These Two Years || An Avengers Fan-Fiction

These Two Years

It is May twenty ninth, nine p.m., and my friend Morelle and are at the Mall of Georgia, wandering about for no good reason. My hair is getting lighter for the summer, now being brown with light blond highlights. My eyes are blue, as is the dress I am wearing. Morelle’s hair is an almost white blond, and her eyes are the colour of mine. I have just turned seventeen, with one ear bud in, listening to my favourite Christian Rock band.
   We are in the upper floor of the Mall, looking in the last store before we go our separate ways. Of course it’s a jewellery store, but neither of us are buying anything, only looking around. We goof off with some of the things therein, and after a while, we leave, waving to the friendly receptionist. I toss my hair from my eyes, and we head to the escalator.
   As we descend, I notice that it is dark outside. I don’t really like to be out in the dark, but I walk Morelle to her car anyway. She waves goodbye as she drives away, and I return it with a smile and raise of my hand.
   I turn the volume of my music up, and turn round. My sister Abigail would be coming to get me soon-- she had gone to her friend’s house after dropping me off here. I sigh, and decide to look around for her, in case she had parked out of my view. So I step back onto the footway and begin to wander around. There is a man to my left with a cigarette, and he is watching me. I wondered why he looked at me, but shrug off anything other than he just needed somewhere to fix his eyes upon, so this man is simply of no matter.
   But he stands, and begins to walk toward me. I pretend that I don’t see him, and continue on my way. Perhaps he is just going inside, and I happen to be walking ahead of him. I hope this is the case. I keep looking out for Abigail, and see a car that looks like her mini cooper, but it is blue, and hers is black. So I walk on.
   The man does not turn off as I pass the doors that lead into the mall. I am starting to grow frightened. It is hard to walk fast in high heels, but I manage it somehow with out looking ridiculous. My heart begins to beat faster, and he quickens his pace. I glance back at him, and he knows I’ve noticed him. He slows down and turns away. I sigh, and also slow down. I cannot see very well in the dark, and a hand emerges from the bushes, and covers my mouth.
   Of course I scream, and try to back away, but an arm wraps around me, and drags me away. I struggle, trying to pry the hand from my mouth, but it will not move. My heart is now racing, and I try and keep my feet, but whoever has me is walking too quickly and all I can do is stumble and drag along. I hear a car door open, and they shove me into the trunk. Finally the hand is off of my mouth. But before I can scream, the door closes, and I can hear the engine start.
   Now I am locked in here, and I begin to pound my fist against the roof. Naturally I am claustrophobic, and I start to breath very quickly and heavily. Then I remember my phone in my back pocket and I reach around to get it. Pausing my music, I quickly find Abigail’s contact and call her. I listen to the ringing, and pray that she’ll answer.
   “Hey, Zoë, I’m here to pick you up,” she responds finally. I sigh shakily. Surprisingly, I am calm.
   “Umm, Abby?” I say. “I’m in trouble.”
   “Oh my goodness, what is it?” She asks. “Where are you?” I look around. There’s no way to see out of the trunk.
   “I’m in the back of some creepy guys’ car.” I reply, and she gasps. My heart is still pounding, and I’m breathing deeply because of my claustrophobia. Abigail is quiet for a moment.
   “I’m going to call Mama,” she says, and I nod. “But Zoë, you have to call the police, okay?” This makes me tear up.
   “But what do I say?” I ask, feeling the car jerk to a stop. Before Abigail can say anything further, the trunk opens, and the man with the cigarette appears. I stare at him, and he snatches my phone away. I can still hear Abigail’s voice, but I say nothing to my captor. My words seem to be caught in my throat, and I cannot get them out. He turned my phone off, and walked away, shutting the door again. Now I begin to cry and pray.
   “Don’t let them kill me,” I whisper, closing my eyes tightly. “Please don’t let them kill me. I don’t want to die, please don’t make me!” I curl up, and wrap my arms around my legs and continue to cry.
   Not long after, the car stops again, and I cease my crying. Once more, the door is opened, and I am pulled out. They take me inside what looks like a boxcar at the end of a road. The doors on it are shut, and there sounds to be others within. I look quickly at the driver, who waves to the man with the cigarette.
   He takes me to the boxcar and opens it only enough to push me inside, then drops me again. I grunt, and push myself up. I can hear quick breaths and whispers.
   My eyes are not adjusted to the dark, so all I can see is black. Straightening my dress, I stand for a moment, unsure of where to go-- where to place my foot. And there were voices outside, so I stepped back, guessing that was the direction of the door. I held out my hands, and felt a wall. I pressed my ear against it and listened. There were more than two men outside, I could hear multiple voices. They seemed to be discussing something.
   Then footsteps crunched over gravel, and the door opened. I stepped away quickly, and saw a new man standing outside watching me.
   “Time to go,” he said, with an odd cheeriness in his voice.





More men come, and take several other teenage girls (who all, I noticed, were wearing dresses) from the boxcar, and lead them out. The one who had opened the door takes me by the arm, and pulls me out. There is a large truck with a horse trailer attached to it parked near the boxcar, and the men begin leading us to it.
   Suddenly I feel a breeze and hear one of the men shout. I turn my head and see him laying on the ground unconscious. I can’t help but give a half smile, knowing we were to be saved. Another of the men pulls a gun from his belt, and points it at the unconscious man.
   Again comes the strong breeze, and I have to contain my skirt because of it. Now yet a second and third man is unconscious. The others remaining draw guns, and point them randomly. I see a streak of blue, and two more are knocked down.
   Now only three are left. They look around with evident fright in their eyes. I swallow hard, beginning to wonder what it was they are up against. Again, the blue flashes by, knocking the two out. The man holding me steps back, pointing his gun. He shoots several times, though all of the bullets ricochet. Then he seems to get an idea, and he points the gun at my head. My mouth falls open and I gasp, breathing heavily. I can see the darkness of my running mascara, and my eyes begin to water.
   “Stop!” Shouts my captor, pressing the gun against my hair. I raise my hands, but he jolts me and I lower them again. The blue that had been knocking the others out stops.
   It is a man, dressed in a blue running shirt underneath a black open jacket, dark pants, and green lined tennis shoes. His hair is light, like a slivery white colour, but at the roots it is brown. His eyes are blue beneath the street light he stands under. He is breathing heavily, as if out of breath. He holds out his hands in defence-- in my defence.
   I realise I am still gaping, and I close my mouth, though standing as still as possible. I have never had a gun pointed to my head before and it scares me. The man in blue steps forward, and I fix my eyes on his. I notice, as I scrutinise him, than his shirt is torn in several places; small rips all across his chest and stomach. His eyes flicked at the man holding me, who now points the gun at him. He tenses and stops, a look of fear and pain and dread crossing his face. His eyes begin to sparkle, but not in the bright way, more like a way showing he is near to tears. I want to say something.
   He speaks first, though in a different language. I cannot understand what or which it is, for the only other language that I know is Spanish… and even that I do not know much of. But that is beside the point. Apparently my captive doesn’t understand him either, and he straightens his aim.
   “Wait--” the silver haired man says. His accent is Sokovian, and very thick. Raising his hands again, he steps forward.
   “Go away,” my captor says, tightening his grip on my arm. I struggle, and he presses the gun against my head again. I gasp, and stand still, watching. The other girls have run away. My captor turns to the man again. “Who are you? What do you want?”
   “I want you to let the girl go,” he replies, stepping forward again. My captor points the gun at him and fires twice, though nothing happens. The man blinks, the look of shock still frozen on his face. “Okay,” he says, and runs towards us. After he takes his first step, I can see no more of him, only a flash, and the next thing I know, my captor is laying on the ground, groaning. The man slows to a walk, and circles my abductor, who closes his eyes.
   “But who are you?” I manage to say, my heart skipping a beat when he looks at me.
