Sorry for the late posting, I know I said I'd be on a schedule but *throws hands up* school got busy. C'est la vie. I also had writers block and that wasn't any good at all.

Still, I appreciate all the feedback (and concern lol) I've gotten, and I'm so glad that this hasn't bored you guys yet lmao. And if you got any questions you'd like for me to answer directly, or just want to check up idk, my fanfic and tumblr inboxes are always open (:

Chapter Three
✭

I remembered the first conversation I had with Steve.

I could still recall the cold shock that froze my body when I first saw him, standing in our living room. How clammy my skin felt when I shook his hand. Vibrating, with barely constrained intensity, as I sat down opposite him on the couch, my mind racing with a million questions, but my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth.

Steve himself looked relaxed, elbows on his knees and fingers laced together; impressive, considering Aunt May was practically looming over him, directly behind his seat, and Peter not too far behind her. Having their eyes on him, on us, watching, waiting, really didn't help with the anxiety. But at the same time I couldn't ask them to leave just yet. I was too scared of making a mistake.

I remembered the warm light of the afternoon filtering through the curtains, the stuffiness of my winter jacket I was too nervous to remember to take off. A little too warm, maybe, probably wasn't helping me relax. But it was fine.

It felt like a dream.

"I guess I don't really have to explain myself why I'm here," was the way Steve opened up the conversation. He tilted his head, as if he knew Aunt May was staring holes into his back. "Or who — what I am."

"N-no, no," I shook my head, brow furrowing and glancing up to meet Aunt May's eyes. Her gaze connected with mine, and held it for a moment, before I raised my eyebrows and she jolted a little.

"Right! I'll make us some tea!" she piped up with a grin, although it didn't quite reach up to her eyes, behind those glasses. She puttered off to the kitchen, yanking an idling Peter along with her.

He complained in a whisper. "But I want to listen —"

" — Peter, not now —"

"— But its Captain — !"

"I know who it is."

My gaze slipped back to Steve, and my voice was a little frail. "It's really you, isn't it?"

He chuckled, shoulders shaking a little. "The one and only, I suppose. Hm. But I guess I'm not the only one anymore, am I?"

There was a joking tone to it, but my focus was back on Aunt May, fearing she heard it. I didn't say anything in reply. It was one thing for Aunt May to know Steve Rogers was my dad. It was another for her to know I was a super soldier on top of it all. Or, hell, a vigilante hero.

Steve blinked, waiting for a response that never came. I couldn't even give him a facial reaction, and eventually he cleared his throat and continued, "Well, it's good to see you have a nice home, Ame — Mia. Good, er, good family."

I managed a tight smile at that, at least. "Yeah. Aunt May's the best. And that's Peter —"

"HELLO." Peter called from the kitchen, as if just waiting for his cue. He was still in his winter coat and hat, watching avidly from behind the counter, leaning over it to announce: "I'm Petker! I mean, Parter! I mean, Peter Parker! Nice to meet you, Cap — Mr. Rogers — uh, Steve! Steve? Or maybe..."
Peter was working himself up trying to find the right address, and Steve turned in his seat with a laugh. "No worries. You can call me Steve, too, Pete."

The grin that brightened on Peter's face just then could have lit a thousand cities. He only laughed nervously in response, apparently giddy with speechlessness, before quickly turning around, looking as though he was about to faint.

Steve turned back to me and I was flushed on Peter's behalf. Deep down, my reaction was a lot like his, but my fear had me frozen into a block of repressed expression. I was having trouble remembering how to emote.

At least Steve was smiling. Maybe he didn't notice. "Well, it seems you have a good place here, Mia. Your Aunt May tells me you're doing well in school. Especially history?"

"Yeah!" I said too fast, too loud. Then I blinked, falling back in my seat, wondering why I was being so weird. Shaking my head, I pushed the thoughts away before it made an awkward pause. "It's just, you know, wondering what life was like back then. And it's easy. Memorizing facts instead of having to understand things like subtext or hidden themes. It's all just out there. Usually."

Before I was even done speaking I already hated the way I sounded — like this was an interview, not a conversation, and I had to justify myself to an employer and not my...dad. My hands were working knots in my lap, shoulders hunching up as I struggled to come up with something that didn't feel fake.

