Chapter Thirty-One
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The world returned in pieces.

A blur of light and darkness, flickering in and out. Like driving under sun-dappled trees on a warm summer day. Soft, hazy, distant. Sounds, voices, echoed over a wide canyon. Muffled, warped, too hard to understand. A few times, I thought I might have heard my name. But I was far more aware of the pressure on my body — in my chest, in my ear, around my arms.

Lifted, carried. Like I was floating on clouds. No strength in my neck. Too weak to keep my eyes open.

Head falling back. Darkness once more.

When I opened my eyes again, I found myself staring at a pale, tiled ceiling.

I didn't know how long I was staring at the ceiling until I achieved the self-awareness to realize I was awake. Could've been a few seconds. Could've been minutes, or hours. Then I felt the cushion of a mattress underneath me. The weight of blankets over my legs. Tinny voices coming from somewhere in the room.

My gaze dropped down, to the TV playing in one corner. A news segment on some big Congress trial. The portrait of a red-headed woman appeared in the corner next to the news anchor's face. It took me one long moment to recognize Natasha Romanov. She's still alive. I could only catch the report with my right ear — no sound came through to my left.

There was an empty seat on the wall opposite me. A tray of orange medication bottles, a jug of water, cups, and a plate with a half-eaten sandwich. A window to my left, curtains drawn but sunlight filtering in through the gauze. The clock on the wall read 2:41. Afternoon.

My gaze drifted lazily about, slowed by grogginess and confusion. The lemon-sharp scent of bleach cleaner and disinfectant hit me in a burst, instantly triggering a sense of disgust and revulsion; and I knew at once I was in a hospital.

There was something in my right hand, propping my arm. I winced as I looked down, my neck and chest protesting as I tried to lift myself up a little. My right wrist was wrapped in a brace. On my index finger was a little plastic clamp, a pulse oximeter. An IV fed into my elbow. Beneath my arm was soft, plush blue fur. A little pillow creature with black eyes and big ears.

Stitch.

"Someone's finally awake," a voice cooed — soft and warm and familiar. A face entered my field of view, a cool hand pressing to my forehead. Bespectacled. Dark curly hair.

"...M-May?" my voice was little more than a croak, hoarse and broken. Immediately, my eyes started to burn and I squeezed them shut — too late, as the tears started to fall.

"Shh, shh, don't cry, honey," Aunt May said softly, pulling in closer so she was sitting right next to the gurney. Her thumb ran across my cheeks and under my eyes, brushing the tears away in gentle strokes. "It's alright. It's all over now."

But the tears weren't of fear or pain. But happiness. Relief.

I never thought I'd see her again.

Seeing Aunt May, it all came rushing back to me. First Diana Hawkin's murder, then everything that followed. Fury dying. Escaping the Triskelion. Winding up in Pierce's clutches, waking up in submerged underground tunnels — and the giant blur that was everything in between. I couldn't remember it all at that moment, but what I could was sudden, so much, overwhelming. I remembered, briefly, how I'd been scared that Aunt May would be mad at me, when this was all over.

"I'm sorry," was all I could say, in breathless sobs, because it was everything I felt at that moment. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Sorry for not texting her more. Sorry for not calling. Sorry for getting caught up in a secret war. Sorry for hurting so many people. Sorry for leaving. Sorry for everything.

"Shh, you have nothing to be sorry for." But Aunt May just brushed it all aside, pulling me up into a gentle hug, careful not to jostle my injured arm. "It wasn't your fault, Mia. You didn't do anything wrong."

I pressed my face into her shoulder, hair tickling my face, still crying, as her hands rubbed my back, murmuring more kind words that I didn't feel like I deserved. My good arm went around her, clinging hard — maybe too hard. Too afraid to let go. I had never felt so safe before. Never wanted a hug so badly. Never wanted it to end.

Aunt May just let me cry it out. I really needed it. Seconds turned to minutes, and my tears kept coming like an endless waterfall. Everything I could remember, everything that I experienced, all that suppressed pain and fear all came rushing out at once, in a terrible onslaught that I had no control over. It was loud and ugly and not at all delicate or dainty. I couldn't remember the last time I cried so much, so hard before.

It got to the point where I gave myself a headache, and Aunt May had to withdraw to get me a glass of water. "Take it easy, now. You're making yourself dehydrated."

Drinking helped calm me down a little; allowed me to take a second and get a better look at my surroundings. The room itself was small, just big enough for two patients. Only belatedly did I realize I was the only patient in the room, and how glad I was for it; I didn't want to imagine the extreme discomfort of having to listen to a complete stranger sobbing their eyes out less than ten feet away.

I drank one cup, then another, and another. The jug was empty within a few minutes. I realized how thirsty I was and couldn't get enough. Still, my voice was hoarse as I said, "H-how long was I — has it been since — when —"

I wasn't in the proper state to be making full sentences, but Aunt May understood me nonetheless. She returned from the nearby sink, refilling the jug and giving me another glass — this time to guide my hand so I drank a little more slowly this time. "Four days. You were unconscious when paramedics picked you up from that Triskelion place. There… there weren't a lot of survivors after it came down. But you were one of them."

Aunt May smiled at me then, bright and grateful, all crow's feet around her eyes. But there was something else behind it. A fretting she couldn't fully hide.