   “I am Quicksilver,” he replies, “and I will take you somewhere safe.” I nod, not quite caring what else happens. He steps towards me. “It’ll be quicker if you let me carry you.” He says, and extends his arm to me. I walked to him, and he took me up, turning away. I look over his shoulder and see my had-been captor pick up another gun and aim it. As he did so, Quicksilver broke into a run.
   I felt a sharp pain in my shoulder, and I figured it was just from the impulse of his speed. The wind ran through my hair, and I buried my face against his shoulder.
   Soon we were away from that place, and he comes to a stop in the middle of a bridge. He sets me down, and I stagger back, taking support from the railing. Reaching in his back pocket, Quicksilver hands me my phone, and I take it. I look at my reflection in the black screen, and see my hair is hilariously messed up, and there is something dark on my shoulder. I look down, and see a red stain on my sleeve.
   “Umm,” is all I could say, and I grow dizzy. Quicksilver turns round to face me, and I reach my hand up to touch the bullet wound. He stands there for a moment, staring at my shoulder with the same look he had worn when the gun had been pointed at him. I wince, so shocked I can barely feel anything.
   “Come here,” Quicksilver motions. “I have to get you help.” I step forward, keeping my eyes fixed on the growing red stain. My head spins, but he takes me into his arms, and, holding me tightly, hurries away. I can see blurry shapes pass us by, and the look on his face has changed to determination. I look ahead, and there is a hospital that we are approaching.
   I will never be able to wear this dress again, I think dully. Soon we are at the hospital, and Quicksilver stops. He reaches up and slides the hood of his jacket over his head, and picks me back up.
   He walks inside, and looks around. A nurse scurries to us, and waves to a man, all the while speaking very hurriedly. The man brings a stretcher, and they lay me down on it. My vision begins to blur, and I keep a firm hold on Quicksilver’s hand. I don’t know why, but he makes me feel safe.
   I am wheeled away on the stretcher, and taken up to a room. I can see people around me, and Quicksilver is here too. The doctors say something to him-- I cannot understand what, but he turns, letting go of my hand. I say something, though it sounds muffled like the others’ voices, and he stares at me for a moment. Then he turns again and leaves. The last thing I see is the door closing after him, then everything grows black, and I sigh.






I was in the hospital for a few days and tear-filled nights, then finally let out. Quicksilver had visited more than a couple times, and I was glad for his company. My shoulder is recovering quickly, as the doctors and nurses had told me repeatedly, which I am also glad for. Now I am on my way home, being driven my Abigail, and the ride is quiet. The radio is set on a station and is playing rather loudly, while we sit, both with our eyes on the road. Several times I want to say something, but I keep silent. It is not as if it is awkward, only I don’t know if I should tell anyone about Quicksilver.
   Abigail reaches forward and turns the radio volume down. “Want to talk about it?” She asks, glancing over at me. I shake my head: no. She gives a slight nod, and rests her hands back on the steering wheel. I sigh, leaning my head back. The whole event was traumatic, one I wish to never have to go through again. I will not ever walk alone again, I am determined.
   I never figured that someone else’s fear will become mine. For Abigail has always been scared to death of happenstances like that, and I haven’t. But now I am.
   Finally we come to a stop at the bottom of our long driveway, and the two of us step out, still saying nothing. I hear the front door open, and Maggie, my youngest sister, who is but thirteen, runs down the steps and hugs me tightly. She is followed by Mother, who embraces me when Maggie has finally let go. I say nothing, though they continuously ask questions, and walk to the house. The door opens once again, and Lizzy, my oldest sister who has long been moved out, stands under the frame, offering a smile. I return it, and, after receiving the final hug, enter the house.
   “When I heard you were coming home today, I decided I would meet you here,” she says, and I smile again, thankful for her company. She continues. “We visited you a lot in the hospital, but you were always either asleep or unavailable-- as the doctors put it.” I give a slight laugh and nod, then stop, smelling the air. It smells of something I’ve long been craving.
   “Did you make cookies?” I ask, turning round to face her, and she nods.
   “They’re just out of the oven,” she says, walking to the kitchen. I follow, and see a large batch of chocolate cookies cooling on the counter. I give a smile over my shoulder to Abigail, who looks very excited. She’s always in the mood for these cookies.
   “Are they cooled yet?” Maggie asks, and Lizzy shakes her head.
   “Maybe in a few minutes,” she says, and Maggie nods, hurrying to her room. Abigail follows, and I make my way towards mine.
   “So what happened?” I hear Mother’s voice behind me. I shrug, and walk to my room. The thought of the incident makes me want to cry, so I deem it wise not to think or speak about it.
   I close my bedroom door behind me, and fall on my bed, burying my face in my pillows. I turn my head, and look around. Scattered papers with half finished drawings lay across my hope chest. It is evening, near eight o’clock, and I can hear Lizzy and Mother preparing supper. The door opened, and Abigail came in. She walked over and sat down on the foot of my bed.
   “We’re having the Ash’s over for supper,” she says, and I give a slight nod. She looks concerned. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”
   “Abby, I already told you,” I say, and pull my feet up, wrapping my arms around my knees. Abigail nods, and stands.
   “Well, if you ever want to talk about it,” she looks at me. “I’ll listen.” I nod, and she leaves.
   Not soon after, I hear a car pull up and park. Several doors open and shut, and the front door opens. Footsteps sound, as Maggie and Kate exchange greetings. Of course the parents begin to talk, seeing as Daddy has come home now. They move to the kitchen, and the rest remain in the foyer. I suppose I must go out and see them, so I stand, and walk out. Chloe, one of the triplets, and my best friend, comes to me, her long brown hair pulled back in a braid, and hugs me.
   “Are you alright?” she asks, and I nod, though it’s not true. Every night since I got abducted, I have had terrible nightmares. The only one who knows of them is Quicksilver and Michael Ash, who is also my best friend and the oldest of the triplets. He gives me a smile, which I return with one of my own.
   “Supper!” Mother calls, and the first to race to the kitchen are Maggie and Kate. I cross my arms and follow, with the others after me.

   After an overall quiet supper on my end, Chloe, Michael, Woodrow(being the remaining triplet), and I retire to the den, where we sit on the couches, and I listen to them talk. I, being the quiet one, could hear my phone ringing in my bedroom. For a moment I try to ignore it, but then I stand, a little to hurriedly, for the triplets look at me.
   “Sorry,” I say quickly. “I’ll be right back.” I hurry to my room, and they continue their conversation. Shoving the door opened I realise I am late, and my phone has ceased it’s ringing, and gives a sound that lets me know whoever called has left a message. I take up my phone and hold it to my ear, listening.
   “Hey, Zoë, it’s Pietro--”  Quicksilver’s voice comes over, making me to smile. “I, erm, I’m just calling.” I can’t help but give a soft laugh. “I’m actually wondering if you can meet me on the bridge later tonight, because… I want to see you. So… if you could come, I’ll be there.” I can hear him give a slight chuckle, and hang up. I sighed as the mechanical voice begins to talk. Dropping my phone on my bed, I walk back out into the den, and sit down again.
   Soon, Mrs. Ash says it is time for them to leave, and they do, after bidding and receiving several goodbye wishes and hugs. I watch as they slowly drive away, and then I reach for my car keys, which hang at the door.
   “I’m going out,” I tell Mother, who nods.
   “With who?” she asks, and I give a thoughtful smile.
   “One of my friends,” I say. “I shouldn’t be out long. I’ll probably be home before midnight.” I flash a grin, and hurry outside, skipping down the steps. Walking quickly to my car, I unlock it and slide in, lowering myself quite far, seeing as it is a very small car. Closing the door, I turn the keys in the ignition, and turn the vehicle around. Now facing the exit, I drive out of the driveway, and onto the road. I don’t know what phone Quicksilver had used, so I don’t call him back, only I hope that he is at the bridge already.