"Huh. Interesting." The way Steve tilted his head a little, as if he could sense it, made me even more self-conscious. The short response was just the cherry on top. Had I already killed the conversation before it even started?

I floundered in silence for a moment, squeezing my eyes shut and deciding to give it another shot. I didn't want him to have the wrong impression of me, even if it meant overcorrecting. "I just, I don't know. It's not... easy for me to learn. I don't know what May told you, but I've got dyslexia and this other thing that makes it hard for me to write — its not that I can't read, but I'm always struggling with it and sometimes I wonder why I even bother with history at all. It's nothing but reading. But I don't know, I'm just curious, and it's worth the struggle. I guess, for me, history's about understanding how we got here. What makes the world I live in now, the world that made me who I am."

Oh.

Steve's eyebrows went up, but he didn't say anything right away. I already knew, too late, just how loaded my words were. Did he think I was being passive aggressive? I hadn't even meant it that way — my attempt to fix things just made it worse, in my mind's eye. I waited, with a flinch, watching Steve open his mouth and —

"Here we go!" Aunt May swooped in with two mugs, one for the both of us. The smell of coffee was mildly comforting, even if I didn't like the taste. The big smile and probing eyes gaze from Aunt May, not so much. She straightened, clapping her hands together. "So! Anything else I can get you guys?"

Her enthusiasm was met with polite-but-reserved refusals — Steve was already sipping his coffee and I just grabbed my mug and held it in my lap. I had tea instead of coffee, but I wanted to give my hands something to do. Aunt May hovered for an extended moment, waiting with a disconcerting amount of nervous energy, before she piped, "Okay! Well, if you need anything, I'll just be over...there."

And with that, scurried back to the kitchen to observe from afar with Peter.

Highly aware of being watched, it distracted me enough that I almost didn't catch Steve's next words.

"Well, I can appreciate that, not everyone has a love for history," Steve said, which made me feel better about my stupid response. "Aunt May also told me you go to Midtown, that you skipped ahead two years of school? From the sound of it, I never would've guessed you had dyslexia."

"I also aced my finals last semester," I added, with just a hint of pride. Despite the catastrophe that was Christmas, I got home to discover that all my studying paid off, and I was officially on the sophomore track. This semester, I was no longer behind everyone else in my grade.

"Oh, well then." He chuckled. "If you don't mind me saying, Mia, you seem a little young to be so accomplished."

"And aren't you a little old to be alive?" I retorted before I could stop myself — for whatever reason, my brain had interpreted the obvious compliment as a slight against my age, or my appearance, and fired off before I had a chance to course-correct.

I knew I was screwed before I heard Aunt May inhale sharply through her nose, or Peter slapping his forehead. At that, Steve had done a double-take, his smile dropping. He leaned forward, as if to get up, to leave, and I panicked. Rushing to apologize as fast as I could, I nearly spilled my mug when I quickly sat up, spluttering, "Sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't mean it like —"

Honestly, if I had backpedaled any faster I would've left a Mia-shaped hole in the wall behind me. "Jesus, I don't even know why I said that —"

But instead of getting up, Steve threw his head back and laughed, quickly setting down his mug and slapping his knee. "Ha! It's fine, it's fine, Mia. I guess I walked right into that one, huh?"

I almost forgot how to breathe, then started to laugh a little, too. For a hot second there, my soul was this close to vacating my skin. I slumped back in my seat, my laughter more for catching my my breath than anything else.

It was only then I wondered if the compliment wasn't just a compliment. Was Steve referring to Rebel Columbia as one of my 'accomplishments'? My laughter flitted away. He had to know. He just had to. But there was no way I could address it in front of Aunt May.

"Hey, you feel like going for a walk?" Steve asked suddenly, as if reading my mind. Maybe he could, I didn't know. I was ready to believe anything about him or super soldiers at this point. He was already standing up, making a show of stretching his back and making a face. "I've been itching for some fresh air myself…"

"Oh, hell yeah!" Relieved, I practically jumped out of my seat at the mere idea. Anything to get out of here and leave my embarrassment behind.