Realizing that maybe, now that I was awake, a nurse or doctor should be informed. It was a moment of cold rationality between all my ragged thoughts. I reached for the call button attached to a cord next to my gurney (I was so familiar with hospitals at this point I didn't need to ask what it was for), but Aunt May took my hand before I could grab it. "No, it can wait, Mia. It's okay."

I didn't know why she said it. In my emotionally-compromised, addled brain, I thought maybe Aunt May wasn't concerned for my health. That she didn't want anyone to check on me. But afterwards, I'd realize another intention; I was not in the emotional state to be facing any medical personnel. Or strangers.

To just have this private moment together, uninterrupted.

"Where's Peter?" I asked finally, realizing that someone was missing to all of this.

"In the cafeteria, having lunch," Aunt May said with a slight shrug. Nothing to worry about. "I wanted Peter to get out and get some fresh air. He's been hovering over you ever since we got here yesterday." Seeing my questioning look, May added, "We're in St. Mary's General Hospital, just outside of Baltimore. It took the hospital a while to contact us — the whole… event has left them overwhelmed, and they couldn't immediately identify you. No name or fingerprints, apparently.

"Oh." I said, frowning slightly. I could just barely remember my most recent memories. Agent Thirteen. She'd gotten me to the paramedics — had she not said who I was? Maybe to protect me. To keep me from being fully associated with the Triskelion destruction. I felt my eyes tear up again. She'd helped me. She didn't have to, but she did.

It was then, I really started to feel the ache in my whole body. My broken wrist. The busted ear drum. All those cracked ribs. The millions of cuts and bruises I sustained. I looked down at my hands, opening my palms to reveal the red lines of where all those glass shards had cut me. A messy, chaotic hatchwork of forming scars. I was unsure if they would ever face.

My eyes drew up to my fingertips — the smooth surface from where my fingerprints had once been. Now burned off. I rubbed them together, considering deeply. "How did they know to call you, then?"

"They didn't. It was Steven who called me; he woke up in the hospital, too."

My heart lurched. Until now, I'd forgotten about Steve. The last time I saw him, he'd been in the helicarrier, trapped with the Winter Soldier. "He's okay?"

"He's fine," Aunt May held up her hands, as I tried to straighten up. She pushed me gently back down again. "Beat up worse than you, if that's even possible. But alive. I spoke with him earlier. He says he'll come see you as soon as the doctors release him." Aunt May paused. "Although I wouldn't put it past him to go AWOL…"

I laughed a little at that, but the action hurt my ribs and I grimaced. So Steve had survived. Somehow. Maybe the others did, too. And the Winter Soldier —

No. I cut that thought off before it could get any further.

"H-has school started yet?" For some insane reason, that was the first concern that popped into my head. I'd already missed so much school because of the Crucible. I didn't want to miss more because of this.

"It started yesterday. But I don't want you to worry about that, okay?" Aunt May added with a slight intensity, leaning in and hugging me again. "The school understands we're having a family emergency. I can work it out with them. You worry about yourself for now, alright?"

"Yeah," I whispered, leaning into the hug, too weak to return it. I was both disappointed and glad; I wanted normalcy, but school was, perhaps, too normal at the moment. Still hugging her, something else occurred to me. A conversation I started, but never finished. "Aunt May, there's something I want to tell you. Something important."

"Is there something wrong?"

The thought overwhelmed me and another sob started to rise in my chest. It felt so long ago, and I'd been so afraid at the time — not realizing that it wouldn't be nearly as bad as what I had yet to experience. My first conversation with Agent Thirteen had gone badly, but I tried to make the best of it. Tried to head the problem off at the pass.

But after everything that happened, I'd forgotten about it. Now, it had returned. A sob broke free and I clenched my fists — a mistake. My right hand twinged badly at the action. I couldn't say anything for a minute, needing to let the crying spell pass before I could speak again.

When Aunt May pulled back, her face a mask of confusion, my head hung in shame. "I lied to you. I didn't tell you everything."

"What do you mean?" Aunt May asked, her voice low but concerned. She reached up to tuck a lock of hair behind my head. I noticed then my hair was braided over one shoulder. The sight sent a flash of pain behind my eyes, and I winced. "Honey, what're you talking about?"

"Do you remember that text I sent you?" I asked, wiping at my face. Taking deep, shuddering breaths, I managed to calm myself down a little, just enough to talk clearly between shakey sobs.

"Yeah," Aunt May said, tilting her head slightly, pursing her lips. "You said you wanted to tell me something important. But not urgent, you said. Does it have to do with what happened?"

I almost laughed, but it would've been entirely humorless. Not urgent. How wrong I was. "S-sort of." I had to stifle a sob before it could overtake me. I shook my head, rubbing away more tears. "Not exactly, but — it's why I couldn't get away. Why I got caught up in it."

"Oh?"

Inhaling deeply through my nose (not a good plan — all stuffed up) I steeled my nerves. This was not how I imagined breaking the news to Aunt May, but right now I could think of nothing else. I'd learned the hard way what happened when I wasn't honest. Steve had been a close call. I'd lost Dmitri entirely.

Dmitri…

The pain of his memory, watching him step into that helicopter with the Chairman, sent another aching wave through my head. I had to let it pass before I had the strength to speak. All the while, Aunt May remained silent, waiting ever patient for me, hand stroking one arm. A sudden fear gripped me, and I hugged Stitch close to my chest as I finally spoke.

