"I'll spin for you like your favorite records used to."
IN WHICH a light-hearted and playful agent of S.H.I.E.L.D is paired with the humorless patriot of right and wrong, Captain America. Both despise each other with a fiery passion to start, but wh...
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CAKED WITH GRIME, sweat, and tears, Steve and Natasha trudged their way through the bustling streets of Washington D.C., trying to remain as hidden as one could while just having survived a bombing. Though she was confused as to why they were back in the one place they ought to be running from, Natasha was far too exhausted to question Steve as their car slowly drove through alleys surrounding old, modest apartments. They paused the car outside and Steve craned his neck to peer around the front seat.
"This should be a safe house," he muttered in a raspy voice. Even the action of nodding her head sent waves of exhaustion through Natasha's body. Her limp hands opened the car door and she staggered out with shallow breaths. Steve was in the backseat and gazed upon Emersyn's still face. He pressed a dirty hand against her shoulder and shook her slightly. "Emersyn.." Steve tried to prompt her awake. Her limp form remained unfazed, so with a sigh, he bent down to lift her into his arms. Despite the weariness of his muscles, Steve wrapped around Emersyn with smooth, careful movements, not wanting to stir her. With one hand around her legs and the other at her back, he slowly stepped out from the car and carried her towards the apartment.
Natasha followed behind with dragging feet and muscles that wanted nothing more than to sink to the floor. They reached the door and Steve spoke quietly, "I met this guy, Sam, while running and he does counseling for veterans. I hope he'll let us stay a while." His voice was heavy with exhaustion, and both he and Natasha were praying they would be let inside. Steve brought a weary fist to the glass door and knocked. They waited in anticipation for the distant sound of footsteps to reach them. A shadow behind the shutters moved inside the apartment and paused to open the blinds.
A man appeared on the other side of the door, looking at the disheveled group with narrowed brows and dark, concerned eyes. He was clad in a tight, athletic shirt and shorts, looking like he had just finished a run, with small drops of sweat still on his forehead. The door slid open and he greeted them quietly, "Hey, man."
Steve fixed him with a pleading stare. "I'm sorry about this, we need a place to lay low." His voice maintained its strong, confident tone even after so much strain.
The man's eyes landed on Emersyn's ashy face and parched lips, worry knitting his brows together. Natasha raised her sunken head to gaze at Sam and said, "Everyone we know is trying to kill us."
He looked between them warily and partly shocked. Sam's next words were met with relief as he replied, "Not everyone." He stepped aside for them to enter and checked around to ensure no one was watching. Steve and Natasha walked into the apartment and immediately were at ease.
Sam showed them to his spare rooms and shower, offering any hospitalities they needed. The group was very grateful and relaxed in the comfort of his generosity. Steve walked into the living room and eyed a couch; he slowly set Emerysn down and kneeled beside her, watching her tenderly. Her peaceful face was dappled by sunlight, and it brought him solace to see her so calm and untouched by the pains she had before. This tranquility on Emersyn's face did not know the horror of Zola's revelations; how S.H.I.E.L.D was corrupted from the inside out, and the death of her parents becoming a greater mystery. She did not have the burdens of fear and doubt.
