New York City, 2012.

Cartwright

"No fucking way." I muttered to myself as I rolled my cheap, shabby suitcase through JFK, having to push past the scattered crowds of people who were waiting at the arrival gates for their loved ones.

I chewed my lip nervously as I eyed the man holding a sign that bore my surname. He didn't look like a normal professional driver, especially as he was missing the stereotypical driver hat. Instead he looked like a security goon - he wore a crisp white shirt with a black tie, with a very well fitted matte black suit draped around his broad shoulders. I noticed that he even had the earpiece with a black coil hanging down his neck. The only thing missing would be a pair of dark sunglasses. Instead his large brown eyes were scanning the crowd.

My half brother Alex did say he would organise transport for me, but I wasn't expecting this. This had made me too nervous to approach the man. Cartwright wasn't exactly a unique surname, what if this man was for someone else and I embarrassed myself?

"H-hi." I stuttered, anxiety washing over me as I approached the stoic looking man.

"Are you Annabelle Cartwright?" The man asked with a gruff voice as he peered down at me.

"I am." I nodded, as relief washed over me. I was grateful that I didn't have to have the awkward 'are you here for me?' conversation after all.

"Follow me." The man stated and with a very swift move took my suitcase off me. Before I even realised what was happening, the man had popped the handle down and was easily carrying my heavy suitcase without having to wheel it.

I was silent as I followed the man through the airport. I did want to take in the sights of one of the most famous airports in the world, but I was having a hard time keeping an eye on the man as I weaved through the crowds. Before I knew it, he was leading me outdoors to where a sleek black SUV was parked. I went to ask if this was my transport car, but my question was answered by the driver pressing a button on his keys and three short beeps came from the car.

"...how?" I asked quickly, the only words I was able to speak from my mouth as the driver opened the door to the storage compartment at the back of the car.

"You say somethin'?" The driver lazily asked, pausing as he was about to swing my shabby suitcase into the back.

"How did you manage to get this prime car spot at JFK, of all airports? Like you just parked right outside the doors and were able to walk in? What the hell, how is that even a thing? Even at crappy airports in bumfuck nowhere, you still only manage to get a shitty carspot ten million kilometres away that you need to pay through the nose for." I asked, my personality starting to shine through now that my nerves and anxiety were beginning to fade.

"Perks of the job." He shrugged with a big grin on his face.

I put my hand on the door of the SUV and was about to ask about car passenger etiquette in America - was it expected for passengers to sit in the back or the front? But I assumed based on every piece of American pop culture I had ever seen, the back seat was the safe bet.

"So uh, I take it you know where we're going, right? It's not like I can give directions. I can't be like 'yo, so go down half a mile down sixth avenue, then chuck a hard right at tenth avenue, and then two miles down turn left at sixty ninth avenue and your destination will be on the right'" I chuckled nervously, finding myself rambling too much by the end. A bad habit of mine.

The driver didn't react to my joke. I did notice that he looked at me through his mirror but kept his face sober as he eyed me briefly before putting his attention back onto the road.

I eyed my reflection in the hotel bathroom mirror as I gave myself my last once over before I'd leave my hotel room. My golden brunette hair had been flat ironed to be extremely straight. Instead of using my usual smoky look for my grey eyes, I'd gone for a subtle golden eyeshadow. I'd even gone for a full coverage foundation look to try and hide the freckles dotted over my nose. It was always hard choosing how to dress for a funeral of someone you weren't very close to.

Long before my mother had gotten together with (and broken up with) my late father she had gotten together and broken up with an American S.H.I.E.L.D agent. They had a son, my half brother Alexander.

My relationship with Alex was a bit complicated, mostly due to the fact he was American and I was Australian. We had only met each other twice in person. But thanks to growing up with technology (MSN, MySpace and eventually Facebook) we have been able to maintain a fairly close bond in our teens. We had started to drift a little as we hit our twenties and became more busy with our lives, but the love was still there.

