You heard a lot about the famous Captain America - he was a living legend after all, stories about him whispered in the halls of SHIELD at every corner.
Being one of the newest recruits finally-turned-agents, you didn't expect to meet the man personally though.
And you definitely didn't expect to find out that there was so much more to the man than his shield and the alleged stick shoved up his ass. Or not.
Alternatively: 'The Ass-et' or 'The List'. You'll see why.
-.-.-
1. God bless office rats
Being one of the newest recruits-finally-turned-agents, you didn't expect to be more than a paper-pusher honestly. You couldn't say you were exactly content with that, but hey, at least you left the imaginary nest of baby to-be-agents relatively soon, actually feeling a bit proud. A bit.
As it turned out, you were about to be a paper-pusher; for like a day. And then Agent Kirski - big fella, in all senses if the word, one of the big fishes, a legend - casually walked into the office where desks of agents on duty were barely divided into boots to create an illusion of their own private space, stopped right in front of your desk, crossed his arms on his chest and with serious eyes told you: Agent 19, you're up. Wheels up in thirty.
And your whole mind was a one huge what the frack with three question marks alternating with exclamation marks and you stared ahead of yourself for at least five minutes until Harry, the good friend of everyone in the office space he was, nudged you with a gentle smile, excited and a bit worried.
"Don't get yourself shot, Little One. You're too young to retire," the man with grey hair said to you with a grin, thinking how funny he was since he was the one who actually was supposed to be retiring like two years ago.
You chuckled self-depreciatingly to humour him and let a quiet "Don't worry." slip out.
Which was clearly a serious mistake, because ten minutes after your team - under the strict command of Captain Steve Rogers aka Captain America, how the fuck had you got to this mission again? - landed its quinjet, things blew up.
Literally.
Because it was a set-up.
Seemingly an abandoned base was in fact full of members of terrorist organization which was inspired by Nazi's HYDRA and they apparently developed a new tech to mask themselves from SHIELD's radars, because suddenly there were tens of people versus your barely coordinated group of seven.
You didn't even have time to take cover.
"Look out!" a male voice you couldn't place yelled from your right and you frantically scanned your surroundings, not sure if it was a warning meant for you.
When bullets started raining around you, miraculously avoiding your body, you were suddenly more than confident that the speaker - whoever he was - definitely wanted to address you.
You crouched behind the nearest tree, peeking to find a target, the quinjet still open few feet from you. Not that you checked because wanted to run back into it and then fly away, happily returning to paper-pushing. Not at all.
Maybe a bit.
When the insane fire, making splinters and leaves looking like they had been through a smoothie machine, stopped flashing around you, you got out of your cover just for an inch to return few bullets to the enemy.
"Shit!" you hissed under your breath when the joke turned out to be on you, a bullet going straight through your arm.
The shocking pain came like a tide-wave only few seconds later when you were secured behind your poor natural shield of a tree. You felt tears in your eyes at the gnawing agony, biting the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from screaming.
Yeah, sure, alert more people to where you're hiding. Great plan, Miss Grown-Up Agent.
You huffed and with your right hand unfairly shaky, you tried to reciprocate the fire once more. You barely managed to empty the magazine of your gun by the time you heard the ominous beeping that was haunting you in your nightmares due to the excessive use of that distinctive sound in your training.
The ticking of the bomb was too fast. It was about to explode any second and you had no idea where it was coming from and where you should hide.
The answer offered itself. It came in a form of a huge figure springing your direction. You didn't even have time to brace yourself and a man slammed his body into yours with a deafening sound of an explosion in the background that felt way too close.
A shockwave smashed into you, sending you sliding through the grass and mud, but not as burning as it should.
It was because your body was basically wrapped in another one, very male, very huge, and very much hid behind a vibranium shield.
Your brain finally caught up. Captain America just probably saved your life. And fuck, make that definitely.
You didn't thank him; before you could open your mouth, he pulled you to your feet by your arm - the injured one - and sent a wave of throbbing agony through your whole body. You gritted your teeth and didn't let out a sound.
Your feet moved on autopilot.