"A-are you guys sure?" Aunt May called, apparently surprised by this sudden development. I was too, but she looked far more dismayed (ha), maybe even disappointed. I couldn't tell what Peter was thinking because he had his face pressed down into the counter. Overwhelmed by schadenfreude, perhaps, over my previous gaffe.

"Yep!" I called, breezing past Steve and being the first one out the front door. I hadn't even taken my coat off.

No time like the present.

I actually felt a lot better when we were outside. Although it seemed like I lost my safety net without Aunt May there, I could feel a distinct lack of tension as I ambled down the street, keeping pace with Steve.

"Sorry about that...back there. I hope I didn't catch you at a bad time."

"N-no, no! You're fine, it's just… surprising, that's all. I didn't think it'd actually happen, I guess."

It was a good day to be outside — clear skies and cheerfully thick snow, a lack of mud or slush that would normally make walks like this unpleasant. Red cardinals popped back and forth in the bare treetops overhead, the bright bursts of color welcome against the pale colors of winter. I felt much more comfortable, my body temperature returning to normal (which, admittedly, was ten lower than 97 degrees). Steve himself was wearing a thick Carhartt jacket and a baseball cap, which I guess was what went for disguises these days. But who was I to judge? I wasn't even hiding my face.

"Well, when Tony told me what happened in Florida, I didn't think I had much of a choice. I had to see for myself." Steve replied, in a somewhat jovial manner, but there was an added weight to those words. What happened. I remained silent, hands stuffed in my pockets. I felt his gaze shift back to me. "She doesn't know, does she? Your aunt."

I shook my head, unable to look up from the pavement.

"And your cousin? Peter?"

I debated a long moment how to answer that. It seemed easier to explain that I had told Peter about the truth because he first told me about Spider-Man, but I couldn't break that secret. I didn't know how much Tony Stark actually told Steve, and figured it'd be best to play it safe. So I just said, "He knows."

"You trust him?"

Now I looked back at Steve, meeting his eyes. "With my life."

I didn't expect Steve to smile, but he did. Just a small quirk of the lips, pleased. "Good. It's hard to find that, nowadays."

"What? Friends?"

"Honesty." Steve replied. "Trust. You'd be surprised how rare it is, especially in my line of… well, never mind. I'm glad you have someone like that."

"Me, too," I agreed, although I wondered what he had meant to say. His line of work? What was that? I assumed he meant being an Avenger, and it sounded odd; there were only six Avengers, did he not trust them all? That seemed counterproductive. But then again, the last Avenger I met was on the verge of a panic attack, and the ones before that tried to shoot me.

In my head I couldn't help compare Steve to Tony Stark, the other Avenger I had the pleasure of getting to know (a little too well). While Tony was loud and energetic and had anxiety like a bag of cats, Steve was reserved, and far less expressive. I found it difficult to read him, and wondered why no one ever mentioned that poker face in the history books. It was a little intimidating, but at the same time, I appreciated it. Getting that smile meant a lot, at least to me.

"So, like," I pursed my lips, deciding to get in a question of my own. "Is this how you usually do it? Hide in plain sight? I can't believe no one's recognized you yet."

"More or less," Steve replied with a shrug, tipping his hat a little forward, like a salute. There was a glint of mischief in his eye as he said, "And not very often, to be honest. I just keep my head down, mind my business, and I'm mostly left alone. I think people recognize the suit more than they do the face. Which is fine by me. I enjoy the privacy."

"Oh, me, too." I felt a little stupid for not coming up with a snappier reply, but at least it was the truth. I was relieved that I probably wouldn't recognized as taking a walk with Captain America. It boggled my mind that people just wouldn't notice him passing on the street, he was so tall, and had this presence about him, calm with just the faintest aura of power. I mean, jeez, the broad shoulders alone should catch some eyes, draw attention, and yet here we were: walking down towards the park and not a single person we passed ever stopped or did a double-take.

"It's cool, though," I added, still mulling it over to myself. "No one ever told me you had the power of invisibility."

That got a laugh, and I beamed, proud of earning it. Steve stuffed his hands in his pockets and said, "Well, don't tell Tony that, or he'd never stop complaining. But I appreciate the notion. It's… not easy sometimes. I don't have walls of money to hide behind like Stark does."

