After multiple run-ins with death and many shocking self-discoveries in the course of a few months, all America Evans wants to do is hide away in Washington with Steve until she finds out who she really is. But life as an Avenger doesn't allow for a...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
AMERICA'S POV
I close my eyes and remind myself to breathe. Terror runs up and down my body, clawing at my brain with razor-sharp claws. It's not them. It's the UN. It's not Hydra. Hydra's gone. You made sure of it. But I can't understand why this is happening, and I hate flying.
When I open my eyes, I glance at Steve. He glares at the handcuffs binding my wrists. He doesn't have any. It's just me. The fire in his eyes is stronger than I've ever seen it. Two blue flames. He's livid at how we're being treated, me specifically. Even though my hands are bound together, I still reach for his hand. He grips it tightly and doesn't let go.
No one speaks for the entire five-hour flight from California to New York, not even the UN officials. Maybe they don't want to share information. I wonder if they're waiting for us to talk instead. One thing that's wonderful about Steve and I, though, is how well we work as a team. We've always been able to sense what the other's next move is. And right now, our move is to bide our time. I get uncomfortable every time one of them glances back, their gaze lingering on me. Whether it's because of my outfit or my reputation, I don't know, but I don't like either option one bit.
When we finally land, I'm surprised to find that we're outside of the compound. I shiver as we walk through the snowy grounds, cursing the UN in my head the entire way. A bathing suit and shorts are not appropriate for winter in New York. At least Steve gets to wear a shirt. No, no, I'm stuck walking into whatever I'm walking into wearing practically nothing and handcuffed.
The officers flank us the entire way, up the stairs, down the hallways. People watch us curiously, like we're some kind of freak show. Apparently, I can't even walk free in my own home. When one of them pushes open the door to the living room, the entire team is waiting. Some are on the couch, or at the island in the kitchen, and some are just standing, but all of them are on edge.
My face burns in shame as they take in my appearance. Immediately, I see the expression on Pietro's face morph from concern for Wanda into anger for the officers. I duck my head as one of them unlocks my handcuffs, then leaves with his partner. I rub my sore wrists and stare at my friends, my family, my team.
"Mer, doll, give them a chance," Steve whispers, but at the moment, even he can't comfort me. I'm humiliated and I'm burning with rage and confusion.
My voice is quiet, but anger causes my voice to tremble, and everyone can hear me.
"I'm going to go change," I say, making eye contact with each one, "and when I come back, I better get a damn good explanation for this."
Once I'm in my room, I pull on the most comforting, most concealing outfit I can find, a thick turtleneck and jeans. Then I just sit on the edge of my bed, staring at my bare wrists. They're red from irritation. I can't believe they thought they had to handcuff me. What did they think I was going to do? I thought they were starting to trust me.
