Slightly AU Captain America fic, as in we have Bucky but SHIELD's still around. To clarify, the powers of my OC are her auras - the red one does harm when in contact with organic matter (works through cloth/armour) whilst the blue one can heal. Depending on how exhausted she is at the use of the blue one, it can expend her own energy.
Currently unsure of who final ship will be involving the OC.
This is one of the fics that I write in the dead of night, so excuse bad grammar, improper sentence use, and all round rubbish.
Reviews, as ever, are much appreciated.
Disclaimer: I own nothing bar my OC.
Maybe it was the freshly unrolled pincurls that got him. Maybe the red polka-dot swing dress. Maybe even the pencilled in beauty mark on her cheekbone.
He watched her from across the room.
She was a vision.
Like one of the old movie stars that he'd left behind and that teenage girls tried to mimic with too much eyeliner and not enough class.
Reclined against the bar, fingers curled lazily around the fluted stem of a cocktail glass, red lipstick a blinding contrast against the ivory of her skin or the dark smoke of her eyes.
Her hair, dark bay, peaked softly at one corner of her brow and then hung around her shoulder in a smooth, curled wave.
And she reminded him of Peggy, and he had to turn away.
The dim lighting smoked out the immaculate red of Natasha's hair, and she arched an eyebrow, peering around her companion. "Who is she?"
Steve shrugged, found that rolling his shoulders back helped his mind uncoil, and repeated the action, cupping the back of his neck with his hand.
Natasha's eyebrow had not yet fallen, and she turned to look up at him. "Well?"
He sighed, short and exasperated. "You know who she is." The redhead had a penchant for knowing who everyone was, regardless of their social rank. She also had a talent for spotting the most dangerous occupants of the room she'd been standing in within two minutes.
But then, that was very much based on the first.
"I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't." Her lips curved up in a smirk, and she leaned in to whisper conspiratorially into Steve's ear. "And depending on where you're standing, she's the most dangerous person in this room."
The male rolled his eyes and folded his arms, hoping that the redhead would go and annoy Clint.
The team had turned out in force for this particular recruitment.
Even Natasha was in high spirits; as she'd claimed, it was 'waving goodbye to baby-Steve' and 'welcoming in adult-Steve'.
As he saw it, it was just a recruitment for the team. She was useful, in whatever way. And whilst he was far too much of a gentleman to tell Natasha to leave, he was praying that she would go so he could fulfill the mission and get back to the History channel on TV.
It turned out that there was a God; after a pat aimed a little too close to his backside and a murmured 'go get her, tiger', Natasha swanned off in the direction of the bar.
Steve lifted his hand to his ear, just about to report his movement towards the subject when the girl broke away. A dark, brooding type had taken her by the hand and was proceeding to escort her towards one of the back doors of the club.
An unwelcome taste of jealousy hit the back of his throat, and he shifted on the spot. All that mattered was the mission. Interference with the subject would be potentially catastrophic.
Maintaining a leisurely pace, he made his way after the couple.
A quick glance over his shoulder caught the eye of Natasha, who nodded once, murmuring into her mouthpiece.
And then he was out into the alleyway. He braced himself against the cold, tucking his hands into his pockets. Voices came from the end; a woman's soft, indifferent reply to a boyish yell.
Steve leant against the alleyway, lit a cigarette, and waited.
It came soon enough, almost before he'd had one taste of the smoke; her voice stopped, and now the male's voice was cold and mocking. He let out a high-pitched imitation of a laugh.
The laugh was enough to make Steve break out into a run, and he sprinted down the alley, spinning around the bend.
His stomach clenched in anger.
The dark haired male had her pinned against the wall, fingers curled around her throat. Her own fingers were digging sharply into his wrist, but to little effect, even though red blood ran down his arms and hers, dripping onto the polka dots.
Steve gripped the man by the back of the head and threw him into the wall behind him. He collided with a sickening crunch.
Sickening and yet oh-so satisfying.
And had the audacity to get back up, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth.
He let out a burbled cackle and lunged.
Colliding promptly with Steve's fist, which hit him in the shoulder, sending him spinning off course.
But he had grabbed the girl, and his injured arm was wrapped tight around her throat, so that she was facing Steve, and all of a sudden there was a sleek little black gun in the man's hand and he was pointing it at Steve's head.
"Just think, and I'll be the one to kill Captain America-" The end of his sentence turned into a howl as his arm and face exploded.
He fell backwards, and it was just the girl standing, body emitting a murky red aura.
Her eyes caught Steve's, and there was such fear and loneliness and pain that he didn't mind his own pain as she fell forwards and he caught her, cradling her to his chest like an injured bird.
Between delirious shots of agony, he watched the skin flay off his arms where it touched her aura.
She was shivering, so he pulled her closer.
Watched it flay off his chest.
Natasha always said he had been too much of a gentleman.
When the rest of the agents rushed out after Steve minutes later, that was how they found them.
His raw arms around her unconscious body.
At least she'd stopped shivering.
A/N: another one of my late night/early morning ramblings. Work has been tough recently; hopefully I'll get a chance to come back to all of this soon.