   I figure I know which bridge he is talking about-- the one where he set me down before having to take me up again to go to the hospital. That is the one I will go to first, and see if he is there. With a nod, I put in a CD, and turn the volume up, to drown out any other noise or thought.
   Within half an hour, I arrive at the bridge and park. I can see a lone figure standing with his arms resting on the railing, staring out at the water. I take the keys from the ignition, and step out, closing the door and locking it behind me. Careful to keep quiet, I walk to the bridge, and tap him gently on the shoulder. He spins around, but smiles when he sees me. I return it, and stand beside him. Surprisingly it is rather cold tonight, and I came unprepared, only wearing short sleeves.
   Thunder rumbled above us, and we both looked up to the sky. Quicksilver removed the jacket he wore and put it over my shoulders. I smiled, instantly warming. I pull it tighter around me, and sidestep a little closer to him. He sighs.
   “So, was there anything in particular you wanted to talk to me about?” I ask, and he shakes his head.
   “No,” he inhales softly. “I just wanted a bit of company. You should know, the man who captured you is in jail.” He turns to face me and I smile.
   “That’s good,” I say, and he nods. “Pietro, I don’t know if I’ve thanked you since it happened, so now I will. Thank you.” I smile again, and he does to. He reaches out and takes my hand.
   “You’re welcome,” he says, and there is a moment of awkwardness. Then suddenly he leans forward and kisses me. I am taken back, but, liking the feeling of it, I kiss him back. After all, he deserves it.
   He stops shortly, and I smile, looking down. I feel him watching me, and I blush, loosening my hold on the jacket. I am not so cold now.
   “Was that--” he starts.
   “No,” I interrupt, looking into his ocean blue eyes. “It was actually really nice.” I smile, and bite my lip, watching him. He nods, turning back to look out at the water. I can’t help it but my heart gives a flutter, and I face the same way as he.






   I return later that night, still wearing the jacket he had given me. I quietly open the door, and walk in, hanging my keys on their hook. The lights are all off, so I assume that everyone is sleeping. Slipping off my shoes, I leave them by the now closed door, and head upstairs. Thankfully, I have my own room, ergo there is no one to wake. Stepping into my bedroom, I close the door, grateful it is silent. Turning on my light, I walk to the bathroom with it’s three doors-- one leading to my room, another to Abigail’s, and a third to the hallway. I flick a switch and the room lights up. Glancing at my reflection in the mirror, I see that I am still pink. I smile, and wash my face. I change into my pyjamas, and brush my hair. Quietly, I turn off the light, and return to my room, where I fall on my bed, and lay facedown in the pillows. Staring into the darkness, I recall the events of the night.
   Pietro and I had walked along the bridge, hand in hand, mostly on my end, because I didn’t want to be captured again. Maybe it was just paranoia, but that’s how I felt. Feeling him hold my hand was comforting, and I wish it wasn’t over. We had gone to a park, and walked around there. No one was out at that time, so we walked alone, but not alone since we were together.
   I smile, and turn off my light, rolling over onto my back. The room is silent, and I listen to the stillness. My heart still flutters at the thought of the kiss, and I give a quiet childish giggle. Never in my life have I felt this way, only a few times I felt a minor version, but that is a different story.
   Thinking over all the happenstances tonight, I close my eyes and slowly fall asleep.






Three weeks later, and I am walking down the street. It is just after noon, and I am taking a leisurely stroll down the footway, with my phone in my purse and both ear buds in. My music is turned up rather loudly, and I am passing by all the main fast food restaurants. I shove my hands into the pockets of my skirt, and skip along.
   Then I notice something. A black Suburban is driving slowly behind me, and I lean my head back in annoyance. Picking up my pace, I hurry into a nearby restaurant, and turn off my music, sliding my ear buds into my purse. With a glance over my shoulder, I sit down in a booth, and peer over the seat. The Suburban has come to a stop in the car park, and now several people dressed in black step out, and walk into the restaurant. I can see firearms at their sides, and Bluetooth in their ears. When they enter, I stand, and hurry to the bathroom, closing the door behind me. I scurry into a stall, and lock it, leaning against the door, breathing heavily. Perhaps they have mistaken me for someone else, and are not truly after me.
   The bathroom door opens, and I hear boots clicking over the tile flooring. I wait as silence falls, and then something is dropped, and it rolls down to my feet. It is small and round, and I hurry away from it, pressing myself against the opposite wall. It makes a clicking noise, and breaks open. A gas rises from it, and I hold my breath, half way knowing what it could be. The vapour drifts upward, and fills the stall. My lungs begin to burn, and I cannot hold my breath any longer. I gasp, and suddenly grow dizzy. The last thing I see is the stall door opening, and a woman in black steps in as I fall forward.

   I open my eyes, and feel my head spin. Sitting up, I press the heel of my hand against my temple, and groan slightly. I can hear voices in another room, but the one I am in is dark, and I am sitting on some sort of cot. I sigh, and look around as my eyes adjust to the darkness. I stand, and make my way to the door which I can barely make out. With my hands in front of me, I feel for the handle, and pull it once I find it. The door opens, and I peer out. There are several people clad in black leather, including the woman from the bathroom, rummaging through my purse.
   I recognise someone else, also-- my had-been captor who shot me. Apparently he has escaped jail. I clench my fists, and glare, though he could not see me. I guess they are some kind of agents, for they wear a badge on their shoulders-- something like a red octopus.
   The woman agent turns to my captor, shoving the contents back into my purse. “Are you sure this is the right girl, Chris?” she asks, and he nods, motioning to my purse.
   “Check her phone,” he says, and the woman sighs, taking my phone out. Now I wish I had put a password on it. She turns it on, and he takes it from her. I cannot see what they are looking at, but he hands it back to her, and she presses it to her ear. I watch impatiently as she listens to something. What can it possibly be, I wonder. She sighs, and turns the phone off.
   “Go and get her,” she says to another agent, who nods, and walks towards the door behind which I stand.
   I scramble back and throw myself on the cot. The agent walks in, and pulls me from the bed. He takes me by the shoulders and leads me out, walking me to the woman agent. She smiles, and hugs a yellow folder against her chest.
   “Hello,” she says. “My name is Agent Cotton.” I straighten.
   “I’m Zoë--”
   “I know who you are,” she interrupts, and I frown. “I also know that you know a man named Pietro Django Maximoff, also known as Quicksilver.” She moves her arms from the file to reveal a picture on it’s front. I tense when I see who it is. It must have been taken from a surveillance camera, for it’s quality is not very good. But even through it’s pixilation I recognise him.
   “Who is that?” I ask, trying to sound as if I do not know him. I look up at her, and she seems to believe me.
   “Age: twenty-one, twin brother to Wanda Maximoff, or better known as Scarlet Witch,” she replies. “They took part in the battle of Sokovia, when Tony Stark’s robot uprooted a town. Pietro Maximoff was supposedly killed in the battle, but due to his superhuman abilities, he survived multiple bullet wounds.
   “His sister ran off with the Avengers, and has not been seen since. Zoë, the twins were part of an organisation called HYDRA before the Avengers took hold of them. Pietro never actually joined the team, but it is said that Wanda is an official member.
   “We need to find Pietro for the good of HYDRA. We are not the bad people, Mrs. Zoë. The sooner you learn that the better. You act as if you do not know Pietro, but just a few days ago, he called your mobile phone and asked you to meet him. Did you in fact, do as he asked? We know you listened to the message.” She sighs, watching me. I shake my head.
   “I figured he had the wrong number,” I say, running my fingers through my hair. Agent Cotton frowns, and my hands begin to sweat. I had lied so much as a child, I hope I have improved, and am convincing. “I was with my friends when he called, and I didn’t answer it because I didn’t recognise the number. When I listened to the voice message I didn’t call him back.” She frowns deeper, and turns my phone on again. After pressing a few buttons, she holds it out.
