Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers

Warning: Avengers AU, Alive!Pietro AU, Neutral Loki!AU, Neutral!Ultron AU

Chapter 18: Love?

There wasn't a single angle she could turn to without seeing humans occupying the space. They were so crowded that, for some reason, the longer she absorbed the view of her surroundings, the shorter of stature she felt. While she didn't know whether physically shrinking was a direct cause of being surrounded by a large number of humans, she was starting to make assumptions based on that experience.

There were so many voices, too. All combined into a single sound that she couldn't quite distinguish. She was used to people talking, but seldom more than a few at once. This many made it slightly … problematic.

Steve witnessed, from his perspective, what he could only describe as a genuine sense of surprise. She was too preoccupied with the view to spare him any attention, though he didn't mind. Whether that was a good thing or not, he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Her face, which had previously been hard to read due to her limited expressions, suddenly became filled with the childish wonder he used to have long, long ago.

Her bright blue eyes had increased considerably in size, her lips were slightly parted, her stance reminded him slightly of a deer caught in headlights, though there was no fear present. Truly, it was like watching a child marvel at the animals in a zoo; only, that in this case, she was watching and observing members of her own kind. But he knew she didn't categorize them as such; she stood out like a sore thumb in terms of understanding them like she was supposed to, had she been born amongst them.

She was a newborn – but with more scars on her back than most adults could care to brag about. A child enraptured by the wonders of a world she had never known.

Hesitantly, he spoke up; "Where do you want to go?"

Eve looked up at him. "I am not acquainted with these surroundings," she said, tugging slightly at the sleeve of her shirt as though wearing it was either discomforting or foreign.

Steve did not argue. "Well, then I suppose we can take the streetcar. I think I know of someplace you would like,"

He didn't know that for certain. How could he tell what she would like or not, if she had barely seen the sun, much less human civilization? 'Old' was not a word he would often use to describe himself other than for the purpose of amusing the others since it was, essentially, true, but he was experienced. As such, it was his task to tell her enough to know. After all, perhaps, the more she knew, the more empathy she would develop and her loyalty towards her godforsaken creator would cease. He knew that she was not what most would define as pure evil; he didn't believe in that. He thought of her as a child, which she was, albeit not in age. She simply didn't know better.

"Follow me," he said and gently took her by the hand, feeling the cold temperature of her fingers brush beneath his own. Like touching a flexible marble statue that had been exposed to the external elements for far too long. At first, he expected her to yank it away like some sort of distinctive reflex akin to a child who refused to be touched by anyone but their parent, but much to his shock, instead, she let her hand remain in his secure grip and followed behind him. Steve hesitantly looked down at her from his peripheral vision, expecting to see some kind of disdain-filled gaze in those blue eyes of hers, but there was nothing in them which indicated that such vehement scorn was present.

He didn't really think that she was capable of harboring such aversion anyhow. She wasn't someone who acted on impulse or sentiment; she didn't know how to hate anyone, or how to love someone the way you would expect. She acted on what she deemed necessary. Right now, killing him wouldn't be essential, as he knew the location to Jeraslovik like Tony did (not directly). If she wanted to kill him, she probably would have done it already, but it would have been inconvenient on her part.

As much as he wanted to deny it, it couldn't be covered up with a rug. Before him stood not a child, but a soldier; a slave. A killing machine. By taking her away from the HQ and into the city, Steve was actively putting a large number of people in harm's way, and Bruce was correct with his words: it would be the Captain's responsibility if things went sideways.

Steve walked down the street towards where one of the streetcars was parked, and he watched as the girl behind moved to follow, pushing through the crowd without engaging in any sort of physical contact with any of them. She barely even bumped into anyone, though there were instances were close calls were made. She was cautious, deliberately so, but there were moments where she wanted to indulge in her curiosity and go someplace where it would be unwise to go, like a café or where there were a lot of people crowded together. Like a child, she was torn between venturing into the unknown or following her caretaker.

