Drafts (pt. 3)

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"Hold me closely I don't think you should love me."— hobo johnson

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US

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THREE YEARS WAS A long time. It that time,

"HEY, CAP," SHE SAID, watching him step out of the elevator. "I hear we're in some trouble."

Steve stared at her, silent. She fought the urge to squirm or to chew on her nails. It was important— in that moment more than ever —that she convey confidence, independence. She wasn't going to be treated like a little kid, not anymore.

After wasting half a minute staring at her,

Looking up at the Captain America, I tried to keep from choking on my cereal. Nodding awkwardly, I slurped the milk from my spoon, too tired to think of something else to do.

"Hello . . . " He muttered, looking just as confused as me.

I dropped my spoon. "Howdy."

"Steve and my dad were friends— I guess." She shrugged. "A couple of years ago, they saved the world."

Max's brow furrowed, eyes darting between the picture and me. "What happened?"

"SHIELD made me an offer, I left."

"Really? Just like that?"

"Yeah. Dad wanted me hidden away for the rest of my life. No boys, no fighting; just him and JARVIS for the rest of my days." I sighed. "I'm not like him. I don't know how else to explain it."

HADES // T. STARK DAUGHTER // MARVEL I.IWhere stories live. Discover now