   “Hey, Zoë, it’s Pietro--”  I hear this and understand why she doubts me. I blush. “I, erm, I’m just calling. I’m actually wondering if you can meet me on the bridge later tonight, because… I want to see you. So… if you could come, I’ll be there.” He gives a chuckle, and hangs up. She turned the phone off.
   “‘Hey, Zoë,’” she repeats.  “He knows your name.” She crosses her arms, and I try and think of a reason.
   “My name was in the news,” I say finally. “Maybe he’s a creepy stalker.” I shrug, trying to sound as if it doesn’t bother me.
   “But you didn’t delete his message,” she says. I sigh.
   “I was going to show it to my father. I have had other calls like that, but I deleted them. When they kept coming, I told my father, and he said to show it to him next time it happened, so I kept it.” I feel weird telling so many lies, but I cannot risk Pietro coming to any harm. Then Chris stands, stepping toward me.
   “Listen here, you little--”
   “Chris,” Agent Cotton interrupts. “Mind what you say.” He nods, and takes a step back.
   “I know you know him because he came and took you away that night,” he says, and I shake my head.
   “No,” I say. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”
   “Really?” He says, and moved toward me, pulling the sleeve from my shoulder to reveal the healing bullet wound. “Then explain that.”
   “You shot me,” I say, raising my chin. “Now please--” I pull my sleeve back up. “Don’t do that.”
   “How did you escape if not by him?” he asks. My heart is racing now.
   “The police came,” I say. “My father is a cop, you know. He rescued me.” I shrug, trying to keep my cool. He frowns. Now Agent Cotton steps forward.
   “Zoë,” she says. “The police came after everyone was gone.”
   “I know,” I reply, and they both look confused. “My dad came with only a few men. It was never mentioned in any of the news.” I sigh, knowing it sounds stupid. Agent Cotton shakes her head, and turns away. She waves her hand and the agent who had brought me out comes and walks me back to the room. He closes the door once I am inside and locks it.
   I sigh, and sit down.






I am locked up for over an hour, though I do not keep track of the time. I can hear them speaking about me, but their voices are muffled, and I cannot understand what they are saying, only save for “she” and “Pietro” and a few other things. I sigh, and sit back on the cot. Then I hear a car engine start, and the vehicle drive away. I wonder where they are going. I wonder if I should throw a fit, and maybe they will let me go if I am annoying enough. But what if they don’t? I wonder, and keep quiet for fear of some kind of beating or discipline. Sighing again, I lean against a wall. Perhaps there is a secret door leading outside, I think, so I stand, and press my hands against the wall. Moving along, I pass my hands up and down, just in case there is anything there.   I am done with one wall, and I begin a second. As I am approaching the third, I stop, hearing the car drive up and park. Three doors open, one before the other, and I can hear muffled shouts. I straighten, and hurry to the door leading to the room where Agent Cotton had interrogated me. Pressing my ear against the cold metal surface, I listen. There seems to be three people that they are bringing in-- two female, and one male. I cannot understand who they are, so I step back, and wait to be brought out, as I am sure they will bring me. After nigh a minute, the door opens, and an agent brings me out.
   I am shocked by who are kneeling before me, and the look on their faces makes  me terrified. It is Abigail, Chloe, and Michael. I look to Agent Cotton, and she motions to them.
   “Zoë,” she says, and I raise my chin. “Every… twenty minutes that you do not tell us where Pietro Maximoff is, we will kill one of your friends. I am not trying to be harsh, but if you will not give me the information that I need, I will have to be pushy. Now--” she motions at an agent, and then to the trio before me. “Who will go first? Your boyfriend?” The agent reached down to take hold of Michael.
   “No!” I shout, stepping forward. Agent Cotton raises her hand, and I turn to her, dropping my hands helplessly. “I already told you, I don’t know where Pietro is!”
   “But you know him?” She cocks an eyebrow, and I hang my head.
   “Yes,” I say, glancing at Michael, who is wearing an expression something of fright. “I do know him, but not his location. We only meet whenever he calls because I don’t have any way to reach him.”
   “So you did go and see him the night he called you?” She asked. Abigail looked at me with confusion in her eyes.
   “Zoë,” she says. “Who is she talking about?”
   “Oh,” Cotton turns to Abigail, though keeping her eyes fixed on me. “So you haven’t told your sister?”
   “I haven’t told anyone,” I counter, crossing my arms. “No one needed to know.”
   “I needed to know,” Abigail says, concern tinting her voice. I shake my head, and she lowers hers. Agent Cotton sighs.
   “Where did you meet Pietro?” she asks, and I look up.
   “I’ll never tell you,” I say, and she nods. The agent reaches out again, and I step forward. “Fine!” I exclaim. Agent Cotton turns to me.
   “You’ll take us there, then.” And she turns, walking away. I cringe at my loose tongue, and follow after, with two agents behind me.
   “But you have to let them go,” I say, scurrying to catch up with her. “If you don’t, I won’t tell you where Pietro and I meet.” I cross my arms, thinking highly of my wit. But she shrugs.
   “If you don’t tell me where it is you meet, I will kill your friends. I don’t have to let them go if I don’t want to. They know where they’ve been taken,” she looks at me, and I hold her gaze, though I am internally kicking myself. Of course, she has the better hand than I do. There is no stopping her. “I can kill them anyway if I want to. That’s what I’ll do if you don’t do exactly what I ask.” She smirks, and continues walking. I trail after, drooping my shoulders.
   We walk out of the building, which I see is naught more than a run down shack, and she opens the passenger door to one of the black Suburbans. I climb in, and she goes around to the driver’s side. I close my door and cross my arms as she starts the engine.
   The car pulls out of the gravel driveway and down the road. I am giving directions all the while, telling which bridge it is, and where. I feel sick at my stomach for doing so, but I cannot let my friends die. I wonder what fate will befall Pietro once he is in their hands.
   “So,” I say when we come to a stop at the bridge. “What will happen to Pietro once HYDRA has him?”
   “He’ll be trained,” she stood from her seat, straightening her jacket. “Toughened, maybe even given more powers.”
   “Another experiment?” I ask, and she turns to face me.
   “How do you know about that?” She furrows her brow, and I give a smirk. She thinks I am stupid. I’m seventeen. I’m not stupid.
   “Pietro told me.” I say. “He told me everything HYDRA did to him and his sister.” Agent Cotton scoffs.
   “He must have liked you to have been so open,” she says. “We sent several undercover agents to find him and try to get inside him. He never opened up to them, so they came back empty handed. There must be something about you…” She gave me an odd look. I shrugged.
   “I’m nothing special.” I say. She looks thoughtful. “And even if I was, I wouldn’t tell a freak like you.” I smile, and she frowns.
   Two of her agents pull up in their Suburban, and step from their vehicle. They come to us, and stand near us.
   “So,” I say. “Why are we here? It’s not like I have any way to contact him. This trip was rather pointless.” I set my hands on the railing, and look across the water. I’m hoping they’ll take me back and let me, Abby, and my friends go. But Cotton tenses suddenly.
   “Look,” she says to her agents, and points. I look, too, and my heart sinks at what I see. It is Pietro, walking to an apartment. He takes out his keys, thankfully not acknowledging us, and walks inside. Agent Cotton takes me by the arm.
   “You need to go talk to him,” she says, keeping an eye on the building he has just entered. “Take him to his apartment--”
   “What?” I exclaim.
   “Just so we can get someone up there to tranquilise him,” she says. “We need him in one place. Keep his focus on you, so he doesn’t see my man. Alright?”
   “No!”
   “Remember who we have,” she crosses her arms, and I sigh.
   “Just don’t kill him,” I say. “If you do, I will personally drown you in that river.” I point to the water flowing under and away from the bridge. Agent Cotton laughs, as if my threat does not sway her.
