The Ghost [Marvel | Steve Rogers]

Chapter 67

That she wasn't ready to hear it.

Nina resented that particular line of reasoning.

She wasn't a child anymore. She wasn't so naïve as she had been even a few weeks ago. She supposed she still was on some level, but she'd been thrown into this world of Avengers and Enhancements and Supervillains headfirst and she had come out the other side stronger for it. She just knew it. Perhaps it hadn't been as wholly on her own merits as it could've been, but she had still survived. More than survived, really. She had proven that there was more to her than met the eye...right? She had survived the Sceptre, Ultron and even a rain of bullets all on her own. She'd fought back against Strucker's mercenaries and had stood up to Ultron's sentries, even helping Captain America in the process. She'd fought past her own fears, letting her instincts to step up and help—to even fight—take the lead. That all had to count for something, right?

Instead she'd been left behind again to wait for her mom to come back just as she had a hundred times before. Another point for resentment, really. She wanted to help! She wanted to be a part of what was happening.

Especially since she suspected she somehow had a stake in whatever her mom had left to do.

The situation was somewhat familiar. Her mom had gone off on some sort of mission and Nina was left waiting for her to return. Somewhat anxiously. No...not somewhat. Quite anxiously.

Whenever her mom had gone off for work, part of Nina had always worried—with good reason, it seemed. But now that she undeniably knew that her mom's trips weren't so innocuous as an errand for the Studio, but rather a mission in her capacity as The Ghost? Nina's gut churned and ached and she was on the verge of nibbling at her nails again; a nervous habit she had broken herself of years ago.

That was how anxious she was.

Especially after everything that had happened last time her mom had gone off.

But her mom wasn't alone this time, Nina forcefully reminded herself. Natasha had gone with her. It helped ease the crushing worry some even if it didn't banish it completely.

And it seemed that Wanda had gone too. According to Pietro, Natasha had approached his twin about helping them on their mission. How, he hadn't said. All he'd known was that Wanda had agreed.

It left a shard of jealousy festering alongside her worry.

Why hadn't they asked her along too? A small, little voice declared it was because she'd have been along only to watch, so what would've been the point. She tried to ignore it. She was sure she would've been able to help somehow.

It was all very unpleasant.

And irritating. Could they really think she was incapable of handling herself? She was beginning to feel physically ill at only being allowed to sit and wait and watch and worry while those she cared about went off and did dangerous things, necessary or not.

Without realizing it, she huffed out her irritation as she sank further into her seat on the couch. The Avengers' common area was mercifully empty. As much as she wouldn't necessarily mind some company, she wasn't exactly sure anyone else would be okay with just letting her sit with her own thoughts. Save Natasha. Natasha was good for that. The redheaded spy always seemed to know exactly what Nina needed most, be it an ear to listen or just the company. But Natasha was away. With her mother. On a mission that Nina was wishing she was a part of. Or at the very least, that she knew what it was about. She was sure she could live with even that.

"Unlike my sister, I cannot read minds. So you will have to tell me what is bothering you." Nina spun to look at Pietro as he leaned over the back of the couch, his voice startling her abruptly from her thoughts. She merely shot him an exasperated look in response. An amused chuckle escaped him before he hopped lightly over the couch back to flop down next to her with his characteristic easy grace. She narrowed her eyes at him at the move, earning only a smug look. Despite herself, Nina couldn't help but grin, her ire fading. He was another one whose easy company she could handle. It wasn't often that he pushed, but when he did, it was usually because he could seem to tell she needed to talk.