Chapter 2: Violet's Story

Night had fallen by the time Violet return to her Brooklyn apartment. She disarmed the alarm entering through the door. There was a sigh of relief when Violet flicked the lights on and found she was the only one there. Relief was followed by a sullen reaction, realizing the twenty-seven-year-old was always returning to an empty home.

The studio apartment was luckily not the quintessential too-small New York apartment. T'Challa's compassion for Violet led to his generous gift of the apartment. Although he had originally offered her a more luxurious apartment, Violet preferred something she could manage on her own.

After all, T'Challa had done enough.

The apartment had a wall splitting the bedroom area and the dining/living areas. Her queen-sized bed was neatly made and the apartment itself was kept meticulously clean. Having few possessions and items in the apartment luckily allowed the benefit of an always tidy home.

In the dining area sat a lonely bistro table with two chairs; the living room contained a beige love seat, a coffee table, and a small flat screen.

The kitchen was probably the smallest area of the apartment. She had a small stove and a microwave; the cabinets generally maintained Tupperware and a few dishes. The white kitchen island made the space feel more homely.

Violet threw in a freezer meal into the microwave and decided it was time to pack.

She got to her knees and pulled a black duffel bag from underneath the bed. Behind her stood the small drawer and vanity. Violet was practically done packing clothes by the time the microwave DING! went off.

X.X.X.X.X.

The duffel bag sat by the front door as Violet armed the alarm before bed. She took a final look around the apartment before she turned the lights off.

She went into the bathroom and started her nightly routine – brush teeth, mouthwash, wash face, and sleeping pill. Violet stared at herself in the mirror with a trivial shrug. She was wearing an oversized T-shirt with BROOKLYN in bold print. Violet ran her hands through her long brown, curly hair; she thought about the haircut it desperately needed. As also part of her nightly routine, Violet lifted her shirt and stared at her stomach, pinching at her sides and belly, and sighing. Not having been on the run in quite some time meant Violet was gaining weight. Good weight, Violet thought.

Violet pulled back the blue-and-white checkered comforter and climbed into bed. She grabbed her cell phone from the nightstand and read a text message from T'Challa: 5:00 AM.

She set the alarm and put the phone back in its place. Violet immediately felt uncomfortable lying in bed, realizing she would soon be flying to Wakanda to try to help a man she had never met. You could have just told T'Challa "No." You could just stay here. Work in the library. Stay hidden. Live life.

The mental quarrel Violet had with herself did not last long as the sleeping pill won the final battle.

X.X.X.X.X.

Steve Rogers and T'Challa sat in the backseat of a luxury private vehicle. T'Challa was texting on his phone as Steve reviewed information on a small tablet in his large hands. Still not used to modern technology, Steve handled the tablet as if it would break with his touch.

As Steve had not officially been Captain America in quite some time, he let stubble remain on his face and his hair had grown thicker. He wore a dark brown leather jacket with a red T-shirt. If he was not Captain America, there was no point in dressing like a solider anymore.

T'Challa was in his normal all-black attire.

There was an annoyed groan in Steve's chest. T'Challa looked over, smiled, and swiped the tablet's screen to allow Steve back to the information he was reading.

"Thanks," Steve said. "These things are too damn sensitive."

"Of course, captain," T'Challa said. Steve ignored the "captain" nickname and continued through the tablet.

On the screen was an image of Violet. Unknown to Steve, the image was taken from her employee file at the library. Violet's hair was pulled back into a conservative bun and she wore a white button-up.

There was a bit of information below Violet's picture:

Violet Smith

DOB: March 8, 1990

Place of Birth: Unknown

Parent(s):

Mother: Unknown. Asian descent.

Father: Real name unknown. Alias of "Arthur Smith". English descent. Surrey, England.

Enhanced abilities. Origins unknown.

Steve continued to swipe the tablet's screen. "Not too much information on her?" Steve asked with a concerned tone in his voice.

T'Challa did not look at Steve or the tablet. "She is the only one that I know that may be able to assist Barnes." T'Challa put his cell phone away in his coat pocket.

Steve scrolled through and said, "Looks like your notes are missing some details. Six months ago she was picked up from a warehouse in Paris. She remained in Wakanda until she was moved to New York three months ago."