"I should've told you this a long time ago," I began, closing my eyes because it was easier than watching the inevitable dismay that would dawn on Aunt May's face. "During Christmas. Or before that. When I first got back home. But…" I shook my head, getting distracted with explanations, excuses. I just had to go for it. Rip the band-aid off.

"...I'm a super soldier." The words left me like I'd been winded. "I'm Rebel Columbia."

I heard, rather than saw, Aunt May's response. A quick, soft sigh. Little more than an exhale. The rubbing on my arm stopped, leaving a cold spot in its wake. My entire body tensed, aching and tired, waiting for the fallout to hit.

"I know."

My eyes flew open. "What?"

Head snapping up, I gaped at Aunt May, who seemed completely unsurprised, perhaps even amused by my reaction. "I know, Mia. I've known for a while."

"W-wh — but — how —"

"Amelia, sweetheart, do I look like I was born yesterday?" Aunt May asked, giving me a reproachful look, but it was more endearing than critical. "I knew the moment you came home to us that something different was about you. Then all that stuff during Christmas happened, with those people chasing you coming back. And then Steven showing up? I can put two and two together."

My wretchedness vanished in sheer shock. I stopped crying almost immediately, but still choked on my words. "B-but you never said anything…?"

"I was waiting for you to tell me," Aunt May said with a slight shrug. "Steven and I talked about it — don't give me that look."

"You talked about me behind my back?"

"Not behind your back, Amelia," Aunt May shook her head, snorting slightly at the accusation. "Did you think the only time I ever spoke to Steven when you were there? We talked to each other like two parents would. He had questions about you and I had some about him. We talked about you just like your mother and I did."

"...Oh." Now I felt really dumb for assuming it. Why wouldn't Steve and May talk to each other, as responsible adults would? Idiot. "And he told you what I was?"

I recalled past conversations with Steve; he knew I was Rebel Columbia, but had given no indication he would've told anyone else. More afraid than I cared to admit, I was suddenly worried that maybe he'd lied, or gone back on his word. He wouldn't do that… would he?

"No, but he told me about himself and I had to admit," Aunt May replied, raising her eyebrows at me in a knowing look. "It sounded very familiar. You tried to hide it, I know, but you two have a lot more in common than you realize."

An uncomfortable itch crept up my spine at that. "He's… he's not my dad, either."

"Hm," Aunt May pressed her lips together. Not altogether surprised, but not expecting that, either. "I had an instinct about that, too."

"You never said anything."

"No. I wondered about it all the time; at first I thought it might've been a sure thing, but as it went along, I could see you were doubtful, and you're not a dumb kid, Mia. But I could also see how much you improved with him around. You were doing better in school, you seemed happier, more energetic — I didn't want to ruin that by saying anything. Even if he wasn't your father, he was a good male role model for you. And God knows you don't have enough of them lying around."

I made a face at her word choice. Male role model? Yeesh. "You sound like the guidance counselor."

"Am I wrong?" Aunt May quirked an eyebrow at me.

I was too weak to withstand her look for long. I sagged, defeated. "...No."

It was alarming, how much Aunt May saw through me. I'd never said aloud or expressed how much I wanted Steve to stay. Hell, I thought May would have assumed I wanted him gone, considering how the whole birthday thing went. I didn't even notice the thing about my grades, or my general behavior, had changed with Steve around. But she was right about commenting on it; if I had noticed sooner, it would've made me too self-conscious, and possibly ruin the effect.

"Now I have a question for you. Does Peter know?" Aunt May asked. At the reminder, I flushed, then nodded silently. She huffed slightly, smirking slightly, as though she were impressed. "I should've guessed. Oh, that boy… Peter has such an honest face, you know, but he's a lot better at keeping secrets than I thought."

Of course Peter knew. It was then that it hit me that if Aunt May knew I was Rebel Columbia, then she might know that Peter was Spider-Man… I pressed my lips together and smiled thinly. Just because Aunt May figured me out didn't mean I was going to rat out Peter. "You didn't ask him about it?"

"I tried. Peter never gave me a straight answer. I thought maybe he really didn't have a clue. I should have considered the possibility that you two were in deeper cahoots," Aunt May said in a conspiratorial whisper, bopping my nose with the tip of her finger. Her tone was light but I could still hear the chastising, the disappointment at not having been told. "But I'm glad you told someone. Peter was a good choice."

Well, it was nice to have her approval on one thing. To be honest, given my last conversation with Peter, and everything that followed, I was worried Peter would spill the beans for my sake. I wouldn't have blamed him if he did. If there was any time to be opening secrets, life endangerment was a good one.

"And Rebel Columbia?" I asked at length, wondering if I wanted to continue pursuing this topic. This entire conversation had been a rollercoaster of emotions and surprises — but not in the way I expected.

"There's only so many female super soldiers running around," May pointed out, making a funny face. It almost made me smile, until she said, "I also found that shield under your bed when I was vacuuming your room once. Not the best hiding spot, Amelia."

Oh, Jesus. I dropped my head into one hand. To think I was so clever… Once more, I repeated, "I can't believe you never said anything."

"Oh, I wanted to, believe me," Aunt May laughed a little, in a I-have-many-regrets sort of way. Then she placed a hand on my blanketed knee, and added in a gentler tone, "But I knew you weren't actively pursuing it. That shield was dusty. You weren't breaking curfew, you weren't getting hurt. I could see how much you wanted to have a normal life, Mia. That's why I didn't say anything. I hoped you would tell me when you were ready, but for the time being I was satisfied with what I knew, and that I could help you keep that life. At least, I thought I could, until recently."

