4.4 | Trigger ✓

01 | один

A/N

Welcome (back) to Trigger. I don't believe any other introduction is necessary, save that this takes place post Captain America: Civil War, which means Tony Stark is still alive. For now, at least.

Love you 3000.
x Noelle

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0 1

о д и н

(one)

" – IT WAS TERRIFYING."

The woman paused, her eyes squeezing shut as a shudder wracked through her body. When she opened her eyes again, the expression on her face was haunted, like the memory of it was fresh as yesterday.

"It was – all a blur, just a lot screaming and shouting and – dead people," the woman continued, after a lengthy pause. "Especially dead people. I kept hearing the cops say, 'ma'am, you have to get out of the way, you have to get out of the way', but every which way I turned, there was a dead body and an alien who'd just shot the person dead."

The woman stopped and leaned back in her chair. It was clear that she was done. Dakota stared at the table as she traced random lines across the wood. There were so many things she could say. She just had to pick the right one.

"Sandra," She started at last, crossing one leg over the other and shifting forward slightly in her seat. The other woman was already waiting expectantly, and Dakota smiled. "Have you heard of the Avengers?"

Sandra blinked, clearly taken aback by the question. "You mean the – the green man-thing and the...tin man – "

"Iron man, yes." Dakota laughed gently and shook her head, tucking a stray lock of her hair behind her ear. "The group that saved the New York city when the aliens invaded. The group that saved you."

"I've heard of them, but I'm not sure what you're getting at."

"I'm saying that in a world where a lot of crazy stuff happens, it's nice to have faith," Dakota explained. "People like us want to believe in superheroes because when bad things happen, they're the only constants we can turn to. Your nightmares are frightening and you get anxiety attacks and that's fine. You're not alone. We all have monsters in our heads and ghosts that haunt us."

The woman sniffled and Dakota reached for the box of tissues to hand one to her.

"Every time you have a bad day," she continued, "remember that day. Remember that there are survivors still lost and scared like you. Every time you need something to believe in, remember that there's a group of superheroes out there who will – "

She stopped as a person walked past. The windows were tinted so that any passerby couldn't look in, but she could the outside perfectly. Had her eyes played a trick on her?

She could've sworn she'd just seen Steve Rogers walk past. Blue cap, leather jacket, broad shoulders. All that was lacking was that classic shield strapped to his back.

"Ms Summers?"

Dakota pulled herself together and shot an apologetic look at the woman. "A group of superheroes who will protect you," she finished. "No matter what."

The woman dabbed at her tears again. Dakota suddenly noticed a bruise on her wrist. And another on her jaw. The woman tugged her sleeve back down. Dakota had been so sure that the diagnosis was right: post-traumatic stress disorder thanks to the New York incident. But now, she wasn't so sure.