Steve could only watch with moderate amusement as she toggled behind him, not knowing whether to deem her newfound interest in the world as progress or otherwise.

He could only pray that lives would not have to answer that inquiry for him.

Coldcoldcoldcolditwassocoldhefeltsocoldsolostsoabandoned

He could feel his lungs expand beneath the bones of which his ribcage consisted of, like crows within a cage that threatened their path to freedom. It hurt so much! He was walking on glass shards, his feet bleeding upon impact although there was no crimson liquid to verify that statement. He was not even walking; he was positioned on top of a table, his skin exposed to the exterior temperature.

"He's going into shock, sir!"

A pair of warm arms fell on top of his heaving chest, bringing contrast to the cold that was holding him down. His surroundings were a blur, like looking through a fogged window; there was nothing to perceive. Despite it, his entire body felt like it was internally burning up; a furnace filled with scorching coal that blackened his insides and created a source of pain like no other.

A clot developed in his throat, blocking out any air that wanted to get out or in. He gasped and gagged, screaming at the top of his lungs as his body began to twitch and convulse uncontrollably; the birds within their cage were picking at the bars with such ferocity that their efforts were on the verge of getting out. They were flocking together around in their confined space, clawing at the bars, cawing and rattling uncontrollably.

Then suddenly, as he swore his life was about to end at the hands of the crows, a pair of eyes glowered down at him, just inches over his face. A pair of cold, calculating eyes that shone with such a dull color that it was strange for it to fill him with such dread. The man had such an intense yet calm demeanor.

"Do you want to die, Adam?" the man asked. "Or do you want to live?" As he said this, the man placed his cold hands over his neck, tightening to the brink of further suffocating him when his own body failed to.

This man wasn't the Father he had been hoping to see following his state of unconsciousness, but there was an uncanny resemblance that sent his mind into a worsened state of hysteria. He wasn't there, yet those equally-cold but present eyes were focusing on him, and him alone, unlike what the Father did. The Father was only focused on that girl, leaving him alone in the dark for so long. He had abandoned him, put him in the shed for storage parts or until he found him useful.

He never was.

"Do you want to die?"

Amidst the screaming, he forced out one word through his wired throat.

"NO!"

The sound of shattering glass, screaming from someone other than himself, electrical circuits. He watched as what little light that had made it to his blurred vision succumbed to the darkness he was all-too-familiar with, as though the dark abyss had decided to claim him once more for the taking.

She followed Steven Rogers onto this transporting vessel, although not even she could hide her surprise as they stepped onto it. They sat down next to other humans, and while it served as no inconvenience at first, she quickly found it to be rather … peculiar. Some were conversing with their companions, others were silent; either occupied with looking down at these small … mechanic creations in their hands, or reading what seemed to be long and unbearably thin prints, like books, but with images depicted on the outside of their covers. She had seen them before, but she lacked a word for them.

As the vehicle began to move, the sudden pull caught her off-guard, and she clenched her hands down onto her seat with such strength that she could almost feel the material crack beneath her fingers. The sound of what seemed to be some kind of strange rhythmic alarm rang as they began to move, but no one around her seemed any fazed by it. It was as though this strangeness affected her solely. Soon enough, she could see the view of the buildings move past her out the windows, and without even deliberating on it, she shifted around in her seat to get a better look at it from the window behind her. She watched as they passed countless other humans, few of which she could look at for more than a few seconds at most before they disappeared into the distance.

"This is New York, kid," Steven Rogers said from beside her, evidently amused by her reaction to the extent that his lips tugged slightly upwards. "We're going to a piece of it called Brooklyn. Where I grew up,"

"New York," she said, finding herself fascinated with the view. "This area is … filled,"

"Well, it ain't small, exactly. It would make your previous home look like an anthill in compariso–"

Before he could finish his response, her sudden change of position must have alerted something, because next to where she sat, there was some kind of carrier; looking as though it was used for transportation, but she couldn't tell what it was it was supposed to contain. A set of wailing and screaming sounds came from what appeared to be inside of it, and the woman sitting next to it was too preoccupied on one of those small devices to even acknowledge the sounds the carrier produced.