The humor of the situation died then. A silence fell over the conversation, and neither of us spoke for a long moment. My eyes drew to the TV, seeking a distraction, unsure of what to say. The news segment had moved on to a video on an animal rescue; I swallowed thickly, feeling that burning behind my eyes return.

I was still processing the sheer enormity of what had been the rise of HYDRA. I wasn't even entirely sure we'd won; all I knew was that I was alive. So was Steve and Natasha. I assumed Sam was, too, but I couldn't be sure… what happened with SHIELD? What happened to Pierce, Rumlow, the Winter Soldier? I was highly aware that many had died; that I was lucky to have gotten out of it in one piece.

Never mind the part I had to play in all of it.

"Am I in trouble?" I asked quietly, my shoulders tensing again.

Aunt May didn't answer me for a long moment. She sat on the edge of the bed, hand on my knee, finger tapping as she contemplated. I had no idea what she was thinking; May kept her face carefully neutral.

"I don't know," Aunt May admitted at length, in a reluctant sigh. It sounded almost like a defeat, like a failure, and it occurred to me just how human she was; that it pained her not to have an answer, not to know for sure, not being able to ensure it. May inhaled through her nose and added, "What I do know, is that you're safe. Those people that wanted to hurt you, to… to use you... They're not coming after you anymore. SHIELD, or HYDRA, whatever it was… they're gone now. Steven promised me that."

My eyes glanced at the TV again. It wasn't just SHIELD I was worried about anymore. Vision blurring, my bottom lip trembled as I whispered, "I-I did a lot of bad things, May."

"It wasn't your fault, Amelia," Aunt May bit her lip, tensing slightly at those words. Maybe she was surprised, or knew but didn't expect me to say it. Still she lowered her tone lowering to match mine. But more solid, resolute. I risked a glance at her and jolted slightly when our gazes met. Aunt May stared at me, unblinking. "Don't for one second believe that I'm angry or blaming you for what happened. It's not your fault. You're just a kid. And I know there might be... legal problems ahead, but I have your back, okay? No one's messing with my kids."

Tears sprung anew, fragile and heartened, and as I wiped at my now-raw cheeks, I heard footsteps coming down the hall outside. The door was closed, and I'd been lowkey aware of the activity outside. Rolling carts and stretchers and a thousand different feet. But these footsteps, I recognized. The casual, flippant slaps of too-loose Chuck Taylors on tile.

The door opened, and Peter came to an abrupt stop halfway through. He stared at us — at me — in undisguised shock. I, too, was surprised to see him — or rather the way Peter looked. His shirt was inside out. Two different colored socks. Sweatpants instead of jeans. His hair was uncombed, hanging in front of his face, dark bags under his eyes.

He looked like he hadn't slept in days. Maybe he hadn't. Aunt May looked tired but still seemed put-together. It was Peter who showed all the stress they'd both been under.

I could only imagine what that must have been like. Waiting at home for any news, any word. Unable to do anything, go anywhere. Feeling stupid for not knowing anything, the sheer helplessness, the frustration that came with it. Never mind the paranoia that would have come if SHIELD or any other police came knocking…

"Hey, Maverick," I said, smiling weakly at him. A few tears still trailed down my face.

"Mia! Y-you're awake!" It took a second for Peter to recover, and in that instant a glorious smile lit up his face — all that tiredness vanishing in an instant.

As he rushed over, something hit the floor: a plastic container filled with a club sandwich, immediately abandoned when Peter nearly tackled me in a hug. Normally, something I could handle. Only I wasn't at full health, and Peter was much, much stronger than me.

The impact hit me like a bus, and I groaned in complaint. "O-okay, buddy, I'm not.. I'm not that awake…"

"Oh, yikes, sorry," Peter winced, pulling back with his hands up. Aunt May had a hand on his shoulder, and he glanced at her before looking back to me. "Oh, man, did I hurt you? I'm so sorry."

"F-fine," I said, wheezing a little as I flopped back onto my pillow. I didn't want Peter to start fretting, so I added, "Feel a lot better now that you're here."

Peter grinned again, at once put at ease.

"Oh?" Aunt May's eyebrows shot up in mock offense. "What am I? Chopped liver?"

We burst into laughter, which immediately ended with me in pain, clutching my chest. Crying hurt. Laughing hurt. Just breathing deeply hurt my ribs. I wasn't going to win today.

"You really had us going for a second," Peter said, once I caught my breath again. "We had no idea what had happened. And then the Triskelion attack was on the news… You should've seen how angry May got when I told her you threw away your phone. I know you told me not to go to DC, but it was May who almost went over there."

Aunt May smacked his arm. "Hey, you!"

"What? It's true!" Peter flinched and held up his hands in surrender, laughing a little and shaking his head. It was strange to be laughing about it, to think it was funny — but it was a good kind of strange. My face was starting to hurt from all the smiling.

"HYDRA wouldn't have stood a chance," I said, shoulders shaking in stifled giggles. It was the best I could manage without hurting myself further. Aunt May vs HYDRA? No question who'd win that one. I poked Peter's arm and said, "If it hadn't been for you and your little trick with the shield, I probably wouldn't have made it as far as I did."