   “Go Zoë, and remember.” She nods, as do I. Then I turn, and hurry to the apartment, all the while my heart is racing in my chest. I feel dizzy at the thought of betraying him, but I cannot allow my friends to die. Cotton said that they would train him-- not kill him. I sigh, and walk into the apartment building. I stride to the receptionist, who looks up when I approach.
   “Hi,” I say, setting my hands on the desk. “I’m looking for a Pietro Maximoff.” She opens her book, and begins looking over the names.
   “There’s no Pietro Maximoff here,” she says, and I sigh, looking around, trying to think of another name he might have used. But, I see there is no point in that when I find him walking up one of the flights of stairs.
   “Never mind,” I say, and hurry after him. Quickly ascending the staircase, I catch up to him, and set my hand on his shoulder, coming to a slower pace. He looks at me, and smiles, though continues to walk. I sigh, and he leads me to his apartment. He unlocks the door and holds it open for me as I enter. His place is a mess, and it is rather dark. He gives a chuckle, flicking on a switch. I notice there are curtains draped over the windows. I wonder if I should lift them.
   “Do you want some coffee?” he asks, and I shrug.
   “Anything stronger?” I ask, and he laughs, glancing over his shoulder at me.
   “How old are you?” he asks, and I smile.
   “Seventeen,” I say, and he shakes his head with a grin, turning back to his coffee maker. “I’m going to look out the window, is it okay if I open the curtain?” I feel terrible when he nods, and I walk to the window, and shove away the drapes. I look out, and see, on the building beside this one, an agent is crouched on the rooftop with a gun. I sigh, and move away, walking back to the kitchen.
   Pietro hands me a cup of steaming dark coffee, for he knows I don’t like anything in it but sugar. He smiles, and pulls out a chair for me. I sit, and he sits opposite.
   “I’m glad you came,” he says, and I nod, though I am not glad I came. I looked in his eyes, and bit my lip at the trust I saw. He smiles again, but I don’t. The expression on my face softens his, and he tilts his head.
   “What’s wrong?” he asks, and I sigh, setting down my coffee cup and running my hands over my face.
   “Oh, Pietro,” I say. “I’ve done something terrible, and now you’ll hate me for it.” He shakes his head.
   “I’ll never hate you, Zoë,” he says.
   “But you will for this,” I counter. “HYDRA has my sister and two of my friends, and they threaten to kill them if I don’t help them get you back.” Pietro sets his cup down, and sighs.
   “Okay,” he says.
   “You hate me now, don’t you?” I say, but to my surprise he shakes his head. He stands, and I do too.
   “We’ll let them capture me, then,” he says, as if he has a plan.
   “Really?” I ask, and he nods. I see that he knows what he is doing, and I trust him. “Then we’ll need to make it look like I didn’t just tell you that.” He stands, taking my hands.
   “I know how to do that,” he says, and takes my hand, pulling me in front of the window, which breaks when the tranquiliser dart is shot through. Pietro stops when this happens, and I close my eyes, still holding his hand.
   When the dart finds it’s mark, he slumps to the ground, and I follow to my knees, stroking a strand of hair from his face. Just then, the apartment door swings open, and the two agents hurry in, taking Pietro away. I sigh, and stand, walking after them, and closing the door. As we make our way out, we pass the receptionist who never looks up once from her book, only keeps reading as we hurry out.
   The two agents take Pietro to their Suburban, and I walk back to the one with Agent Cotton. As I climb in, she smiles, but I only look away.
   “That was quite convincing,” she says. I raise my chin as she backs out of her parking place. “He must really trust you.”
   “He does,” I say. “And I trust him.” She nods, though I don’t think she knows of what I am specifically speaking. I smile, turning to look out the window.






I notice on the way back that we aren’t going back. We drive past the run down shack, and as we do so, I press my hands against the window, watching it go by. I turn to Agent Cotton, but her eyes are fixed on the road, and she doesn’t even glance my way. I clench my jaw, wondering where we are going. Looking over my shoulder, I see that the other Suburban is following us. Thank goodness for that-- if I was to be separated from my friends, at least I would not be separated from Pietro.
   I sit back in my seat and cross my arms. After nigh an hour, Agent Cotton parks the car in front of a wide, white building with a black shingled roof. The walls are naught but around three feet high, and I find it an odd sort of building. Agent Cotton obviously thinks nothing of this, but instead slides out of the car, motioning for me to follow. There is a porch on the right wing of the building made five inches from the ground, and I wonder if we are to enter the place through the roof. How in the world are they going to get Pietro in that way if he is still unconscious.
   I follow Cotton to the porch, and she bends down, taking hold of a handle at her feet. Stepping back, she raises this, and a trapdoor opens. The two agents follow after us, carrying Pietro. As Agent Cotton climbs in, I see a stairwell leading away from the trapdoor, spiralling down into dark nothingness. With a sigh, I descend after her, and the others after me. I keep my hand on the wall to guide me, and for a while, I see nothing but black.
   Soon we come to the bottom of the stairwell, though, and the world erupts into light. I am suddenly in a white room, so bright it is like the sun reflecting off of fresh fallen snow. People dressed in white and people dressed in black pass us by without even the turning of a head.
   That is, until the agents bring Pietro down. He has woken up, and is now stumbling around like he was drunk. I suppose that is because of the tranquiliser wearing off. He staggers down the steps after the first agent and before the second. He looks at me, with a look of utter disgust. I wonder if he is acting. I trust that he is, and give an apologetic look. Agent Cotton smiles, and the agents around us stare in awe. Is Quicksilver so important that they would go through all this trouble to take him in?
   Smiles cross over the agents’ faces, and they mutter things to one another. No one seems to care about me, but that doesn’t bother me. I am glad they don’t notice me.
   Agent Cotton waves her hand at the two agents behind us, and they lead Pietro away. There is a glass room on the far end of the wing we stood in, and I figure that is where they are taking him. I hope no harm befalls him. I sigh, and turn to Agent Cotton.
   “So, where am I to stay?” I ask, and she faces me, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She must be plotting some evil deed, I think to myself.
   “Well, you will need a room,” she says. “I suppose, if you are to become one of us.” She smiles at me, and I furrow my brow, opening my mouth to hesitate. But she interrupts. “No one can know about us and escape. You know where our building is, and you know that we have kidnapped your friends. You either work for us as an agent-in-training, or we kill you and your friends. It’s your choice.” With these words she strides away, and I am left to stand alone. I don’t want to be an agent. I wonder what Pietro’s plan is, and when it will come to play. I also don’t want my friends to die. So I follow after Cotton, quickening my strides.
   “So, where am I to stay?” I ask again.
   “You’ll get a room later tonight,” she replies. “But for now you will start your training. Do you have a weapon of choice?” I sigh.
   “The only weapon I’ve ever been good at is a bow,” I say, and she nods, waving to another agent, who approaches us. “Oh, and it has to be a recurve bow, because I don’t know how to use any other kind.”
   “This is Agent Argus,” she says, motioning to the man who has just come up to us. “He will give you what you need, and hand you over to another agent, Agent Clair.” I nod, and follow Agent Argus, who leads me down a long hallway, which is lined with doors. He takes me to the end of this, and opens the door. I step into a small room, and he leaves me.
   On the far side of the room is a bed, beside which is a dresser. A black leather outfit is folded neatly on top of this, and I walk to it, closing the door. I kick off my shoes and gently ease my dress over my head. Tossing this on the bed, I quickly change into the uniform. It is a little tight, but I zip up the leather shirt anyway. It creaks when I move, and I stand still for a moment. A pair of boots are at the foot of my bed, and I step into them. I want to talk to Pietro.
   I hurry from my room and down the stairs. There are agents everywhere, and I approach Agent Argus, softly clearing my throat. He turns to me, and I offer a smile.