I had insisted on coming to Alex's father's funeral. I didn't know what support network Alex had around him. I lost my own father a year ago and knew how important a support network was to overcome grief.

One thing that had bonded us during the high school days was the fact that we were both social outcasts at school. Now that I was at university I had developed social skills and maintained a few friendships. I was no longer a social pariah.

But honestly, I don't really know if Alex has any friends. He never posted any photos with anyone on his online social networking profiles, or even dropped any hints about friends in our conversations. It was important for me to be there for him, just in case no one else was.

So here I was at twenty years old, by myself in a foreign country for the first time.

I had decided to wear what I wore to my own father's funeral which was a fairly formal black knee length pencil dress with a halter neckline. I also threw on a black blazer to look a little more conservative. I didn't think the dress was too outrageous, but at my father's funeral a few family members called me a hussy. Unlike my own father's funeral, I couldn't tell people to fuck off at this one.

After fluffing up my hair a little and applying some clear lipgloss I was happy with my appearance and I opened the heavy off-white wooden hotel door.

However as soon as I stepped out and shut the door I was immediately taken aback by the fact that someone was outside my room waiting for me. I wasn't expecting anybody to be outside my hotel door and I gasped in surprise before I composed myself.

"...hey." I greeted him as I put my hotel key card away in my purse.

"Hi," he sheepishly smiled. "Sorry, I didn't mean to catch you off guard. I didn't want to knock and seem impatient and pushy."

I was still confused as I didn't know who on earth this person was and why they were waiting for me. Heck, you needed a hotel key card to even get onto this level, so I don't know how he even managed to get outside my hotel room to wait for me.

"So uh, sorry to be blunt but uh, sorry who are you? Do you know my brother or something?" I asked, deciding to cut to the chase.

His warm smile fell as an emotion I couldn't read washed across his light face. He was cute, in a really clean cut way with fair blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Not my usual type, but I guess my usual type were unattractive losers based on my two ex boyfriends.

"Ah, I guess Alex didn't tell you. He wanted me to escort you to the funeral." The man sheepishly stated and I could tell he felt awkward as he began rubbing his neck.

I still eyed him skeptically. I wouldn't say I was completely distrusting of men, but due to my most recent break up I was sometimes a little wary when I was put in uncomfortable situations with strange men. My walls were definitely up right now.

"How are we getting to the funeral?" I asked him as I nervously rubbed my arm, deciding to try my hardest to not appear rude.

"We've got a car waiting for us downstairs. It will take us directly there." The man responded as he sent me a reassuring smile.

I could tell that he knew I was feeling uncomfortable and it was clear he was using body language to try and make me feel better. It was working, I felt my shoulders relax as I stopped subconsciously tensing my muscles.

As I now felt more calm I walked towards the lift which was only a few paces from my door. I pressed the stainless steel "down" button and luckily a lift was ready for us immediately. It meant we didn't need to make any bumbling small talk whilst we waited.

"I'm Steve, by the way." The man said as he politely offered his hand to me once we were inside the lift.

"Annabelle but um, I just go by Anna." I said shyly as I accepted his hand.

My wariness had long since left now I felt more comfortable in Steve's presence, but now I was starting to feel self conscious. Really good looking people always made me feel nervous. Not because I was attracted to them, but years of bullying during my school days made me feel like I was beneath them. It was a habit I had been trying to break, but I couldn't help feeling this way in Steve's presence. He was such a stereotypical all-American good boy with his light eyes, light hair and sharp features.

"Well Anna, it's nice to meet you. Even under these circumstances." Steve stated, and with a ding the lift opened onto the ground floor.

"Is that uh…um…uh," I stuttered a little as my cheeks turned red "car, outside?"

"It is." Steve confirmed politely. Without warning he placed a hand on the small of my back and began to lead me through the sleek hotel lobby, littered with plush red couches in highly inconvenient spots that you had to weave through.