Eve glanced down at it, sensing curiosity getting the better of her. She leaned down towards the carrier and glanced at what was creating the noise. To her surprise, there was something considerably small within it, wrapped securely by wool-sheets. It had wide eyes, tear-filled to the extent where they leaked out of its sockets.

This was a … small human, so small that it hardly seemed capable of taking care of itself.

Without rejecting her own inquisitiveness, she reached for the small human and held it up in close to her face, staring at it as though it was a specimen. It was light-weighted and easy to hold, but warm to the touch and quite soft.

The wailing immediately stopped, and the small human's blue eyes met hers with seemingly equal curiosity, yet it did not utter a single word. Could it comprehend speech, or did it have a language of its own? Could it understand basic mathematics, or have even the slightest sense of self-awareness?

Eve could not understand this human at all. While she did have a certain understanding of ordinary humans, whose actions and thinking-patterns were fairly predictable, when she tried to look into this one's mind, she found nothing comprehensible. Like walking through an empty room with no windows and no furniture inhibiting it.

Suddenly, the small human moved a bit in her hold, like it was trying to incline itself towards her. A soft giggle was heard as it began to reach its tiny arms towards her face, and for a brief moment, its fingers grazed her cheeks.

Warm.

"May I request that you provide me with your designation?" she asked, but there came only another giggle as the small human began to move its hands over her face, from her cheeks into her hair, leaving warm traces behind on her cold skin.

"Eve!" came the sudden call from Steven Rogers. "You can't –!"

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING WITH MY DAUGHTER?" came a shrill as the small human was swiftly removed from her hold and into that of the female who sat beside them. She quickly placed the small human back into the carrier, causing it to let out another scream as its new position evidently dissatisfied it, but the female did not seem to mind it at all. Instead, she glared at Eve and got up from her seat, staring down at her with the small mechanism still firmly held in her grip.

"WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE TO JUST GRAB ANOTHER WOMAN'S BABY WITHOUT PERMISSION?" she asked without sparing any volume, her chest heaving as she spoke. "I SHOULD CALL THE COPS ON YOU!"

Eve only tilted her head slightly to the side, uncertain of what to make of the situation. "The small human is in stable condition, so there's cause for –," But before she could finish, the female grabbed her by the collar of her shirt and lifted her slightly above her seat.

Steve wanted to provide himself with a nice blow to the head for not acknowledging the situation sooner, but that would have to wait until later, as it seemed. The moment the angry mother grabbed Eve by her shirt, he moved to try and dissuade the situation before it could escalate. Countless eyes within the streetcar were now aimed at them, and as if his presence hadn't warranted enough attention as it was, this most certainly would.

However, before he could even manage to get properly up, Eve suddenly grabbed the woman by the back of her neck with one hand, slammed her face down onto the seat, and proceeded to exploit the opportunity to grab her arm and stretch it behind her, effectively locking it painfully behind the woman's back.

The woman's face was now squished towards the seat with Eve's hand forcing it in place, and with her arm kept immobile behind her. While the woman was on the verge of crying, uttering incoherent sounds and apologies, there were no traces of any remorse on Eve's face. Just empty eyes; nothing.

Gasps echoed through the car, along with several people questioning whether or not they were supposed to call the police. Before things could escalate even more than it already had, Steve quickly grabbed Eve by the arm and dragged her out of there, running down the street until they were far away enough not to get spotted by anyone they didn't want to be watched by.

He pulled them both into an empty alleyway and did not waste time vocalizing his opinions. He turned to Eve and, much to his dismay, glared at her, whereas she looked like she was unknowing about the whole thing.

"I told you not to harm anyone!" he said angrily, taking a step towards her. "That was our deal,"

"The small human's condition was unscathed," she replied, not raising her voice in the slightest and looking at him like she didn't know what it was she was being accused of. "Where did I overstep my limits?"

