Greetings from sunny Rhode Island! Don't worry that's not where I live, just on vacation. More importantly though, happy Fourth of July! Which means happy birthday Steven Grant Rogers! And here's the first chapter of this new story for you all! Bucky doesn't make an appearance here, but we'll get to him, no worries!
Other notes, I had this idea before Civil War came out so this story will be AU. Also, this chapter is short, promise they'll be longer!
As always I hope you all enjoy it! Don't forget to review! It'll bring faster updates and brightens my day a lot!
Disclaimer: I don't own anyting.
Chapter One: Unwanted Visitor
"Being alone with your feelings is the worst because you have nowhere to run. They're here, dancing in your mind and all you can do is handle."
"Just breathe." It was three in the morning, the sky was still dark outside and only the moon's light filtered through the open window of the small bedroom. Those were the two words that, though spoken softly, shattered the silence. A brunette had her head cradled in her trembling calloused hands as the images of her latest nightmare still replayed over and over again in her mind.
She could never undo the atrocities she had committed. All the blood on her hands would never wash away.
Brewster Alana Mercer. Former special agent for S.H.I.E.L.D, an organization that had been toppled years ago. She was a legend of sorts. An ex-member of S.T.R.I.K.E Team: Delta. An ex-member of the Avengers Initiative. The agent that brought back Steven Grant Rogers. The agent that brought back James Buchanan Barnes.
Her friends had called her Alana.
Though that was all the past.
That was before the shit hit the fan.
Her shoulders shook as she heard the little boy begging for his life again. She gasped slightly, the sound gaining the attention of the Doberman who lay on the floor at the foot of her bed. It took the dog a little effort to push himself off the wood floor, his paws slipping, and hop up onto the bed but once there he lay his boxy head on her thighs, whining softly until her hands came away from her face to bury them in his short fur.
"Good boy." Alana's words wavered slightly as she refocused on the dog.
Delta had been her rock for the past five years.
It took only a few minutes before the ex-assassin had calmed down. She continued stroking the dog, her thumbs moving in small circles just behind his ears as she glanced over at her nightstand. On top, right beside her alarm clock, sat a single picture frame.
There had been a time when a certain World War II veteran held that spot. Though that had been almost four years ago now. Alana didn't speak about him, didn't talk to him, didn't dare even think his name for fear of all the old feelings rushing back. The guilt would suffocate her if she did.
She had loved him. Deep down, Alana knew she probably still did.
But it was a different man, a boy really, who had claimed that frame for the past four years.
Pietro Maximoff's death wasn't something she would ever forget.
It was the reason she was so broken. The reason she had abandoned the Avengers so quickly. The reason she had broken away from all but one of them, no matter how hard they tried to reach out to her.
Only Steve Rogers had an idea of where she was, she could never completely cut things off with him.
Pietro's death had shattered her beyond repair and Alana refused to let anyone come in to help her pick up the pieces.
Alana refused a lot of things.
Letting out another breath she sat up more in bed, reaching over and turning the picture frame face down. She didn't want to see it anymore, didn't want the reminder of what she had done.
A small part of her mind told her to throw out the photograph. Another part knew she didn't have the courage to do that.
It was, after all, her fault he was gone.
;;::;;
She didn't like going out in public.
It made her feel exposed and open to an attack. Not that anyone in the town knew who she really was, she had been here long enough that no one thought more of her than the town hermit. She was no threat to anyone.
Her combat boots didn't make a sound as she walked along the cement sidewalk, her face hidden under the shadows of her ball cap as she made her way towards the little corner grocery store. As a breeze blew through Alana pulled her leather jacket closer to her body, the wind making her shiver slightly. Even though it was late June, she knew that the mornings would be frigid until July. As she neared the store her brown eyes glanced to the parking lot quickly, her mind taking note of the cars and trucks that were parked there.
They were busy for eight thirty in the morning.
She almost turned around and went back home, but Delta was out of food and her dog had to eat.
Pushing the store's door open with one hand, Alana pulled the lip of her hat down more on her head with the other. She ignored the cheery "Good morning!" that the store manager tossed her way, stuffing her hands in her pockets and making a beeline for aisle seven after snatching a basket.
Dry pasta was the first thing to make it into her basket, followed by hot sauce and avocados. She paused suddenly halfway down aisle ten, the distinct feeling of being followed spread through her veins.