I didn't think anything of this as I began to find myself calming in Steve's presence, but then I heard the shutter sound of an iPhone camera. I whipped around to see a sheepish looking guy a few years older than me, clearly embarrassed he had been caught taking a sneaky photo of Steve and I.

I narrowed my eyes and went to speak up, but Steve continued to lead me towards the car before I could do anything. He opened the door for me and I thanked him as I climbed over the comfortable leather seats and sat down. Steve followed me and sat next to me, and once he was buckled up the car started moving albeit very slowly due to the heavy New York traffic.

"You don't know why that person was taking photos do you?" Steve asked with a slight grin.

I sighed a breath of relief before I responded.

"Oh thank god you brought it up! I was scared you were going to pretend that was completely normal and go about your day as if that didn't happen." I animatedly replied, throwing my hands up for dramatic effect.

"Well it is completely normal for me." Steve shrugged as he kept his sly grin on his face.

I screwed up my eyes in concentration as I studied him. It was clear he was famous and I was supposed to know where he was famous from. Clearly he was some kind of big deal.

He watched me closely, his blue eyes carefully concentrating on me. He was waiting for the ball to drop and for me to place him properly. But I kept a blank look on my face as I just couldn't recognise him.

"You don't know who I am, do you?" He finally concluded.

"Sure I do. You're Steve. You told me that, duh." I teased.

"Ah. I suppose it was fairly arrogant to assume that people outside America would automatically recognise Captain America."

It took a few seconds for the penny to drop. At first I was wondering what Captain America had to do with anything. Then my mouth formed into an 'o' shape when I realised Steve was Captain America. Suddenly everything made sense. From the sneaky photos in the lobby down to his stereotypical all-American good looks. I was currently in a car with Steve Rogers, Captain America.

Play it cool, Anna. He seems pretty awesome. No need to regress into being a nervous wreck. He's not going to be mean to you.

"Well even though I'm Australian I'd probably recognise Hulk or Thor," I joked "I suppose it's the lack of the shield and the stars and stripes American get-up that threw me off."

I then shot my attention to the world outside of the car. The car was moving extremely slowly due to the Manhattan traffic jams. The fact that a big chunk of the city was still in ruins probably didn't help either. I was quickly reminded that this battle involved someone I was currently sharing a car with.

The feelings from before of being inadequate washed over me again. Not only was he good looking, he was Captain fucking America. A man who generations of women had swooned over for not only his handsome qualities but because he was a hero who had now fought battles in different decades - hell, he'd fought in different centuries.

I knew I was stupid for feeling this way. It's not like I was trying to flirt with the guy or try my shot at anything romantic. I'd just had a childhood full of negative experiences where I was made to feel I was beneath others. Unfortunately being in the presence of someone so important was making my anxiety flush to the surface.

"Are you alright?" Steve asked me, as he must have sensed my uneasy feelings.

I made a note of what would be causing me to look nervous so I could hide it. I shallowed my breathing and slowly turned back to Steve so my grey eyes would make contact with his perfect blue ones. The only thing I knew I couldn't control was the pink tinge that was rising in my cheeks. I'd have to hope for the best and pray he didn't notice the blush across my face.

"Yes. Sorry, I know I'm being totally weird right now. I just, err, well I wasn't expecting to be sharing a ride to my half brother's funeral with Captain America, y'know? I kind of wish Alex gave me a heads up so I had time to prepare and be super cool about it." I eventually confessed with a small smile, deciding to be honest with him about my insecurities.

"I shouldn't have said anything, right? You seemed fine with me before." Steve asked. He was smiling to calm me down but he began to rub the back of his neck to show he felt awkward, which in turn was making me feel awkward.

"Nah, you're good. Just um, being bullied during school sometimes puts me on edge during social encounters. Mental scarring and past psychological trauma, y'know?" I stated and then immediately turned red. I had a habit of oversharing inappropriate details when I was nervous and I had just told Steve Rogers that I was a loser in school and I was fucked up because of it.