"That's okay," I wasn't sure what he meant by that, to be honest, glancing up as a garbage truck went by. Its roar drowned out any sound for a moment, so I waited before saying, "I know being seen with me probably wouldn't be the, er, the best. For you. I mean. Personally, um, I don't really want anyone to know about you. Not that it bothers me! But I just...well, you already know, with Peter. I just...I like the privacy, too."

Well, after that word vomit I was ready for the ground to swallow me right up. What was with me today, screwing up with whatever I said? The anxiety made my hands tingle with cold, regardless of the weather. Be normal. God, just be normal.

I thought I would be met with a rebuke. Instead, Steve rubbed the back of his neck and said, "I understand. It's part of that whole 'trust' thing...if too many people know, or the wrong ones, then any sense of privacy is going to be, well. History."

He chuckled at this last bit, but the look he gave me was reassuring. And something else I couldn't decipher. "I don't want you to have that kind of trouble, that's all. No one has to know you don't want them to."

"Well, I haven't gotten any, so far," I said, nodding — mostly to myself. It was good to know but I had a feeling maybe he was holding back. Then my brow furrowed and I snapped back to look at him. "You did that on purpose, didn't you? Leaving the apartment, so we could talk like this?"

"Just figured that out, did you?" Steve replied, and back was the mischief, the tiny quirk of smile. "I hoped I was subtle. Your Aunt has the eyes of a hawk. She looked ready to carve out my liver when I first introduced myself at her door — but at least she was polite about it."

"Yeah, she's like that," There was no doubt in my mind that Aunt May would kill a man to protect me or Peter. Which contributed me to not telling her the truth sooner.

And not about Rebel Columbia at all.

I chewed my lip for a moment. We came out here to talk freely, so I might as well take the opportunity. Still, I was nervous, and not just because I was talking to Captain America. Glancing around, I made sure no one was close by to eavesdrop before I spoke, "W-what's it like? I mean, being a super soldier. I-I don't really know anything about what happened to me, and I noticed I'm still growing, and I was just wondering, just what it's like. If — when I'm older."

I breezed past that falter as quick as I could before Steve could notice, or so I hoped.

I got lucky. Steve heaved a deep sigh, and I knew I was in for a hard answer.

"I don't mean to disappoint you," He started, and my stomach fell. "But disregarding that time under ice, I've only been a super soldier for about as long as you. I honestly don't have a clue what's going to happen five, ten years out. Or longer."

"Oh," I had to keep myself from making a face. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense. I'm just...maybe I'm just scared, that's all."

"I'm sure you'll be fine," he offered kindly, and it did sound as reassuring as he meant it. He gestured to me, somewhat jokingly, "I mean, just look at you. Almost as tall as me. By the end of it you might even be taller."

"I wouldn't mind that." I grinned as we came to a stop at a crosswalk.

"Hey!" Steve punched me lightly on the arm, and we laughed a little — me, too stunned to do anything else, because Steve Rogers just punched me on the arm. Like we were buddies. Like I was his kid. The crossing sign blinked on and I jumped ahead onto the street.

My heart skipped a beat, giddy and pleased, and I had to bite my lip to keep it from getting away from me. The laughter died into a short silence as we made our way across the street. Our footsteps disturbed a flock of pigeons gathered on the street and they flew away at our passing. Our house, the apartment building, was somewhere behind us; I wondered if Aunt May was watching us right now, through the windows. I resisted the urge to look over my shoulder to check, but I had the distinct feeling of being watched nonetheless.

If Steve had the same feeling, he didn't let on. Instead, he was the first to break the silence, beginning hesitantly. "I just want you to know…"

He paused, cleared his throat, and tried again.

"I just want you to know," Steve spoke more slowly as we crossed into the park. Our footsteps crunched softly on the salted sidewalks, and a chilly breeze blew over the crystalized field of snow. "That I'm here, if you need me. Not that you do! But I understand if you, er, prefer I stay uninvolved."

"No! It's okay. I-I want you to be...involved."

"Well, I'm glad. I want to be, too. I just don't want you to think you couldn't have a normal life because of me."

