Viktoriya Solovyova, aka Agent 1, was trained in the Red Room. She managed to escape and move to America and has since been working closely with Peggy Carter. When she meets a scientist with revolutionary ideas, how will she cope with the changes?
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Two days after Steve wakes up:
"Do you remember it?" I ask as Steve and I are curled up on the couch. "After the blue thing fell I think I blanked out. I don't remember much after agreeing to the date." Steve explains. I swing my legs over his lap. "What happened to the cube after that?" He asks. "Howard found the tesseract at the bottom of the ocean a few years later. But, I've been meaning to ask, why did you have to crash the plane anyway?" I ask, looking at Steve. He keeps his eyes on the TV screen, "There were bombs onboard." I nod slowly and look back at the TV, "Bombs onboard. And you couldn't have jumped out of the plane before you crashed it?" I ask. Steve looks at me, brows furrowed, "I didn't even consider it." He answers and we go back to a comfortable silence.
Three days after Steve wakes up:
We sit on the bench at the park, an ice cream in hand, as Steve watches the families pass. "So, where have you lived over the last few decades?" He asks. "Here and there." I say. "What do you actually do at S.H.I.E.L.D?" He rebuts. "This and that." He nods. "You ever-?" He starts, "Now and then." I answer. Steve scoffs as I lick my ice cream, "Boy you're just full of information." He mutters.
One week after Steve wakes up:
I collapse onto the mat after the eighth hour of training passes, one hit from Steve completely winding me. I curl up into the foetal position, clutching my stomach. "Dammit Vik, I'm sorry. Just take a deep breath or something!" Steve panics. I wince before shouting, "TAKE A DEEP BREATH?! It feels like my insides are being RIPPED OUT!" Steve's face scrunches as I rock back and forth, "I'll be fine it just feels like I'm being stabbed." I mutter. "How do you even know what it feels like to be stabbed?" Steve asks incredulously. I glare up at him, "You don't wanna know. It was messy." I snarl. Steve holds his hands up in surrender and slowly backs up out of the room before I can attack him.
Two weeks after Steve wakes up:
I walk out of my room at the sound of noise in the kitchen, the moonlight cuts a path for me as I clutch my gun tight. I round the corner and see a hunched Steve stirring a freshly brewed tea. I put my gun down and join on him on the couch. "It's nearly 3 in the morning, what are you doing up?" I ask softly. "I should've gone to bed by now but, I don't think I can sleep anymore." He murmurs. "Why not?" I ask as Steve finishes his tea and curls into my lap. "I'm having nightmares." He breathes, "Every time I go to sleep it's like I'm back under the water." He mumbles. I card my fingers through his hair as he sighs, "Do you wanna talk about it?" I ask gently. He goes to speak but the words get caught in his mouth as his breathing picks up, he sits up, wide-eyed. He looks at me, his eyes full of fear. "Hey, hey," I rush out, "Look at me, it's okay. Can you breathe in for 4, hold for 7, and out for 8, or is that too many numbers?" I stutter. He swallows dryly and shakes muttering out, "Too many." He breathes with me until his breath is back to normal. I pull him into me, his head buried in the crook of my neck. Placing a kiss on top of his head, "Hold my hand honey, you're gonna be fine." I whisper. "You're gonna be fine." I repeat as I rock the two of us soothingly until Steve's breathing evens out and we both fall asleep.
Three weeks after Steve wakes up:
"Hey Steve." I say, peering over my book. He looks up at me from his drawing, "Yeah?" He asks. "I think I need to tell you about something." I explain. "Okay?" He says curiously. "I worked for an organization, one I can't talk about." I start. Steve nods, his brows still creased. "They had a machine, a memory eraser." I continue. Steve's hand reaches out to grip mine and I smile. "I didn't get rid of them obviously, but I did suppress them. And, uh, they're not all back. I remember all the important moments in my life, and the day you 'died' and the day James died." I swallow the lump in my throat, "But." I laugh dryly. "It's funny because I don't even remember the first time I heard your name. How do you not remember something that made such a big difference in your life?" I whisper the last part, looking at Steve sadly. He smiles, "It's okay. I'd have done the same thing." He reassures. "You remembered me in the end, that's what matters angel." I smile at the nickname and move to hug Steve, "I wouldn't ever forget either of you. Not if the whole world turned to ash." I murmur and I feel Steve's arms tighten around me.
Four weeks after Steve wakes up:
There's a knock on my bedroom door as I grumble a groggy, "Come in." I wrap myself in the blanket and face the traitor who woke me up. His eyes are covered by his large hand, "Are you decent?" He asks. I groan, "Not morally but I'm wearing underwear if that's what you're asking." He removes his hand from his eyes and gives me the eyebrows of disappointment, prompting me to roll my eyes. "Are you okay? You're normally awake before me." Steve asks, plopping down next to me and pulling me into a hug. I whine at the sunlight and crawl under the covers. "I'm trying to have a serious conversation with you." Steve reprimands. "And I'm trying to avoid it, I'm fine Steve." My muffled voice replies. "Well then good, because I wanna go out." Steve chirps. "I wanna see Times Square, and Central Park, and everything we possibly can see." He rambles. I push my head above the blanket, "Stop it. It's too early for you to be in a good mood." Steve looks down at me, "It's 2 in the afternoon Vik." I roll my eyes and jump out of bed, "I stand by my statement." Steve's face is tickled pink at the sight of my underwear, "Christ Vik, warn a guy." He mutters. "I don't like to, warnings are no fun." I laugh as I run off to shower.