   “After I am taken to Agent Clair, I’d like a few minutes with the prisoner,” I say, and he nods. He walks away, and into an office, soon returning. He motions with a jerk of his head for me to follow, and I do, quickening my pace to match that of his. He takes me to another room, and closes the door once we are both entered.
   A tall, dark haired woman turns round to face us, and she sits down in a black swivel chair.
   “Oh,” she says, looking to me and then to Argus. “Is this the woman they just brought in?” Argus nods.
   “Yes,” he replies, and she raises her chin to scrutinize me. I straighten.
   “Zoë?” She asks, and, receiving another nod from Agent Argus, looks back at me. “Well, welcome to HYDRA. Your training will begin tomorrow. You don’t look it, but we’ll make an agent out of you, yet.” She smiles, but I keep my sullen expression. She waves her hand, and Argus takes me out.
   “Do you still want to visit the prisoner?” He asks, and I nod. He takes me from that hallway, and down another. I follow him to a staircase, and he leads me down the stairs, stopping before a black glass wall. Taking a group of keys from his belt, he slides on into a hidden keyhole and opens a door. I step in, seeing hunched over Pietro sitting in the corner. The agent closes the door behind me and I am alone with Pietro.






He stands when he sees me, and glances at the closed door. For a moment, neither of us say anything, and he takes my hands, lacing his fingers with mine. I feel myself blush when he stares into my eyes like they are an open doorway to my soul.
   “Pietro, I want to apologise for what happened in the apartment,” I say, the memory clear still in my mind. He gives a slight smile, and again I redden, feeling my cheeks warm. 
   “It wasn’t you’re fault,” he says, something sparking in his eyes. I’m at a loss for words, but only for a moment. 
   “Okay,” I nod slowly, looking down at my feet. When I look up, he is staring at me, and tears rim his eyes. I slowly, cautiously, reach up and touch the side of his face. He smiles slightly, and I return it with a small one of my own. 
   Suddenly he breaks away, and the door opens. He steps back, and I stare at the tears in his eyes. I wonder why he is crying, and if he is sad or happy. He inhales sharply, and his jaw tightens when Agent Argus steps in, followed by Agent Cotton. She smiles at me, but there is something sour in her expression. 
   “You know there are cameras in here,” she says, and I feel suddenly hot. Colour rises to my cheeks, and Pietro bites his lip. “But never mind that,” she shrugs. “I have some questions for the both of you.” I open my mouth to speak, but my words are caught in my throat, and I remain silent. 
   “We’re both listening,” Pietro says, and Agent Cotton nods, barely noticing him move his hand down to take mine. My heart has stopped it’s pounding, which I am extremely grateful for. I tuck my hair behind my ear with a nod. 
   “Very well,” Agent Cotton says, and sits down in a chair that was in the corner closest to the door. She opens a black folder, and begins to look through it. I glance at Pietro, and he at me. My heart flutters, and I turn back to face Agent Cotton. She looks up. “How long have the two of you known each other?” She asks. 
   “Just a little over three weeks,” I say, and swallow when I notice my throat is dry. “Depending on what today is.” Agent cotton looks back down at the folder. 
   “April 21st,” she says, and I nod. 
   “Twenty-four days, then,” I say. I have kept track of everyday since I have met him, so of course I know the exact number. 
   “So you’ve known him for not even a month, and you’re already doing this?” She looks up at us, and my heartbeat rises. So does the colour in my cheeks. I wish it would stop, though. She laughs softly, and turns her eyes to the file again. Neither of us answer her question, so she moves along to the next. “Is it real?”
   “Why are you asking us this?” I ask, and she looks up, as if offended that I would answer her question with a question. I lick my lips, wishing they hadn’t’ve come in. Something tenses in Pietro’s hand, and I know his thoughts are similar to mine. Agent Cotton sighs. 
   “Very well,” she replies. “You have five more minutes in here, and then the prisoner must be left alone.” She smiles smugly, and I raise my chin. She stands, handing the folder to Agent Argus. “Just know that there are cameras everywhere. We can hear your conversations, and see all of your actions.”
   “If you want to leave Pietro alone in five minutes, you’d better get going, because you’re wasting our time.” I say, crossing my arms. She nods, and Agent Argus opens the door. She walks out, and he follows, closing and locking the door behind us. I look down at my hand, and notice that the tips of three of my fingers have been cut and are bleeding. The zips on my sleeves must have done it, seeing as I had been messing around with them whilst Agent Cotton was speaking. 
   Pietro turns back to me, and looks into my eyes. I sigh, lowering my head. But he reaches down and lifts up my chin, so to stare into my eyes again. 
   “What’s wrong?” he asks, and I shrug, taking one of his hands and lacing my fingers with his. 
   “She’s right,”  I say with a sigh. “It has been only a very short time, and already we’re so far. I just wonder,” I raise my eyes to meet his gaze. “Is it real?” His eyes glisten, and he glances down, then up, and again, until now he stays looking in my eyes. 
   “Of course,” he says, and in his seriousness, his accent thickens. My heart begins to pound, and heat rises to my face. He stares into my eyes, and I dare not blink. I hold my breath, and he sighs, leaning his forehead against mine. As my heartbeat races, I feel unstable and my knees weaken. 
   Cameras is the only word going through my head right now, and I lick my lips in anticipation. I stare into Pietro’s eyes, noticing how many shades of blue are in them. I swallow, reaching up to cup my hand under his ear. I rub my thumb over his short sideburns, and he lifts my chin so that my lips meet his. The soft kiss makes my heart flutter, and I feel I may keel over. 
   “Pietro,” I breathe when we break. “Why did you save me that night?” He sighs, and removes his shirt, revealing multiple scars that are scattered across his shoulders, chest, and abdomen. “Oh,” I whisper, touching my finger gently to one of the scars. They look like the one I have on my shoulder from when Chris shot me that night. 
   “Ever since the battle of Sokovia I’ve been searching for something-- anything to get my head straight,” he spoke softly and quietly. “I saw what happened to you, and I couldn’t just do nothing.”
   “Oh, Pietro,” I breathe, reaching up to touch his face. Again, tears filled his eyes, and something shone in them-- a dark glimmer of remembrance. He inhaled sharply, pulling away from me. 
   “I think it’s been five minutes,” he says, and his voice shakes. He pulls his shirt back on, and I nod. I walk to the glass door, and tap on it. It opens, and I walk out, glancing at the guard positioned there so that he may shut it. I turn away when I hear it close, and I hurry up the stairs. A lump rises in my throat, and I run to my room, slamming the door shut behind me. A laptop is laying on the bed, and I open it, turning it on. Once it is active, my fingers run across the keys, and the words Battle of Sokovia appear on the screen. I press the ‘enter’ button, and pull up a link which the internet has brought up for me. When it opens, I begin to read the contents of the page. 
   Everything is as Agent Cotton had said. Quicksilver had died, and was taken back to the Avengers’ tower, where-- before they could heal him-- he disappeared. There were several sightings of a ‘silver streak’ running through several of the states, headed south. That’s why he had come here. 
   Maybe his death blurred his mind for a while, and he didn’t know what he was doing. Maybe he was just running. Away from S. H. I. E. L. D. and HYDRA, and who knows what else. He’d left his twin sister with the Avengers’ new initiative, and had been missing for over a year. 
   I sigh, and close the laptop, reaching in one of the drawers for some bandages for my still bleeding fingers. Pietro had every reason to be distant from me, and I don’t blame him for pushing me away. He is damaged, I know that, but still wonder if there is anything I could do to help him. I lie back against the pillows, and turn to look out the window. It is dark, and the clock on the wall reads well past midnight. I close the laptop, and try to get some sleep.

