Trust Me (Steve Rogers Fanfiction)

Chapter 8

"Again!" A cruel voice commanded. With shaking fingers, I threw another knife. It lodged right outside of the bullseye. I grinned, pleased with myself, but my supervisor only slapped me across the face. It stung, but I held in my cry of pain, didn't let my emotions show. I'd been through worse. "That is failure in my eyes. Again!"

I took a deep breath and tried again, refocusing my concentration. I could do this. I'd been practicing for weeks. With precision, I hit the target, dead in the center.

"I believe it's finally time to put your skills in action."

Days later, my knife hit its target with cold accuracy. Perfection. He never saw me coming, and never had time to scream. He just died. I pulled the knife out of his body carelessly and wiped the blood off on my black jacket, never looking back.

"Operative 7, Night Wind, mission status report?"

"Mission successful. Target no longer a threat."

I jolt out of the nightmare, breathing heavily. This is how I wake up most of the time, if I'm honest with myself. Memories of guns and needles and someone screaming a word I know is my name but I never quite catch. That was awful. That man... he was one of my first victims. I never even knew his name.

My room is finally done, nice but still relatively bare of decorations. Unfamiliarity covers it like a smothering blanket. Shadows lurk behind corners. During the day, I can put on a brave face and pretend things don't scare me. But at night, in a place I barely know, it's harder.

I creep out of my room. The floor feels cold against my bare feet. Moonlight faintly illuminates the living area as I tiptoe to the elevator.

"Jarvis?" I whisper, wondering if Tony's AI works twenty-four seven. I hope so.

"Yes?" Oh, thank goodness.

"Please take me to the training room."

"Of course, Miss Evans."

"Thank you," I breathe. I'm shaking still. The nightmare affected me more than I care to admit. Normally when I'm this freaked out, I go for a jog, but I don't have the opportunity to leave the tower. They all would lose what little trust they have in me. I can't risk that.

The doors slide open, and I zoom over to a punching bag. I take the time to carefully wrap my hands before I start to take out all of my fears on the bag. Each hit is harder than before, more agitated. I work out the tenseness in my muscles, the fear running through my veins. Tears slide down my face and I make no attempt to stop them. My long hair keeps getting in my face, but I just brush it out of the way impatiently. With a final kick, the bag goes flying to the other side of the room, landing with a loud thud of the bag and clang of the metal chain. My enhanced strength is a blessing and a curse. I sink to my knees and begin to cry in the dark gym. My tears are silent, just neverending.

I don't know how long I'm there on the ground, just crying, but eventually, someone puts their arms around me, someone warm and strong. I never even heard anyone come in, but I feel so safe that I don't question it. I've cried alone in my apartment for years, and it's nice to be in someone's arms while I sob. Slowly, my shaking subsides and my tears diminish. I look up into the calm blue eyes of Steve Rogers.

"Steve."

"Hey."

"How- how did you know I was here?"

"I was getting a late-night snack and I heard a crash," he replies.

"Oh. I didn't mean to bother you. That was probably the punching bag." His eyes flick over to it before coming back to me. "I got a little carried away. What time is it?"

"A little past two in the morning."

I realize his arms are still around me, but I don't move. "Thank you, Steve."

"You don't need to thank me," he says softly. "Not ever."

"Okay," I whisper.

"What's wrong?"

In the dark, I can make out his outline and his face. Strong, muscular, moonlight glowing on his blonde hair. Blue eyes that somehow always hold the power to calm me down. In the dark, I almost forget myself. I almost forget how different we really are, and only focus on similarities. He's the only person here who I don't feel pressured to put on a show around. At this moment, it's like we're the only two people in the world. No one else matters.

He's beautiful.

My heart speeds up, thudding rapidly in my chest. I'm aware of what this feeling is, and I quickly shut it down, tuck it away, banish it. In my five years in the United States, I only ever let one person in. Only one. I let one person past my boundaries, let him see the real me. And he destroyed me. I haven't been the same girl since.

I'm never letting my heart get hurt again.

"I have to go," I say, scrambling to get up as quickly as I can. "It's late, and-"

"America, wait!" He grabs my hand. "You shouldn't be alone right now."

"I have to go," I repeat. My voice wavers. I really want to stay here with him, stay here and feel safe again, but I can't. I won't. I resist the urge to stay in his arms until morning light, let him be brave for me until I can be brave by myself again. "I'm sorry." I pull out of his grasp and run.

Once I'm alone in my room, I break down again. Back to crying by myself.

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