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I pulled on my coat and trusty converse shoes and rushed out of the Triskelion, making up some excuse to my teammates. I took our van since it was the only vehicle I had access to.
Maria had texted me the address of Steve's apartment, and I took off quickly, barreling out of the security entrance.
Steve didn't live too far away, which was lucky. It was also fortunate that it was night and there weren't many cars out; otherwise, I'm sure I would've caused several collisions.
I stopped the van outside the building, recognizing the motorcycle I had ridden on a few times. I jumped out of the van and ran as fast as I could into the building, ignoring the doorman yelling at me.
I bounded up the stairs two at a time until I reached the right floor.
There was a woman dressed in pink scrubs and holding a laundry basket that I'm sure I recognized from somewhere. She turned to me and gasped after muttering something about Steve's stereo being on.
"Gwen?"
I looked past her to see Steve down the hall, looking at me like I had two heads. I moved past the woman and towards the Avenger.
"Where's Fury?" I frantically asked.
He looked confused, "Fury? Wha- why?"
"Where is he, Steve?" I grabbed onto his shoulders.
"I don't know! What's going on?"
"Maria Hill called me. She told me to get to your apartment if anything happened to Fury," I was out of breath.
Steve's eyebrows creased, a look of worry and bewilderment adorning his face. We both turned our heads at the same time, hearing music coming from his apartment.
"Did you leave your stereo on?" I asked.
"No. Come with me."
He grabbed my hand and led me down the stairs to the outside of the building. He latched onto the latter of the fire escape and pulled it down swiftly.
The two of us climbed until we came to the window of Steve's apartment. He went first, quietly draping his leg in the window once he opened it. I followed after, him holding his hands out to help me in.
I immediately noticed several books about WWII on his shelves, along with the sound of 40's music coming from his stereo.
Of course he'd listen to that.
Steve had his shield in hand, and he quietly walked further into his apartment, holding my hand the whole time. We walked through a hallway, him stopping to hide behind one of the walls and peer around the corner slowly. I followed his actions, looking behind him.
None other than Nicholas J. Fury was sitting in one of Steve's chairs right next to the old-fashioned record player which I also wasn't surprised to see Steve owned.