“Let a lesson be learned today,” Agent Cotton’s voice brakes through my thoughts. I look up. My hands are bound behind me, and I am standing in front of Agent Argus, who’s hand grips my shoulder tightly. What I see before me is the most dreadful thing I could ever possibly imagine. Pietro is on his knees, hands bound, before Cotton, who is holding a gun to the top of his head. I gasp, and tears spring to my eyes. My vision is blurred, and I blink to clear it. I feel a sob shake me, then he looks at me. His expression says this is my fault. I am to blame. He slowly lowers his head and glares, with the look of utter betrayal written in his eyes.
   We are all wet, and I realise it is raining. The water drips from his hair, down into puddles at his mud covered knees. His lips are bloody, and there is a cut under his left eye. Agent Cotton cocked the gun.
   “We will not tolerate this kind of actions,” she says, and at first, I do not know what she is speaking of. Then I remember the glass room. She had said there were cameras in there, and I figure that must be why.
   “Please don’t do this,” I beg quietly, as my tears mix in with the rain that is falling on my face. But she doesn’t listen. Instead, she pulls the trigger, and the gun fires loudly. Once. Twice. Pietro falls on his side in the mud, and I run to him, falling to my knees. Blood drains from his mouth, and spills from the back of his head, staining the ground red beneath him. I bury my face in his hair and cry, kissing his temple again and again.
   This is not what she promised. She said they would use him for HYDRA, not kill him. Suddenly, my hands are free, and I touch the blood streaming from his mouth. I take his hand and kiss it as the sky turns to a kaleidoscope of black and red. The rain turns to crimson blood, and the earth beneath us evaporates. Now all that is under us is darkness, and I scream as it fills up with blood.
   “Pietro,” I cry, pulling him into my arms. I shout his name over and over, hoping that somehow it will wake him.
   “Pietro!” I scream, my eyes flying open. I realise it was only a dream, and I lay there, sweat rimming my hair. I breathe heavily, and look at my hand. The bandage has come off and it is bleeding again. The bed sheets are stained red, and I remember Pietro’s still body, laying in a puddle of his own blood. It had covered his once silver hair, and my hands. I can’t help but cry, remembering the dream as if it was still happening. I turn on the light beside my bed and sit up, wiping away the tears. It had all felt so real. I look at the clock on the wall, which reads five-eighteen. I stand, and pull a robe over my tank-top and shorts, walking out of my room. No one is around, so I sneak down to the black glass room. The agent who is supposed to be guarding has fallen asleep, so I silently lift the keys from his belt. I unlock the door, and walk in, quietly shutting it. There is a keyhole on the inside, so I lock it, and walk over to Pietro’s sleeping form. I touch his hair, gently curling a lock of it around my finger. Then he stirs, and wakes, turning over to look at me.
   “Zoë,” he mumbles, reaching up to touch the side of my face. I kiss his fingers, and he sits up. “What are you doing here?” He asks drowsily. The memory of the dream comes back to me, and I can’t speak, for fear of weeping. After a moment of silence, I gather myself, and sigh.
   “I had a dream about you,” I say, tears coming to my eyes again. “It was-- It was so awful.” I drop the robe from my shoulders, and he sets his hand under my ear.
   “Hey,” he whispers. “It’s alright.”
   “No it’s not!” I stifle a sob. “You died! You were shot and you died and I was there to see it! It was all my fault!” I bury my face in my hands, and he pulls me into an unexpected embrace. I fling my arms around him, and cry against his shoulder. I move and sit down beside him, still with his arms around me. Now he rests his hand in his lap, and the other stays on my shoulder. When I have calmed down, I wipe my eyes and cross my arms. He leans his head back against the wall, and closes his eyes. I lay my head on his shoulder, and his hand falls limp at my side. I look up at him, and pull my knees up to me. It’s been eighteen weeks since I was recruited. I lean against him, and rest one hand on his chest, and the other reaches around to hold his hand. He mutters something, and I close my eyes, listening to my heartbeat gentle against his ribs. Sighing, I slowly drift off to sleep.






When I wake up I am alone. I am still in the black glass room, but I am by myself. So I quickly tug on the robe and tie it, scurrying to stand. I scramble out of there, and hurry to my room, where I dress in the black leather. I toss my pyjamas on the bed, and hurry out. There is commotion downstairs, and so I rush down, braiding my hair over my shoulder. Several agents are gathered in one room, and so I enter there, and see over their shoulders. I see Pietro standing in the middle of the ring that they had created by standing all in a wide circle, with Agent Argus, who holds a knife in each hand. I sigh, and make my way to the front of the circle so that I can see better. As I come up, I see Cotton standing opposite me, watching them. There is a young boy beside her, and on her other side is Agent Clair. Cotton blows a whistle, and Argus leaps forward, swinging his knives.
   But Pietro is quick, and ducks down, and again, when Argus comes back. They move around the ring, eyeing each other, until Pietro runs, and knocks Argus down with his speed. He is across the ring in no less than a second, holding both of the knives in his hand. He chuckles, then, after receiving a stern look from Agent Cotton, frowns. I figure her expression means for him not to run fast like that, and so he doesn’t.
   Argus comes at him, but Pietro simply tosses him one of the knives. The agent looks rather taken back, but continues coming towards him. He swings the knife, but Pietro ducks, and slices his leg. Argus merely grunts, and lodges his knife in Quicksilver’s shoulder.
   I gasp, and Pietro cringes when the agent twists the blade. He drops his knife, and Argus takes it, along with the one in Pietro’s shoulder. He backs away, and Pietro stands, never glancing at the blood streaming from his shoulder. Argus flips the knives, though limping, and runs toward Pietro again. Pietro raises his arm to block the oncoming swing, but the blade cuts through his wrist.
   He tightens his jaw, and, clenching his fist, swings it, sending Argus staggering backwards. He runs at him, and hits him again, knocking him to the ground. He drops himself on top of Argus, and, taking hold of the front of his shirt with one hand, begins to hit him repeatedly, until his knuckles are red with Argus’ blood.
   Argus closes his eyes, and Pietro sighs, lowering his fist. He smiles at his easy victory, but his joy is soon taken away when Argus throws him off of himself and stands. Pietro scrambles backwards, the blood running down his arm staining the glass floor. Argus swings the knife, and cuts across Pietro’s face, from his ear to his chin. The agent laughs, and Pietro stands.
   Argus swings his fist, knocking Quicksilver down again. Now he sits upon Pietro, who turns to get him off. They roll about on the floor, and now Pietro has the upper hand, and slams the back of Argus’ head into the floor. He only has the chance to do this once before Argus, being the larger of the two, pulls him down and pins him against the floor.
   Pietro shouts when Argus drives one of the knives under his shoulder blade, and presses his knee into Pietro’s lower back. I want to go and help, but I fear what may happen to Pietro should I try and interfere.
   Argus takes a handful of hair from the back of Quicksilver’s head, and begins to slam his face into the floor. Glass shards fly around, and Pietro tries to push himself up. But Argus steps on his arm and I hear something of a cracking noise. I press my hand against my mouth, and finally, Pietro wraps his feet around Argus’ neck and flips him over. Then he pushes himself up, wiping the blood from his face and taking the knife from his shoulder, which he tosses beside it’s twin. He holds one of his hands with the other as Argus struggles to stand.
   While he is crouched, though, Pietro runs at him, and kicks him in the stomach. Argus falls back down, and takes one of the knives from beside the other. But Pietro steps on his hand, and there is yet another cracking noise. Pietro gives a grin, but Argus takes up the other knife and stabs it above Pietro’s knee. He shouts, and stumbles backwards.
   Argus stands, and raises the other knife. Pietro falls to his knees, crying out as more blood spurts from the wound. Argus laughs, and slides the knife under Pietro’s chin.
   Quicksilver jerks his chin a little bit upward, and glares at Argus, who simply, kicks the knife further into Pietro’s leg. Pietro shouts, and falls forward. It looks as if he is bowing to Argus, as I am sure that was the plan.
