Ever since we were kids, it was always two. Two hours together, two battles, two drinks, two days. No matter what we did to avoid doing anything in two's, that number always showed up. And eventually, we accepted it. Guess what year.
2012.
The year we were found, after being asleep for 72 years. Steve and I were found in the plane he had no choice but to crash, frozen in time, holding hands in the what we thought would be the last time we breathed. We accepted that two people found, that it took two hours to get us awake and alive. Man, were we a medical miracle. "Steve, Y/N. You're wanted in Briefing Room—"
I cut the agent off by saying, "Two. Briefing Room Two." Steve let out a sigh so quiet, any "chatter" in the room would need to be sucked out to hear it. The chairs creaked as we stood from them, waltzing just down the hall to the briefing room. "What's up?"
"Sit, you two." There's that word again, that number. We were always associated with it, no matter the situation. "Y/N, your powers haven't exactly been explained. Steve has told us but it doesn't make sense. Would you care to elaborate?" Ian calmly asks, scooting closer despite the bigger man standing behind me.
"I can create fire just by looking at anything, distance set aside and thinking about the word fire. And if I want something explode, I just say that or think it and it works just as well." His hand flew behind him to the coffee maker to elaborate and two seconds later, a little explosion was heard, shards of metal and plastic flying in every direction. Some nicked me and the agent, giving the two of us micro cuts, others scraping the brand new windows.
"That proves it. I was just curious. Fury wants you two to go on a two week mission. Two copies of the file are here," he paused, tossing one by Steve's side of the table. "and here." The agent gently sat it in front of me, hopping off the edge of the table, hitting the carpeted ground with a dull thud, the vibration muffled by the material.
"Birmingham. What has Birmingham," I skimmed the file for anything on why they needed us in England, finally finding it. "Damn. These coppers in Birmingham can't do their damn job. Just shoot the fuckers..." I mumbled, not letting on that I knew these people from being in the military. Steve didn't question my feelings, knowing better. He had learned the hard way.
"Y/N, why do you insist on going into airforce? Go into the army, so I can keep an eye on you, so Bucky can!" He argued, chasing after me as I paved a path to the enlistment building.
"Steve, believe me, I would! But Peggy Carter has already paved a path for women in the army, I wanna be the pilot little girls can have on their walls and salute, to look up to. Even though Amelia Earhart exists, little girls of today don't remember her. I don't want to replace the first woman pilot who flew across the U.S. but I wanna be the same, I want to accomplish things she did... I want," I sniffled, standing in line behind the men enlisting. The looks I took on were of disbelief, most of them laughed. "I want to be remembered, I want to pave a path for the women of now and later on." Steve grabbed my elbow to yank me out of this crazy idea when one of the men surrounding me shoved Steve off, nodding to me.
I didn't know who threw the first punch, but suddenly his fist was slamming into my face while I sunk into his stomach. Blood pooled in my mouth as he gagged. We stumbled apart for a brief second to catch our breaths before diving back at each other, eyes narrowed in determination. He dodged my fist and came up with his own; for a brief instant, my cerulean blue eyes widened before I managed to tilt her head back and slam it into his. Stars burst in his vision but he shook it off, blindly throwing a sloppy kick.
With my own two hands I grasped his head in my hands and brought my knee cap up to his nose, there was a blunt crack and I released his dark haired head. Crimson leaked from both his nostrils and his nose was twisted right. I was about to go right for the jugular when an officer pulled me off in a chokehold. Thank god for my parents sending me to foreign fighting classes since I was young. "Y/ N?" Steve whispered, going to grab my face and pulling back, noticing the bruises on my face already. They weren't a thick purple, they were a yellow, a deep purple blooming in the middle. It would be worse tomorrow.