I almost snorted. Ship sailed on that possibility. But I bit my tongue. I did appreciate the gesture, though; right now I was just still searching for my new normal, trying to figure out how I fit in. With Steve here, it only reminded me of the deal I'd broken with SHIELD, with Coulson, and the fact I'd still hadn't seen hide nor hair of them. Were they mad that I broke out as Rebel Columbia again? Were they going to take me in, as Coulson had implied? I didn't want to be a part of SHIELD, but I knew it had been a strong likelihood when I made my choice last Christmas.

So it was a surprise when it never came to be. Now I was just paranoid. What was Coulson waiting for? Had he just forgotten? Or did they have bigger fish to fry?

"Normal is good," I said finally, then a thought occurred to me and I snickered to myself. Steve threw me a curious look, and I cut myself off, a little embarrassed. "Oh, uh, when I first told Peter, he said that I might get lucky and live with the Avengers, in their tower. Just this sort of...fun fantasy life. It was, I don't know, hit me just now. You don't live at Avengers Tower, do you?"

In the interim between Christmas and now, Tony Stark had unofficially unveiled the new plans for his former company tower — the remodeling and construction would be focused to creating a central hub for the Avengers and associated parties. The exterior was already finished; we could see the bright white neon Avengers logo from the park, it was that impressive.

And I'd seen the inside. It wasn't a bad place to live. A little lax in security maybe...but not a bad place.

Steve laughed at the notion, shaking his head. "Ha! No, no, I live down in DC. It's close to my, ah, work. But I don't think anyone of us actually lives up in the Tower. Not even Tony. We all have our own places to be."

"Well, good. I'd had have to move again, especially downtown Manhattan. The traffic there is awful."

"Oh, you don't have to tell me," Steve said, smiling. "Have you always lived here?"

"No," I started, then shook my head. "I mean, yes, but not in Queens. I grew up in Hell's Kitchen. With my mom."

Mistake. As soon as I said that, I winced. The silence that dropped after that sentence almost triggered my fight-or-flight response, it was that sudden and gut-clenching.

Oh shit, oh shit. Why did I say that, why did I say that, what's he going to say…

At least we didn't stop walking, continued to move in silence; I had to fight the overwhelming urge to run. Run far away, from that question, from the truth I could already guess at. I watched him out of the corner of my eye, turned around to study a face I was already starting to learn I couldn't read. Steve's face was canted to the ground, an expression flickering across his face, hands in his pockets, shoulders hunching incrementally.

The silence went on. Only our footsteps in the crisp winter air filled the space between us.

I worked my jaw. Didn't he think I wanted to know?

"I, ah…" Steve finally looked up at me, his face pained, a wince, not able to meet my eyes for more than a second, before slipping away.

My own eyes were focused on a bush behind him. "You don't remember her, do you?"

"...No. I'm sorry."

I heaved a sigh through my nose, not surprised but still disappointed. A part of me knew that was going to be his answer, but a part of me still believed that it could be different. That my own doubts could be washed away, and I wouldn't have to worry about if he was really my dad anymore.

And maybe. Maybe I was hoping he could tell me about Mom. Just something I'd never heard before, something that brought her back to life, even for a moment.

But that was gone, too.

"It's...fine," I said at length. A dirty, dirty lie. I tried to play it off, though; I didn't want Steve to see how much it bothered me. We had a good thing going for a moment there, and now I regretted bringing this topic up at all — I thought it had been better, before I asked, before I knew for sure. "I guess I just wished I understood… what happened. And you're the only one left who can tell me."

"I know," he said. "Trust me, I have just as many questions as you. I don't — I'm not sure what's really going on, to be honest. If you don't mind me asking, where's your mom now?"

"Dead." I replied, before I could think about how that came off. Too blunt, too factual. Welp. Too late now. I forged ahead before I could start overthinking, overfeeling; just thinking about this again, I could feel something inside turning off, and in turn my own voice sounded hollow, automated. "Mom, um, she was there during the Incident. Our old building was destroyed, and she...she didn't make it."

It was as sentimental as I could make it without my own emotions coming back to sucker punch me in the gut. My hands clenched and I stuffed them in my coat pockets, doing my best to remain composure.