Not only was I cringing extremely hard right now, I knew this would be one of those experiences where I would sometimes remember years from now and I'd get to feel embarrassed all over again.

I was expecting Steve to either make an excuse and jump out of the car there and then to get away from the crazy lady as fast as possible, or at least take some time to think of an uncomfortable and forced response to my blabbering. Instead he responded fairly quickly.

"I used to get picked on when I was younger too. You shouldn't let your bullies win by letting it affect you."

"Yeah, I know." I muttered as I once again turned away to cast my eyes onto the grey streets of New York.

His voice sounded sincere but I'm not sure I believed his reply. It was hard to fathom that the Captain America had ever been bullied by anyone other than a villain trying to make cheesy and lame remarks in battle.

It was also the cold and meaningless advice that had been given to me numerous times in my life by teachers, my parents and even psychologists. Don't let the bullies get to you. Yeah if that were possible wouldn't I be doing just that? It's not like I wanted to be upset by cruel words spat towards me by some dickhead in my past. It's hard to move past being repeatedly worn down for years by multiple people saying the same insults over and over. I also have physical scars on my body from a few times where some of my bullies overstepped the mark and physically bullied me. It's hard to pretend they don't exist, when they clearly do.

Most likely due to the tension that had arisen in the car, Steve had stopped making small talk with me and began to ask the driver questions about when we would be arriving at the funeral venue. It made me sigh to realise the attention was now off me.

I had met Captain America one-on-one in an intimate setting and the meeting had consisted of me voicing how uninteresting and pathetic I was, causing Steve to give me a pity remark. Getting a forced remark of pity was not something to be proud of.

I let my eyes gloss over as I began to play out in my mind how I would have liked the meeting to go instead. Maybe down the line I could pretend this is actually what happened.

It should have started where I wouldn't have been caught off guard by his presence outside my hotel room. Although Alex had failed to mention Steve would be escorting me to the funeral, I would have been smart enough to recognise Steve immediately and put two and two together and understand immediately that Captain America would be doing a duty to escort the half sister of a fallen S.H.I.E.L.D agent's son to the service.

Then on the way down in the elevator through the lobby I would play coy and pretend I don't know who he is, completely ignoring the people rudely taking sneaky photos as if I didn't notice them.

Then finally in the car Steve would reveal his hero status to me and I would nonchalantly tell him "I know." with a shrug before we would continue on with the flowing and not-at-all awkward small talk, with no uncomfortable silences, until we pulled up to the funeral venue.

It came so close to happening the way it did in my head, but instead I lived in the reality where I was caught off guard by Steve and ended up doing the Annabelle Cartwright special of blurting out over the top inappropriate details due to nerves. Damn.

"Mr Rogers, Miss Cartwright. We're here." The driver announced, snapping me from my daydream as I realised the car had attempted to pull up outside a fairly generic looking building. I say attempted, because there were no car spots available on the street so the car was awkwardly pulled in nose first between two parked cars, causing traffic to be blocked off behind us.

I went to thank the driver as I quickly flung open my door, but cars behind began to beep in anger once they realised it was a stationary car causing the holdup.

"I guess that's our cue to get the fuck out." I joked but then my eyes widened as I realised I had inappropriately sworn in front of two strangers, one of which was a man from a more conservative time.

"Sorry! Word vomit. Thanks for the ride. Bye." I quickly blurted out as I jumped out of the car and made a bee-line to the entrance of the building, not even bothering to see if Steve was behind me.

Okay Anna, don't beat yourself up. It's all over now.

I'm sure Captain America meets a lot of awkward people who have blurted out far worse things than I did in that car ride. The one good thing about my low self esteem is that because I realise I'm fairly unimportant, I'm fairly certain Steve will forget the interaction fairly quickly. He'll go inside, interact with people and forget all about the weird girl in the car he had to console in a forced manner.

It's more important for me to be there for my brother right now. I can cringe about the last half hour later.