He narrowed his eyes at the small screen and Steve spoke aloud, "No previous addresses. No relatives. No employment history. This girl is a ghost."

Steve turned to T'Challa. "What are her abilities?"

T'Challa breathed, "We are here, captain."

Steve looked up and realized the car had pulled into the hangar. A large, luxurious private plane awaited them.

The men got out of the car and Steve saw a few members of the Dora Milaje waiting to greet them. A couple of men dressed in black suits addressed T'Challa and then carried the bags from the car toward the plane.

Steve nodded his head respectively at the women who stood like statues. They nodded in return and followed Steve and T'Challa up the steps to the plane.

Regardless of his time spent in the modern world, Steve found himself surprised, yet again, by today's luxuries. T'Challa's plane was spacious; its seats were designed like posh recliners.

Members of the Dora Milaje whispered something to T'Challa. Steve continued to stare around the lavish plane as the women moved to the front of the plane.

Violet was revealed sleeping in her seat. She hugged her knees to her chest. Steve wondered why the woman did not take advantage of the recliner-aspect of the seat.

T'Challa approached Violet and lightly tapped her wrist.

She shifted tiredly in her seat. Violet was comfortable dressed in jeans, a T-shirt, and a blue hoodie. She rubbed her eyes and slowly smiled up at T'Challa.

"Took you long enough. I was picked up three hours ago."

T'Challa nodded apologetically. "We had to take precautions. To ensure no one was following you. Or that you would be joining us."

Violet realized suddenly that Captain America was looking at her. She nearly threw herself out of the chair, stumbled and caught herself, and straightened out her messy ponytail.

With a sheepish grin, Violet waved her hand – awkwardly – and said, "Hello, Captain America."

Steve smirked. "Ma'am."

"Ma'am?" Violet laughed. "I think we can just stick with Violet. Or Vi."

"Please call me Steve." Steve reached out to shake Violet's hand. She immediately realized how strong his grip was and giggled uncomfortably.

T'Challa smiled at the two's introduction. "Captain, Violet Smith has agreed to assist with Sergeant Barnes's recovery."

Steve nodded in a thankful way. "I appreciate your help." Violet nodded back.

Steve cocked his head to the side and asked, "I'm still trying to understand how-"

T'Challa quickly cut Steve off: "Ms. Smith is not obligated to explain herself, captain. I can vouch for her abilities and can confirm she will help Barnes."

A Dora Milaje member waved toward T'Challa. T'Challa nodded and turned away from Steve and Violet. "We're about to take off. I suggest you sit." T'Challa turned back to Violet. "It is your choice if you wish to tell the captain your story."

X.X.X.X.X.

T'Challa sat with the women in the front of the plane. They were in silent discussion, occasionally turning back to Steve and Violet.

Steve sat across from Violet. She avoided his gaze, taking a sip from her bottled water.

"I'm sorry if I'm questioning your place here," Steve finally said. Violet looked up, puzzled. Steve continued: "Bucky is my best friend. Like a brother. You being able to help is a godsend. I just…I just wanted to make sure-"

"That he's in good hands. I understand." Violet squished the plastic part of her water bottle. "I'm sorry about T'Challa. He's quite protective of me."

"Are you two…?" Steve asked with amused interest.

Violet let out an uncomfortable "HA" and covered her mouth, seeing the reaction from the Dora Milaje.

Violet giggled. "No. T'Challa is just a friend. He…he saved me little over six months ago."

"Saved you? From what?" Steve inquired.

She pushed her lips together. It was clear she was trying to find the words.

"Long story," Violet breathed. She looked up at Steve. "But how about the cliff notes?"

Steve sat up in his chair with his hands in his lap. Violet shifted in her seat and cleared her throat.

"So…I guess my abilities would be similar to Wanda Maximoff's…"

Steve raised an eyebrow.