"Oh, ah, ha-ha," Peter blanched a little, his smile getting forced and a little panicked. He glanced at Aunt May and then back at me. He quickly scratched the back of his head, scrunching up his face and meeting no one's eyes. "I-I've got no idea what you're talking about…"

Aunt May closed her eyes and sighed. I couldn't suppress a wincing smile as I said, "It's okay, Peter. She knows."

"She — she does?" Peter went very still, his head switching from me to Aunt May then back to me. He didn't blink. A deer in the headlights, too afraid to move or else he'd get hit. "You mean — about the shield and — and the serum and — and breaking into Stark Tower — ?"

"Stark Tower?" Aunt May frowned, and I quickly shook my head, eyes widening.

"It's nothing!" I said, and pinched Peter when Aunt May was too busy frowning at me. Peter yelped, which distracted May as I quickly added, "Just an inside joke. And yes, she knows. About everything. The shield. The super soldier stuff. Steve. All of that. May figured it out on her own, Peter."

Aunt May seemed a little proud at that. I threw a pointed look at Peter just as he opened his mouth. Don't blow it. Aunt May didn't know about Spider-Man and it wasn't my secret to tell. But Peter might just ruin it for himself if he wasn't careful.

"And you're… okay with that?" Peter asked finally, rubbing his sore arm.

"I didn't really have a choice," I replied, and Aunt May gave me a significant look. I quailed a little, wincing. "But… yeah, I'm okay with it. Actually, it feels… better now. A relief, to be honest. I don't want to tell the whole world, but you guys? It's enough."

Especially considering what I still had to face. So many questions were still up in the air. It would be easier without having to dance around all the awful secrets because of Aunt May. Now she knew. Everyone in on the secret. Everyone on the same page. The same side.

"We'll get through this, just like we got through everything before." Aunt May added, leaning in to stroke my cheek. Maybe she sensed the sudden anxiety I felt. "You're not alone."

~o~

The next few days passed by in a haze.

After Peter us, a nurse came in shortly afterwards, and gave me an update on my medical situation. Some of it I already knew: four cracked ribs on either side, a burst eardrum and temporary deafness, broken wrist and bruised knee. Lacerations on my hands and feet. Stitching on my neck from where I'd taken a knife. Other things I didn't know about: substantial blood loss, severe dehydration (ironically enough), lack of food or nutrients leading to sudden weight decrease. I'd lost fifteen pounds, and I was suffering for it. There was a torn ligament in one shoulder and I had a sustained some head trauma — so far I'd displayed no ill-effects aside from mild disorientation, sleepiness and headaches.

The nurse expressed concern, that some of my injuries were older and had already been treated, but not by any hospital. I didn't want to tell her the truth, that I was patched up by some underground medics of an evil organization that was all over the news now.

There was also the fact that I apparently didn't respond to any pain medication; it was difficult to convince her, and later the doctor in charge, that I didn't want it. It was only with Aunt May's approval did they finally relent. No point in charging us for something that wasn't going to do any good.

I then had to remain awake for roughly the next twenty-four hours to make sure I wouldn't suffer any other effects from the concussion; a rather uncomfortable experience, considering I was so exhausted that it wouldn't take more than closing my eyes to fall asleep.

Food, TV, and company kept me awake.

Aunt May and Peter took turns staying up with me. Peter with the day shift, Aunt May with the night. Low-key damage control was made; calling Ned and MJ to let them know I was alright. Getting caught up on some of the drama already starting at school. Hearing how Ned finally got first chair in clarinet in band; MJ talking about her ongoing deep-dive into the SHIELD/HYDRA file leak, and all the conspiracies that have been blown wide open because of it.

They didn't know everything. Not what I did, not everything I learned. As far as they knew, Steve was still my dad; I hadn't spoken to him yet, hadn't seen him at all, but I figured it was a safe bet to keep until notified otherwise.

Admittedly, I was nervous to see him again. Apprehensive, even. What I remembered on the helicarrier was a blur; anything before that, between then and me getting captured by Pierce, was even more of a mystery. I remembered a dark garage, a sedan parked on a street… and that was it. The memories were still coming, so I was sure I'd remember eventually.

But I was afraid of what I might discover. I hoped I knew enough when Steve showed up.

What I probably should've been concerned about was the FBI, who were no doubt waiting for me to wake up, too. For the first day, I didn't see any police; I almost forgot about them, even as I watched the news the following day, and got caught up on the current political situation. A part of me couldn't quite believe what I heard.

"...Update on the current Congressional Hearing regarding the destruction of SHIELD. Today, former KGB spy Natasha Romanov, also known by the alias Black Widow, stood trial today at this hearing, and made a bold statement in front of the United States Department of Defense."

The video cut to a camera recording the event. It seemed live, but the time stamp said it had happened earlier this morning. The film was slightly shaky as the cameraman zoomed in to focus on the Deputy Chairman, who was now speaking. He sat at one end of a round table, surrounded by other members of his department. On the opposite end, Natasha, looking pristine in a tailored but subdued dark suit and straight red hair. Her face was a mask of quiet intensity as the man spoke in a disparaging tone:

"Agent, you should know that there are some on this committee who feel, given your service record, both for this country and against it, that you belong in a penitentiary. Not mouthing off on Capitol Hill."

The camera cut to Natasha, who didn't say anything at first. Only a smirk. Then: "You're not going to put me in a prison. You're not going to put any of us in a prison. You know why?"

The Deputy Chairman rolled his eyes, deciding to humor her. "Do enlighten us."

