"Is that why you're so grumpy?"

"I'm not grumpy!" Natasha said, in a very grumpy manner. "Look, I'm just about done. Today, I've been shot-"

"Wait, hold on. You've been shot?"

"Yes, by Steve Roger's own best friend, who is actually the Winter Soldier, and-"

"What? This isn't one of your conspiracy theories, is it?"

"No, it's not, and those weren't conspiracy theories. James Barnes is the Winter Soldier, stop interrupting," Natasha said. "And now I have to dismantle what has been keeping both our secrets, and I'm trying to protect you, and you are sassing me! And that isn't even taking into account the rest of my week!"

"Relax, Natasha," she said, standing up and stretching. "I'll go under. I'll just a ghost. Not even you'll be able to find me."

"Yeah, right. Don't forget who you are talking to."

"Fine, you'd be able to find me. No one else."

"Good."

"I'll see you soon, yeah?"

There was a pause on the other end. "Yeah. Soon. Take care of yourself, Cara. And do not go anywhere near SHIELD today." Before she could say another word, Natasha hung up.

Cara sighed, wrapping her arms around herself as she looked out the window. People in suits pushed passed each other, and tourists took pictures. She was in Washington DC, having had a job here. A quick information steal for SHIELD. It was easy, and she had transferred it this morning. They had given her the week off, she didn't have to report back until Sunday, and she had spent the past day lazing around in her room, reading by the window.

When Natasha had called, she had been surprised. Nat usually never called while she was working, and she had been doing that a lot lately. SHIELD had assigned her to the famed Steve Rogers, and that was eating up all her time (she had to admit, she was a bit jealous. Everyone was. Working with Captain America sounded amazing).

Turning away, she began to pack up, hand hovering over the gun in the bottom of her bag, loaded and ready to go at a moment's notice. She sighed, taking it out and replacing it with a shirt. She got dressed as well, pulling on simple clothes that would not attract any extra attention. Carefully, she wiped down every surface, making sure not to leave behind a trace of even a fingerprint. The last thing she did was slide gun into the holster, pulling on her jacket over it, her bright red hair standing out in sharp contrast to the dark brown material. Picking up her bag, she let her eyes dart around her, making sure she didn't miss anything. It was a nice room, white blankets and tan walls, a overlooking a busy street below, no buildings that could be used for a sniper, completely secured and paid for by SHIELD.

What was she going to do when they were gone?

She didn't know anything else, nothing other than this. She could freelance, she supposed, or get a job at another agency, but she had been with SHIELD practically her entire life. This was it. She was losing what had been a constant in her life, one of the only constants.

She fought down a twinge of terror. She'd be okay. She could take care of herself. Sighing quietly, she left the room, walking down the hallway. It was empty, her footsteps muffled by the carpet. She smiled politely as she checked out, leaving the hotel like any other guest. They didn't notice gun under her jacket, or the fight in her stance, or the scar on her collarbone, just visible under her shirt. They only saw what she wanted them to see; a perfectly ordinary woman.

They only saw what they wanted to see.

She got in her car, sleek, unidentifiable in a crowd, tossing her bag into the back seat. As she started the engine, she wondered what she was going to do. She needed to get get her fake documents, but where she kept them was by the Triskelion. Exactly where Natasha had told her not to near. Well. She needed those papers to disappear, and the sooner she got them, the better.

She would have to go to the eye of the storm, and hope all was calm.

Cara smiled grimly as she gathered the papers into her arms, putting them into her bag. The storage unit was small, filled with things that no one would think twice of if they came in. A dusty desk, a few cardboard boxes, even a rocking horse. In the corner was a box with a picture of an old tea set on it. That where she kept her passports, social security numbers, untraceable money. Another identity. Another person. Although, she hadn't been able to let go of her old self, not completely. When she chose a new name, she couldn't help but keep herself in it, and Allison Cara Fox was born.

She would keep going by Cara. She would not give up her name. It was her last tie, the only thing she had left.

Natasha would have disapproved. It was too similar, too unsafe. She should simply rebuild herself, like Natasha did, as she had been taught. But this, this was going to be for a long time, maybe forever. She might never be Cara Calista Fletcher again.

She wanted to keep that little bit of herself.

It had been her fellow spy who had told her to make this second identity. To tell no one about it, as everyone could be compromised, and she had to be ready to run at a moment's notice. And she would be running. She'd be running for her life, for the rest of her life. That was the terrifying truth. She shut her eyes, ignoring the wave of panic bubbling in her chest. Once she found something to do, a direction to go in, a new mission, maybe she could ignore her pounding heart.

A loud rumbling in from the ground shook her from her thoughts. Dropping the papers back into the box, she ran outside, seeing the Trisklelion in the distance, and that the Potomac had opened up, and that three helicarriers were slowly rising up. Her breath caught. That's what Natasha and Steve were doing. She walked forward only knowing that she had to help.

She watched the third ship fall, from a place on the edge of the water, and her trained eyes spotted the man fall from it. She knew who it was, recognizing the distinctive red, white, and blue suit. Steve Rogers was falling. And it made her heart stop. She had no way to reach him. Captain America would drown. She could jump in, but the chances of ever finding him in the murky water was miniscule. He was going to die.

"Come on," she said out loud, more to herself than anyone else. "Think. How do I save him? How do I save him?"

Something else caught her eye. Another man fall into the water below, or maybe he jumped. She watched the surface of the water, as he came up, gasping and spluttering, swimming to the shore. She pulled back into the shadows, not looking away from him, not knowing if he was a friend or not. He came to shore a few feet away, hair long and brown, hanging in his face. He was wearing black gear, had a metal arm, and... was dragging the body of Steve Rogers behind him.

She knew who he was. She had heard Natasha talk about her ghost story before. It was the Winter Soldier. And apparently, it was also Steve's long lost best friend. He wouldn't see her, if she didn't move. He clutched his middle, stumbling like he was in pain, obviously having injured his right shoulder. He glanced around, as he dropped the other man unceremoniously to the ground, sparing him a glance. She saw his face, and he looked very lost and unsure. And then he walked away, in the opposite direction as her. As he disappeared, she ran forward, dropping to Steve's side, and checking his pulse. She release a sigh of relief as she felt a steady, if weak, beat under her fingers.

The Winter Soldier had saved him. He didn't have to. He could've let him die. But he didn't. There was still a good man in there. And he was alone, in a very unforgiving world. People would be hunting him. And she knew what that was like. Cara stood up, dialing 911, as she thought about it.

She had a new mission.

She was going to protect the Winter Soldier.

A/N: I finally, after like a year, rewrote this. I'm so much happier about how the story starts now. I amm keeping the old author's note for nostalgia's sake.

Instead of doing Stats homework, I'm posting this. I'm a little nervous, as this is my first time publishing a story based around an OC (on here). I hope you like it, and thank you for reading!