Barely capable of containing his frustrations, Steve dug his fingers into his scalp and released a heavy sigh. This was a mistake; Tony was right. "You could have seriously hurt that woman,"

"The female posed as a threa–"

"Woman, Eve. Woman, not female!" Steve grunted. "It is not 'small human', it's called an infant, or a baby. 'Female humans' are called women. Those are the correct pronouns, so use them! Stop addressing them like you don't know–"

He stopped himself mid-sentence, regret washing over him like a tidal wave. He could see her stance stiffen ever-so-slightly at the sound of his voice, like a child about to be scolded for her misdemeanors. Her expression changed slightly as well; her pupils grew smaller, and her skin paled to the tiniest degree. He knew that look too well.

She was afraid.

Even Bucky, after years of torture, could not conceal his fear that day when the helicarriers descended.

Steve wanted to provide that punch to his own face. How could he forget that she didn't know a thing about the world? Had he been that drawn into his own delusions of her having an ordinary life that he was blind to the reality of it all? Maybe Tony was right: he was too idealistic of a fool.

He sighed again. "Look, I'm sorry," he took a step back, giving her some space. "I don't think –"

"The … infant," she suddenly spoke, her blue eyes meeting his again. "It did not seem to comprehend what I was saying. Why is that?"

This surprised him. "Well, infants aren't fully developed yet. They don't know how to do things on their own, like eat or speak. They need someone to care for them in order to learn and grow."

"Are … every human like that at some point?" she asked, looking down at her own hands.

Steve nodded. "Well, yeah. We are all born into this world looking like that. With time and help, we learn more and more and more until we can manage on our own, but we all entered this world looking just like that. Just as small, and just as helpless."

The words seemed to sink into her like a sponge, and he could tell that she grew increasingly more curious about the subject. She looked up at him again, her eyes mimicking the same childish interest he had seen on his own face the day he thawed from the ice. But with the interest came the sense of dread.

"That fe– woman, she was the infants … mother?"

"Yes,"

"Does everyone have one of those?"

"They have to, or they wouldn't exist. You have one too, I'm sure, but I don't know who that is,"

"Father used to say I had my mother's eyes, but I didn't know the definition of that word," she explained, now at ease with his presence. "I have never known a fem– a woman's face other than a few. None of them could have produced me,"

To be honest, this was the longest Steve had heard her speak since the day he first met her. It was a sign of progress, and there came a warm feeling in his chest.

Then she said something that made him pause.

"That mother seemed adamant in protecting the infant. Why is that?"

"Instincts,"

"Define,"

"A parent's love for their child makes it their priority in life to protect it; to make sure that it survives."

Realization seemed to dawn on her, like something she believed she knew turned out to be incorrect. "That is 'love'?"

"That is love," he confirmed. "Your parents – your family – they are supposed to love you, and that means to care for you, to teach you things, to make sure that you are well-fed and dressed, and that you are never exposed to either physical or emotional pain," He couldn't help but clench his fists in anger upon knowing fully-well that her son-of-a-bitch of a 'father' had done everything but that. "That is what love is,"

It was only then that Steve truly realized the severity of the case in front of her.

"Father did teach me, but not this. He said he did love me, and I 'love' him,"

"Because he did not love you,"

Eve stood still after hearing this like she was frozen in time. Had it not been for the fact that she occasionally blinked, Steve would not have guessed that she was alive. It was as if her entire world had crashed over her like a block of cement, and even her stoic demeanor could not conceal her internal struggles.

Steve knew that there was still hope for her, but would that necessarily make him better than Jeraslovik?

"Then, does that mean you 'love' me, Steven Rogers?"

He could feel his stomach sink to the depths of his abdomen. "What?"

"You always ensure that I am dressed and fed proper nutrients, you teach me of subjects which I have no earlier expertise in, and you have not once exposed me to physical reprimands. Is that not what 'love' is? The kind the mother harbored for the infant?"

Well, he had not exactly predicted this outcome.

A/N: She's learning, but she's not the most adaptable student.