"Because you need us." Natasha Romanov said without missing a beat. "Yes, the world is a vulnerable place, and yes, we help make it that way. But we're also the ones best qualified to defend it. So if you want to arrest me, arrest me. You'll know where to find me."

With that, Natasha stood up, to a fanfare of camera flashes and raised questions from the reporters that surrounded the round table on all sides. The camera tried to follow her, but Natasha had already passed through the wall of reporters, who split away to let her pass. Like Moses parting the Red Sea.

I gaped, even as the news cut back to the anchorwoman, who continued to report on the rest of the hearing. I didn't fully understand the consequences of what this hearing would mean, but I knew what a challenge was when I saw it. Whether or not the US government arrested the Black Widow, or Captain America, or anyone else — they'd still need them. And they'd be released just to handle the world's next problems.

It was inevitable.

"She means it, you know," A voice said, making me jump. My head swiveled to see Steve leaning against the open doorway, arms folded across his chest. He nodded towards the TV. "No one's going to arrest us. Not me. And not you."

I blinked at him, stunned. For a moment, speechless.

If Peter's appearance had surprised me, then Steve left me shaken. Although he was upright and walking, there was a significant bruising on his right cheek, stitching on the left side of his mouth. There was light swelling, probably already having gone down from whatever it was before. Aunt May had said Steve had it worse than me; but right away I couldn't tell. Not until he moved.

"Steve —" I began, suddenly lurching forward, trying to pull my legs out from under the blankets.

But Steve just held up a hand, stopping me before I could put my feet on the floor. "No, it's alright, don't get up. I'm on the understanding that you should be getting as much rest as possible."

He spoke as he ambled over, taking a seat in the chair next to the bed. My throat was all locked up, unable to speak as I watched him with wary eyes, moving from one end of the room to the other. Steve had a slight limp, and grimaced when he sat down. When Steve met my gaze again, he seemed to jolt at my wide-eyed look, and quickly said, "I'm alright, too! Just took some bad hits, that's all."

I was afraid to ask. I did anyways. "W-what kind of bad hits?"

Aunt May said he had it worse. I had to know.

"Oh, just…" Steve leaned back in his seat, maybe trying to play it off casual, although his expression was a little too strained for it to work. "Got shot in the leg. Took another bullet here." He tapped on a spot of his upper abdomen, then flinched. "And a knife."

I didn't need a mirror to know the blood had just drained out of my face. I suddenly felt light-headed, nauseous. "... Me?"

Only too late, did Steve seem to realize his mistake. He paused, and shook his head fast, reaching out to touch my arm. "No, no, it wasn't you, Mia. I swear. It was… someone else did this to me."

I looked away, swallowing thickly. I didn't have to ask who.

My stomach still roiled with discomfort. Deciding to shift the topic, I said, "So, is it true, then? All of SHIELD's files are out in the open now?"

Among the many news topics explored, that had been one of them. Apparently, in the turmoil of the Triskelion attack, every single file, image, and bit of data SHIELD ever had was now on the Internet — free to find and read by anyone. It was why Natasha Romanov was facing public scrutiny; her name, her identity, was completely exposed. Her time working for the KGB. Rumors of some strange Red Room facility. Every illicit action she ever made, before and after she joined the Avengers.

There was no doubt in my mind that my name was somewhere in that data leak, too.

"Yes, as far as I know," Steve replied, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, fists propping his chin. "Natasha's very thorough, as you can imagine. She's the one who did it. Exposed SHIELD. Razed it to the ground and salted the earth behind her. It won't be coming back."

From the sound of it, that had been Steve's intention. "You're not afraid of what they'll find on you?"

Steve thought about it for a long moment. "Can't say there's much I'm ashamed of, or anything I did that I won't defend. I won't say I'm not uncomfortable with it, but it had to be done. I'll get my privacy back eventually."

I glanced at the TV again. I'd been keeping an eye on the news — and Twitter, since that was where it was first uploaded — looking for any hint of my identity getting blown out of the water. That any second, reports and police would come rushing in with questions and arrest warrants.

"You don't have to worry, Mia," Steve added, intuiting my fears. "SHIELD's file on Rebel Columbia was only created a few months ago. It was about two inches long. They had no known aliases for her."

I pursed my lips, unsatisfied. "But SHIELD must have a file. They were watching me."

"Yeah, SHIELD has a file on Amelia Fletcher." Steve nodded, not appearing alarmed by this. His voice remained even, if a little serious, as he said, "They also have a file on my mailman, on a waitress that once took my order before the Incident, on a taxi driver that I hailed back in Brooklyn. Your connection to me won't be considered unusual when they marked every Tom, Dick, and Harry I ever so much as blinked at. And they have files on millions of other people — a lot of them richer and more famous than either of us. Your name is just another in a long list of SHIELD's surveillance violations."

I thought about that answer for a long moment. "Peter and Aunt May will be on that list."

Steve gave another short nod. When he looked at me, his brow pinched slightly, perhaps guessing I was still doubtful. A small muscle twitched in his jaw, and he said, "They won't be dragged into this. Not if I have anything to do about it."

Now it was my turn to nod, heaving a sigh. It was good to hear, I had to admit. I trusted Steve to protect us, even if I wasn't fully confident it would work. He'd do his best.

It eased the stress I'd been feeling, the dread that had been looming over my head like Damocles' sword.