Violet continued, "I'm an archivist for the New York Public Library. I've learned a few things about some of you Avengers. Plus T'Challa filled me in a few things." She smiled. "I can manipulate…stuff around me. Not everything? I can move things with my mind. I can sometimes feel…feel danger coming in close. I'm not really sure the true range of my abilities. But one thing I've been good at since I was a teenager was…mind stuff. I don't know what you would call it. But I could listen in on people's thoughts. Not necessarily read their minds. But emotions. See memories. I know it doesn't make a lot of sense. But my powers never have…"

The young woman stared out the window for a second. She took a deep breath. "I once helped a solider fight through his PTSD. Not completely? But enough. I've helped people with Alzheimer's or dementia find their way back. Of course, those are degenerative diseases, so I can't fix them completely…but I can still help find their way back. I'm not explaining this well."

Steve shook his head. "No no. I understand. It's not easy to explain this stuff. How did you get your abilities?

Violet bit her lip and shrugged. "I have no idea. I don't know if I was born like this. Or if it happened. I've been on the run since I can remember. No one really explained anything to me. I just had to learn…"

Violet opened her palms up to Steve. He looked down and watched as a faint gray light emitted from her hands. The light quickly vanished.

"I have this…more active power," Violet explained, cracking her knuckles. This light that shoots from my hands. If I focus hard enough, I can manipulate it into this force. It has quite the punch."

"Do you use these abilities often?" Steve asked.

"Never."

"Why?"

"Well…" Violet thought slowly. "The more I use, the more I put myself at risk." She met Steve's questionable glance. "Risk for exposure. I used to have this enemy. Hell, he can still be out there. He could feel me using my power. The more I used, the more likely he was able to find me."

"Where is he now?"

"Dead. I hope."

"Did T'Challa kill him?" Steve looked back at the Wakandan king. T'Challa was still in conversation with the Dora Milaje.

"I did."

Steve snapped back to Violet. He could not imagine Violet doing something like that.

"Although I have no idea if I did the job," Violet explained. "No body. No evidence. Just a burned-down warehouse in Paris."

The solider leaned in close, elbows on his knees. Steve asked gently, "Whatever your story, I'm grateful you're willing to help Bucky."

Violet nodded in agreement. "I haven't helped someone like that in so long. T'Challa thinks it's best to avoid those types of situations."

Steve suddenly smiled and asked, "How did you avoid SHIELD? I'm sure they would have had an interest in you."

Laughing, Violet sat back in her seat. "Doubtful. Like I said, I don't know what I can do. I have limited knowledge. Plus I never really do anything with my power. Not anymore."

"Who was the first solider you helped?

"The last Black Panther."

His mouth dropped. Steve narrowed his eyes and looked back at T'Challa, then back at Violet.

"What?" Steve asked.

Violet continued, "I lived in Wakanda when I was a teenager. Less than two years. I knew T'Challa, then. He was like the brother I never had. The last Black Panther was in his prime. But he had difficulty coping with…certain events. He was the first person I tried my…thing on. It worked."

"You've lived in Wakanda?" Steve's interest continued to grow.

"I've moved around a lot, like I said," Violet clarified. "T'Challa's father was made aware of my…activities. He had me brought to Wakanda. I didn't live in the village, just in one of their facilities. Out of harm's way. But I was here for a year and a half."

"What forced you to leave?"

"The man who had been hunting me my entire life."

X.X.X.X.X.

T'Challa placed a decorative green blanket over a sleeping Violet. He turned to Steve and the two men moved across the plane to speak quietly.

The two sat across from one another. T'Challa offered Steve a glass of dark whiskey. Steve declined.

"There's a lot she's not telling," Steve noted.

T'Challa nodded. "Her story is complicated. Her life is difficult."

"How can she be helped?"

"She needs to stay hidden." T'Challa filled his glass again. "She knows that, despite her mind magics and her ability to help others, she keeps other safer by withholding her gifts."

"The guy she mentioned," Steve asked softly, "she doesn't sound convinced that the man after her is dead."

"He's dead," T'Challa snapped.

"And if not?" Steve asked. "There's still the big bad out there."

"We will protect her. Wakanda will protect her." T'Challa gripped the glass tightly. "We will destroy any entity that wishes to destroy us."

Steve breathed through his nose, a hint of annoyance rising in his chest. "T'Challa, you need to tell me more about this girl."

T'Challa looked up with a cold glance. "She will help Barnes. After that, if she wishes to tell you more about her struggles, that is her choice. But for now, captain, I would recommend you rest. This is not a short flight."

X.X.X.X.X.