A hand slide to her left hip, checking to make sure her knife was still there, hidden under the waistband of her jeans. The cool metal, as always, made her relax more even though she still felt eyes on her.
She kept walking, her pace a bit faster now. Alana glanced behind her, scowling when she didn't see anyone there.
That didn't mean she was still being watched, she wasn't naïve enough to think such a thing.
Alana grabbed Delta's regular food from the bottom shelf, irked slightly as she had to carry it on her left shoulder, leaving both of her hands occupied.
She had meant to buy more things, but those would have to wait. Alana made her way quickly to the register. The cashier didn't look to be older than seventeen, his bright nametag had 'Brett' in bold black letters written on it.
"Good morning!" He was too cheery for her, "How's your day been so far ma'am?" That caught her off guard and she openly starred at him for a few seconds until he shifted uncomfortably under her sharp gaze.
She hadn't been called ma'am in a long time.
The hairs on the back of her neck rose again, spurring her into action. Alana dug through one of her pockets, pulling out a crumpled hundred-dollar bill and putting it down a little too harshly in front of the boy, making him jump. His eyes widened in shock. His eyebrows rose when he saw her face.
A long, jagged scar stretched from her left temple across her cheek and down underneath her jaw. His eyes flickered down, catching sight of burn marks that had long since healed over peeking out from underneath her gray t-shirt. Her tan hand came up to tug the fabric over the abrasions, snapping the boy's attention back to her face.
"That should cover it." Her voice didn't match her harsh appearance at all. It was lighter than the boy had expected, softer. But her tone still didn't leave any room for argument, and he just nodded as she snatched the bag and easily tossed the thirty-pound bag of dog food over her shoulder. "Keep the change." She told him over her shoulder as she walked out.
Alana walked back home at a normal pace, knowing it was better not to draw attention to herself. The feeling of being followed never faded, and if she wasn't out in the open where civilians could see she would've turned around and confronted the person.
Her worry wasn't being attacked, it was having to attack someone else.
Alana had given up fighting, resigned from it all just before the Battle of Sokovia. She didn't want people to figure out who she was, and if she had to fight someone in public then it wouldn't be long before people started asking questions they shouldn't.
It only took her about twenty minutes of walking before her home came into view. The two story cottage was nestled among the trees, hidden away from the dirt road. Out front sat an old, slightly rusted black Chevy truck. Used mostly when she went out into the mountains with Delta.
Her combat boots thudded softly against the wooden steps as she made her way up and across the open front porch, swinging open the front and screen door before stepping inside, closing both behind herself.
She was greeted by Delta, the large dog trotting over after bounding down the stairs. Alana set the bag of dog food on the counter, the Doberman sniffing the bag excitedly as his tag wagged. His master turned away from him, busying herself with putting away the other groceries as the tension in her shoulders remained. Her kitchen, like the rest of the house, was simple. Granite countertops being the most extravagant part of the whole cottage. Simple wood floors throughout the downstairs, simple beige tile in the kitchen, simple leather couches surrounded a glass-top coffee table which had been placed in front of the fireplace. A small television was placed in the corner.
The walls were almost completely bare, the only decoration being a red, brown, and yellow tribal patterned tapestry that she had hung on the wall directly opposite the fireplace. There was nothing else. No mirrors, no photographs, no nothing.
Everything had a place, a purpose for it's being in Alana's home.
The sound of a low, warning growl sounded only a millisecond before Alana heard the distinct sound of boots crunching over the dying grass of her front lawn. Her lips pressed into a thin line, her feet carrying her to the cabinet by the front door before Alana opened the doors.
Guns and knives lined the inside, dark eyes only roaming over the contents for a moment before her hand wrapped around a shotgun. The doors were closed, and Alana let out a huff as she opened the front door, stepping through the screen door as Delta pushed it open. The large dog stopped obediently at the edge of the porch, his hackles raised.
The gun had hung by Alana's side, still held in her right hand as her eyebrows shot up at the figure who stood only a few yards away from her front porch. A grin spread across his face and he took a step forward. The shotgun was up and aimed at his head in the next instant, the clear warning had her visitor letting out a low whistle.
She fleetingly wondered how the hell he had found her.
"Now Alana, that ain't no way to say hello to your former supervising officer, is it?"
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