"A-ah," Steve said, and I could feel him sagging next to me. Of course, he was there, too. He fought against the aliens; his whole job was to protect everyone. "God, I didn't know, Mia. I'm sorry, I wish I could've —"

"I'm not blaming you!" I didn't mean to chuck the guilt train at him, but whoops, there we go. "I don't blame anyone. I'm just… I don't know, it happened a while ago, but it still feels really new to me. A lot of stuff feels new to me." I scanned the park in a panic, trying to think of a way to save this conversation, something positive to say. Squinting my eyes a little, I blue-screened for a moment, before I finally managed to say, "If it means anything, I think she would've liked you. I mean, she never told me anything and I don't really know why, but I don't see why she'd hate you. You seem, er, you seem really nice."

"Well, you seem nice, too, Mia," Steve said, and he seemed to relax a little, chuckling. I resisted the urge to fist pump. Mission accomplished. "I am glad we got a chance to finally meet, even if it didn't necessarily...go as planned. And now Stark can stop holding this over both our heads."

That got me to laugh again. And like that, the tension finally eased.

~o~

I couldn't help thinking about it now, sitting in the dark in my bedroom. It was easier on my eyes after all the bright, intense light of the kitchen. It'd only been a few hours, but I still needed a break. Maybe, when I walked out again, Steve would already be there, laughing and getting along with everybody.

By all accounts, it was a good memory, and one I liked to think back on, for the most part. As far as introductions went, it was a lot better than Tony Stark's (that had been an almost literal nightmare).

But I remembered the disappointment I felt when my mother came up, and it felt a lot like what I was feeling now. Just an expectation, a hope, a doubt I wanted to be proved wrong. Telling myself I should've known better, that I did know better, but still held onto that shred of idealism because I was an idiot.

It's just a birthday, it's not the end of the world. I tried to rationalize, stamp down on the emotions I was feeling. I was overreacting, wasn't I? It seemed like it. I didn't like feeling emotions. At least not these emotions. It didn't happen a lot and I didn't want to get used to them.

"Mia?"

The door creaked open and I looked up, seeing Aunt May's silhouette in the doorway. "Sweetie? What are you doing on the floor, in the dark? You're missing the party."

"Oh, I'm," I wasn't even doing anything, just sitting there with my legs splayed out, a lump on a log. I struggled to find a way to explain this. "Just… taking a nap."

"A nap, huh," Aunt May said, with the look of someone who knew better, a sort of half-smile. A little too pitying for my taste, but I was feeling too sorry for myself to really complain. "Well, he won't show up any faster whether you're in here or out there. And out there looks like a lot more fun."

I could hear the sounds of Smash Bros through the doorway, the sound of Ned achieving banana peel superiority once again, and it was sure tempting. But my spiteful half didn't want to give Aunt May the satisfaction that I could be enjoying myself at all when I didn't get the one thing I wanted.

"Yeah." I said, shrugging half-heartedly. "I think I'm being a brat."

"Hmm," Aunt May stepped in, coming to sit on the rug next to me. The moonlight glinted off her glasses, but her smile was no less warm. She put a hand on my shoulder, rubbing my back. "You only just turned sixteen, and you missed two years of being a kid, so I think there's still some brattiness you have to catch up on. I just don't want you to be alone just waiting for something. I don't want you to waste your time moping, you'll only be more disappointed. I know it doesn't fix things, but having fun at least takes your mind off of it. Today's your day, after all. I'd say you earned it. Just give yourself a break, Mia. Please."

I stewed on this, chewing my lip and studying my fingers in my lap. It sure was very satisfying to wallow in misery; a certain self-righteousness to it. But Aunt May was right, I wasn't going to feel better eventually doing this. Things weren't just going to turn around in my favor by pouting around and waiting for fate to pull me a solid. My karma was not good enough for that to happen.

I heaved a sigh, and Aunt May's hand dropped away. "I guess you're right. Steve doesn't need to be here, I just —"

A distant growl of an engine cut me off, muffled through the window, but I knew the sound immediately. A motorcycle driving up the street, coming to a stop. It hadn't even shut off yet before I was on my feet, saying, "It's him!"

I thought I heard a sound of disappointment from Aunt May, but I was already out the door.

A/N: lkjdsj;afk