"Is everyone else okay?" I asked him, finding the strength to look at Steve again. "Sam? Did I hurt them, too?"

"Sam's fine," Steve said, then chuckled as if he just thought of an inside joke. He just shook his head. "They're all fine. You didn't hurt them in any way that they couldn't recover from. We lost a lot of people when the Triskelion fell. But their sacrifice wasn't in vain. Pierce is dead, and most of HYDRA fell with him. Whatever remains, we'll be there to pick up and root them out."

I wasn't sure if that was supposed to make me feel better. I might've killed people, but their deaths weren't meaningless. Maybe that was the best I could hope for, all things considered. Another thought occurred to me then, and I fiddled with my thumbs, trying to work up the courage to speak. Of all the things I wanted to talk about, this would be the hardest one.

"What about…" My tongue felt like cement in my mouth. Throat dry as sandpaper. Steve met my gaze with curiosity, and I hunched my shoulders and focused on a corner of the wall instead. "... You know."

"Oh." Steve said, his chin lifting as he understood. "Right. Him. I'm not sure. We both fell into the river after the helicarriers failed. I think… I think he pulled me out. Far as I know, he's in the wind."

My only response was a blink. The Winter Soldier was still alive.

Bucky was still alive.

A long moment of silence.

"How much do you remember?" Steve was the first to break the silence, and with a real kicker, too. "Before Agent Thirteen found you?"

"A little bit," I said, having to think about it. "I remember the… the helicarrier battle. Most of it. Kind of in pieces but… I remember your speech over the radio. A-and there was a fight in this glass chamber. Then I got thrown out. Falling. Sam caught me," I almost laughed a little, feeling terrible for what I did to him. "He must think I'm a pain in the ass."

"Ah, I wouldn't put it like that," Steve chuckled, shaking his head. "What about before that, the causeway?"

"Causeway?"

"I —" Steve frowned. "We found you in a parking garage. You don't remember calling us?"

"I called you?" That sick feeling was back. Nothing Steve said sounded familiar. I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing my hands to my temples, head aching. "The last thing I remember before all of that was Pierce's house. He lured me into this trap, activated my trigger phrase. I —" I never told him. Steve had no idea. I looked up at him then, breath shaking as tears started to slip down my face. "I'm sorry I never told you."

The tears came down stronger and I hid my face in my arms, trying to stop myself. But these days were not meant for hiding emotions; the effort was pointless. God, I was just a wreck. The best I could do was not make it loud, which only helped slightly with the extreme embarrassment I now felt for bursting into tears in front of Steve.

"Hey, easy now," The mattress dipped next to me, a warm arm wrapping around my shoulder and bringing me in. Steve was a solid, but gentle to lean against. I felt his voice in his chest, as much as I heard it: "I'm not angry at you. From what it looks like, you didn't tell anyone, did you?" When I shook my head in response, Steve continued, "That's what I figured. Do I wish you had told me? Of course. But what happened wasn't your fault."

"Aunt May keeps saying that." I whispered, hiccuping.

"Well, sounds like she might be onto something," Steve said lightly. "You're stronger than you know, Mia. HYDRA can't destroy all of you."

"You don't know that."

"I think maybe I do," Steve said, and I felt him shifted as he pulled something from his pocket. Opening my eyes, I wiped away the tears to see what he had presented before me.

In the palm of his hand lied a scratched up little compass. I stared at it, aghast, as Steve said, "Agent Thirteen said you had this clutched in your hand when you passed out on her. You had it with you the whole time. She said you saved her life, Mia."

Unable to say anything, I plucked it from his hand, flipping open the cap. The needle swiveled back and forth before settling on north. I swallowed at my dry throat, sweeping my thumb over the compass glass. "He recognized it."

The words were out of my mouth before I could give it a second thought. The memory had come all of a sudden. First, the fight in Pierce's home, when the compass had given the Winter Soldier pause. Then in the Vault, and again in the helicarrier, when the compass' presence seemed to confound him. I didn't notice Steve going still next to me as I continued offhand, "Not at first. But he'd seen it before. Maybe not where or when. But he knew it."

"That's…" Steve's sentence drifted, and there was an oddly raw note to it. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Are you sure?"

The Winter Soldier's face was clear in my mind. Each snippet, showing the way his eyes worked over the compass, unblinking, intense. "Yes, I'm sure."

Steve's only response was a low hum, a noncommittal sound. I didn't hear it, too lost in my own thoughts. Studying the compass, more came back to me. Pierce talking to the Winter Soldier. I remembered watching the Winter Soldier's face turning pale, gaunt, tortured. But no one was hurting him. It was Pierce, speaking — and the Winter Soldier, looking at me. Only at me.

The scene shifted. The fight in the data chamber. Hanging over a jagged hole, thousands of feet over the Potomac. Steve, watching me — both of us — as he smiled a strange smile.

And it hit me.

"How did you know he was my father?"

Steve inhaled sharply. "You already knew?"

"I figured it out," I said, and it took me a second to remember how. "Diana Hawkins. I stole her notebook from her office before SHIELD could get it. She was looking into the Winter Soldier. She knew more about him than anyone — she had real evidence." I finally lifted my head to look at Steve again, eyes wide and pleading. "How did you know?"

"I— " Steve shook his head, apparently overwhelmed by the jumble of words I just spat out. To be honest, I was starting to get a little frantic, so I didn't blame him. "Nat and I found a secret HYDRA bunker. It was— " he struggled to put it into words. "A lot to take in. I met an… old friend there, but I didn't know for sure. Not until I saw you two standing side by side. Then it finally made sense to me."