Your ears were still ringing from the explosion, dirt flying away from under your feet and yet you blindly followed the man you owed your life and soul. You noticed his lips were moving rapidly, but you gave up on trying to understand what he was saying.
Before you knew it, you were basically shoved into an all-road vehicle that appeared out of fucking nowhere and suddenly you were driving away, crouched as you were taught to, hearing the bullets raining against the bullet-proof glass.
"If you hear me, get the hell out. I don't know where each of you is so I can't get you - you're on your own. Retreat and use the distress signal when safe. Repeat, use the distress signal."
You were still covering your head, trying to ignore the sharp turns he was taking, making your body sway from one direction to another.
"Keep pressure on it!" he barked then and you winced, surprised by the urge in his voice as much as the relative calm.
You blinked your eyes open, not realizing you had had them squeezed shut. He was talking to you, wasn't he? Your arms eased the cage you held your head in - and fuck, did it hurt to move your right arm, how could have you not noticed it when covering yourself - and you obediently put your palm over the wound.
"Yes, Sir," you replied automatically, only to shook your head. Way to go, Miss Agent. "Yes, Captain."
You were very hesitant to actually apply any pressure despite knowing it was necessary. The thing was, you also knew that if you did so, the pain would send your head spinning-
A sharp turn right and suddenly you were applying pressure while using your injured hand to prop up your body against the dash so you wouldn't end up in your commander's lap. The spray of bullets fell silent, only a stray hitting the cracked glass.
"Sorry," the captain muttered and you, surprised by the rather sudden freedom of the immediate danger, straightened yourself in the seat, managing to fasten a seatbelt. It meant few more moments without touching your wound, which was perfectly fine with you.
You even had time to check out your driver, whose glorious uniform - and doubtlessly handsome face, mostly hidden by his helmet - was covered in dirt and a bit of blood. His half-gloved hands were both firmly clutching the wheel, his gaze darting towards the rear-view and wing mirrors.
You had no clue what possessed you to answer to his unexpected apology. What was he apologizing for anyway? For saving you from being blown up and getting you to safety? Yeah, sure, deadly sin.
"That's quite alright, Sir. You're driving for our lives."
He shot you a strange look, effectively stopping your heart, but then he shook his head, unfastening the strap on his helmet. He tossed it on the backseat, right next to his shield. Huh, you hadn't noticed that baby before. Of course he would take his shield to safety. He was clearly very attached to it.
And you were getting pretty big-mouthed - good thing you didn't say the last thoughts out loud. He was your freaking commander and you should act like it.
"Sorry, Captain, that sounded less bold in my head," you murmured, gritting your teeth when trying to follow his instruction - and your training - and finally press against the gunshot wound in your bicep.
Maybe you just imagined it, the adrenalin and blood loss making you see things, but when his eyes glanced your direction again, a hint of a lopsided smile was settled on his face.
"Whatever you say, Agent. Just try not to bleed out even with my terrible driving skills," he threw back and despite your better judgement, you gave him a tired smile back.
"Where exactly are you taking us? I mean... us, right? You're not gonna ditch me on a side of the road and drive to the sunset alone?"
What on Earth am I saying?!
"I'm not gonna leave you bleed out on the side of the road. Or anywhere else," he promised, voice serious, but surprisingly kind and patient.
Was it wrong of you to feel quite a relief at that? Should you be ashamed for even asking such a ridiculous question the supposed incarnation of justice, liberty and heroism...? That being him, apart from many things that were being whispered behind his back? You didn't really care.
You melted into your seat, resting your head against it, slightly turning your face to look at his profile. He seemed focused on the driving, yet lost in thoughts.
"Where are we going then?"
Perhaps you should have been able to figure it out yourself, but your brain was getting a bit tired, most likely because you were still bleeding. You thought you were entitled.
"To a safe house."
----Notes:
OMG, action. Why am I doing this to myself again? (To get to the sweet rewarding fluffy parts, I know.)
My brain: Oh, did you think you would just finish Melting Hearts and you'd be Steve ideas free? Actually able to work on the draft you have in your laptop for like forever? Oh, my sweet summer child, you have so much to learn...
So yeah, basically. Mostly a sweet fluff from here, scout's honour.