The Shadow [a marvel fanfiction]

Avengers: Chapter Five

The Captain stared at Marie with wide eyes.

"I didn't realize you could do ... that, miss," he said slowly. He gave the hallway one last look before stepping into the storage room.

Marie shrugged and quietly closed the door behind him.

"With-With all due respect, sir, there's a lot that you-you—that you don't know about me."

The unit was lit sparingly, only a few overhanging emergency lights to cast a meager glow. Rows of large, metal crates filled the space; neatly stacked on top of each other and spanning two floors. Dark metal walkways hung above them and created more shadows.

"You're very formal," the Captain commented, glancing around the room.

Marie raised an eyebrow. "Cap-Captain, you still say "ma'am" and "miss.""

"You got me there," he grinned and looked back at her, "but you can call me Steve, you know. I'm not always the Captain."

Marie didn't respond. She rolled the name around in her head. Steve. His name sat heavy on her tongue. It was personal, almost intimate. He was Captain America, revered hero of World War II. To call him Steve was just... wrong. It would make them equals. She was not his equal.

You aren't good enough. You're a liar and a thief and a killer. You will never be good enough.

"What exactly are we-we—are we looking for?"

"Still not using my name?" he teased.

Marie shuffled her feet and ducked her head. Shame flushed her body with heat and she felt trapped by her tight uniform and the Captain's stare and the towering crates and the windowless room and the one exit. The thoughts and fears that had mounted over the last week—and, really, since S.H.I.E.L.D. took her—threatened to boil over. She couldn't hide them anymore.

The words poured out of her mouth.

"I-I just ... don't feel good-good-good enough to call you St-Steve."

The Captain stopped. He turned around to face her, shock splashed across his face.

"What?"

Marie brushed back her hair and sighed, unable to meet his eyes.

"You-You are the definition of-of-of good, Captain. You can do no-no wrong. You've never done anything wrong. I—" Marie's throat tightened "—I am not a-a-a good person. I lie, cheat, and st-st-steal. All I've ever done is-is-is cause people pain."

Her voice drifted into silence. Marie closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe. Each inhale hiccupped in her chest and each exhale wobbled. Her hands were slick with sweat—she was covered in a hot sweat—and shook. She tried to fight the lump that twisted her stomach and crawled up her throat.

"Marie."

His voice was soft, warm. His hand rested on her shoulder.

"That's not me. Everyone knows Captain America, and he's great. People needed—They need someone to believe in, to look up to. But I'm not him. Not all the time. I'm just Steve Rogers, a kid from Brooklyn who grew up stuffing newspapers in his shoes and getting into fights.

"I'm not a saint, and neither are you, but you're not a bad person. I read your file, and—"

"My file isn't true," she said in a broken whisper. Sharp tears pricked at her eyes.

"I killed him. My-My father."

She had never said it out loud; she had pushed the memories and the pain and the fear aside for years. She pretended it didn't happen. It was an accident. That's what she told herself. She had to believe that.