"Oh."

"Is that why you called me so late at night?"

I nodded slowly. "It was right before Pierce got to me."

"Ah," Steve said, taking this in. His expression turned serious for a moment, then distant, as his eyes drew to the middle-distance. "I think he was trying to protect you."

"Who?" I blinked, confused. "Pierce?"

"What? No, I mean — Bucky," The name seemed like it hurt to say; Steve's brow pinched, his expression shifting to something akin to pain, or even regret. It was gone the next moment, when he tilted his head down to look at me. "There was a moment, at the causeway — he saved your life. Then again, when you were trapped under the debris. He didn't have to, but he did. Just like he did for me."

I frowned. "His idea of saving me was throwing me off a helicarrier."

"Y-yeah." Steve faltered. "That's not — it wasn't — "

"It's fine." I said quietly, looking back down at the compass. "You think he's still in there, somewhere."

"Of course I do." Steve said, and he almost sounded affronted. But that was the extent of it. He squeezed me gently, adding, "Just like you were."

Any emotional I might've had died before it could ever reach the surface. I didn't know what to think of that. It was nice to think that maybe Bucky still existed after everything he'd done as the Winter Soldier. I was a sign of hope that it wasn't permanent. But I also hadn't been under for seventy-odd years. My chances of breaking protocol had been a lot better from the start.

But I didn't want to say that. A part of me believed in what Steve did. Certainly, the Winter Soldier was not completely impervious. I'd seen what Pierce had done to him. Someone was still under there.

I just wasn't entirely convinced it was Bucky.

"What was he like?" I asked, clicking the compass closed. Open again. Closed. The sound helped. "From before."

Steve had never talked about him. We didn't have much of a chance to, I supposed. The panic attack certainly hadn't made it easy, either. But I figured now was as good a chance I was going to get, to finally hear things from Steve's point of view.

"Bucky?" Steve asked, and inhaled through his nose, eyes cast upwards as he searched his thoughts. "He was my best friend. My brother, really, in all but blood. We did everything together. Every dumb thing I ever did as a kid, you could count on him being there. I think history book's put him in a this position where he was always holding me back, or keeping me from doing something stupid,"

Steve just chuckled to himself, shaking his head, and added in an undertone, as if sharing a secret: "If only they knew half the dumb things we did were his idea."

"Bucky once told me he wasn't going to help me break the law to get into the Army. But he still gave me a lift to all the recruitment fairs, and was always waiting outside when I got kicked out. Always an 'I told you so'," Steve continued, that same wistful smile on his face. "He had this great poker face, too. But he had this small tell where he'd scrunch his nose, just for a second."

Steve looked down at me, seeming to fight a grin. A little wink. "You've got the same tell, by the way."

Without thinking, I scrunched my nose. An instinctive reaction of disgust — which immediately got a laugh out of Steve.

Indignant, and trying desperately to recover, I said, "What? I do not have a tell!"

"Hmm," Steve made a face, tilting his head just a quarter to the left. "I've got some bad news for you, Mia."

Now I was overthinking everything; trying to remember the last time I scrunched my nose around Steve; but it didn't occur to me. Of course I wouldn't. If I knew I had a tell, I wouldn't have been so careless to flex it around Steve.

Maybe I was more offended at just what it meant. Not like I needed more evidence to know Bucky Barnes was my father, but that little detail was more of a connection I had to the man Steve knew than anything before. And I didn't want to say that it might've touched me. Just a little.

Hm. Maybe that's how Mom always knew I was lying…

"Well," I said, sniffing and straightening. I decided to go for neutral territory. "At least we know for sure now. Who he is. Who I am."

"I know it's not what you expected, Mia," Steve said, bowing his head and rubbing his brow.

Understatement of the year, I wanted to say. And almost did, until Steve met my gaze again.

His blue eyes were sure and unblinking. "Whatever, wherever Bucky is now, it's not going to make either of our lives easier. But I want you to know it doesn't change anything." He smiled. "I may have known you weren't my kid, but I always knew you were family."

Pressing my lips together, I could only hide the smile for a few seconds. Inevitably, my lips quirked upwards. Something in my heart ached at those words; something bittersweet, pulling in either direction. A relief, an affection. More emotion than what I could put into words.

"Thank you," I whispered. It was the best I could do. Clumsy word choice, but at least it expressed my sincere gratitude.

Steve smiled back, and for a single blissful moment, everything felt perfect. I watched our shadows play against the wall in front of us, illuminated by the golden sunshine at our backs. My frame was smaller, hunched, but the sunlight seemed to radiate out like halos around our heads. In that moment, the smell of the hospital didn't bother me; the TV was just noise in the background.

I was happy.

Another memory flashed through my head. Rich carpet, stained with blood.

And then I wasn't.

"Mia? What's wrong?" Steve asked, when I suddenly went ramrod straight, breath caught in my throat. Heart pounding, eyes wild. I looked around suddenly, looking for a phone or a computer.

A blizzard outside the windows. Acrid gunpowder filling the air.

Dmitri.

"There's something else — something I remembered," I said, tone urgent, my hands starting to shake. I clenched them around the compass, trying to steady my breathing. Trying to quell the sudden influx of memories hitting me at once.

My voice shook. "There's someone I need you to find."