   “Get up,” Argus says, but Pietro only drops his shoulders. “I said, get up!” Argus kicks him rather hard in the ribs, knocking him back. But still he follows, and repeatedly kicks him in the sides. After several moments of this, Pietro, whimpering, desperately begins to try and crawl away. He drags himself across the floor, leaving a trail of red to smear the shine of the glass.
   “Please,” he begs, bowing his head as he crawls frantically away. Then he collapses before Agent Cotton. He coughs out a mouthful of blood, and the boy beside her gasps.
   “Mother,” he says, reaching up and taking her hand.
   “Hush, Rupert,” she replies. Pietro continues to throw up blood, and he groans, glancing over his shoulder at Argus, who is steadily coming toward him. I hold my breath.
   Argus hurriedly kneels down and slides his arm roughly under both of Pietro’s. He pulls him up, and puts the knife under his chin. Pietro struggles to stand, making sure to put as little pressure as possible on his injured leg. Blood runs down his chin, and he licks it off of his teeth. I wait with the others in silence, as Argus decides what to do with him. Then he stabs the knife into his neck, and I scream.
   Pietro gasps silently, raising his hand to touch the blade. He looks as if he wants to cry out, though nothing comes from his lips but silence. He set his teeth together and closed his eyes tightly, tensing his jaw. I hold my breath, waiting to see what happens. I expect him to fall to the ground dead, just as in my dream, but he only stands there, one hand clutching Argus’ arm, and the other closed around the blade. He opens his eyes and winces. The room is silent, until Argus removes the knife. Pietro gasps, and exhales sharply. Argus drops him to the floor, and walks away. I hurry and run to Pietro’s side, and cup his face in my hands.
   “Oh-- oh my--” I sputter, looking into his eyes, which fade in and out of focus. “Are you okay?” I ask, though clearly I know he isn’t. He gives a slight nod anyway, and I help him stand. He reaches down and jerks the blade from his knee, stifling a cry. Dropping the blade, he watches it clatter on the floor, and then follows me out.
   Then Cotton is beside us, her son clutching her hand. “The medical room is down that hallway,” she says. I nod, and take his hand. When at last we reach the medical room, I open the door, and he walks in ahead of me. I take hold of an agent’s arm, and he stops, turning to face me.
   “Quicksilver will need another outfit,” I say, and he nods, hurrying away. I close the door once I am inside, and I begin to take what supplies I will need. My first week or so of training I was taught what to bandage, where to bandage, and what to bandage with. First I take care of his neck, and then step back to admire my work. I wave my hand in an upwards motion, and he takes off his shirt, setting it on a chair beside him. I move around him and wrap the cloth around his shoulder. Thankfully, both wounds were to the same one, so I didn’t use too much of the bandage.
   I pull up a chair and sit in front of him, taking the knife from my belt. I slowly and carefully cut away the pant leg around his wound, and it falls to the ground at his feet. I clean and bandage his leg, and by that time the agent has returned with Pietro’s change of clothes. When he knocks, I answer the door and take the outfit from him. Then he leaves, and I hand it to Pietro, and turn away.
   “Help?” He says, and I turn around. He has changed into the pair of dark pants they had given him, but is holding the shirt in one hand, the other hung loose at his side. Of course, I remember. Argus broke his wrist. I nod, and take it from him. I pull it gently as possible over his injured hand, and then he slides the other one into the remaining sleeve. Then I tug it over his head, and pull it down to the top of his pants. He smiles, and I bandage his wrist tightly, keeping it so that it cannot move.
   “That should hold it in place,” I say, taking a sling from one of the boxes. He fits his forearm into it, and I bring the strap around his shoulders, and bring it to attach to the rest of the sling. This done, I step back.
   “Zoë,” he whispers, and I look up into his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
   “Whatever for?” I ask, taking his hand. “Pietro, there’s nothing you did that would make me mad at--”
   “I pushed you away,” he interrupts, and I swallow, giving a nod.
   “But you had every reason to,” I reply, reaching up to touch his face. “You have no reason to apologise.”
   “Yes, I do,” he says. “I shouldn’t have been so cold toward you. I was being an arse and I am so sorry.” I laughed.
   “Okay,” I say, nodding. “I forgive you. I will always forgive you.” He smiles, and leans forward, planting a soft kiss on my lips. Then he straightens, and his expression changes.
   “Oh,” he exclaims, and runs his fingers across my mouth. “I got blood on you.” I laugh again, and take a cloth from one of the boxes, and wipe away the blood from his face. He winces, but I am careful to cause as least pain as I can. The cut on his jaw will leave a scar, I think to myself, and toss the cloth in the garbage bin. Taking another, I clean the blood from his mouth, makings sure to run it over the cut. Then I turn it over, and wipe my lips. With a smile, I throw it away, and open the door. He holds it for me, and I walk out. He limps after me, but before we go very far, Agent Cotton is beside us.
   “After you are fully healed,” she says to Pietro. “I am willing to grant you both an off day. You will have to stay near us, and we will send guards to watch over you.” I can’t help but smile.
   “Thank you,” I say, but then I stop and wonder why she is doing this. Maybe a softness of heart? I didn’t even know she could do that.
   “Don’t thank me,” she counters. “It wasn’t my idea. So if anyone is to thank-- or blame-- it is my son, Rupert.” I nod, and say nothing afterwards. Then she leaves, motioning for an agent to take Pietro away.






It takes a few months for Pietro to recover from the fight in the arena, but now they say today we can have our off day. It’s the beginning of summer, and there is a lake nearby. That’s were we plan to go.   At the moment, I don’t know where Pietro is, but I assume he is somewhere getting ready. I dress in a black tank top and cut-off jean shorts, and decide not to wear shoes, because the only ones I have are the black leather boots that HYDRA gave me, and the heels I had been wearing when I came here. I tie my hair up in a pony-tail, and hurry out to wait for Pietro.
   I sit in a chair and cross my legs, folding my hands in my lap. I look about, and the agents around me don’t seem to notice me. Then five of them approach, and I roll my eyes. Of course, Agent Cotton said she would send them with us to ‘guard’ us. Thankfully, Argus isn’t one in the five, and that relieves me. I don’t like him, and haven’t since the ‘gladiator tournament’, as I called it. They stop and stand beside me, waiting.
   Now Pietro comes up from downstairs, dressed in the normal: dark pants and his running shirt. He offers a smile and I return it, standing. We walk out, followed by the agents. Pietro suddenly sweeps me off my feet, glancing over his shoulder at our guards.
   “Try and keep up,” he says, and runs away-- full speed. I can see the irritated looks on their faces just before we take off, and they hurry to a Suburban. I giggle, and we arrive at the lake sooner than I expected, and he sets me down. I know we will be in trouble when the agents come, and I see they are approaching, but I don’t care. I give a sigh, my hand still on Pietro’s shoulder. As the suburban pulls up, the agents climb out, though say nothing to us as they take their positions. I glance at Pietro and he laughs.
   I tiptoe to the middle of a dock, and look out at the water. It ripples in the wind, and I sigh contentedly, turning back to look at Pietro. I laugh shortly, and he runs up to me. I scream when he picks me up and sets me over his shoulder, running toward the water. He jumps in, tossing me. I hit the water only a moment after he does, and I sink down, feeling the impulse.
   Swimming up to the surface, I open my eyes when the air hits my face, and look around. I cannot see Pietro, and I figure he is still underwater. His shoes and shirt are laying on the dock where he had left them before taking me into the water with him.
   Suddenly he appears right in front of me, and I gasp, then laugh. He smiles and we swim around for a moment.
   Then the sound of gunfire rings around us, and the agents sent to guard us fall to the ground, closing their eyes. I stop, setting my hand on Pietro’s shoulder. We are both tensed, and he takes my hand, pulling me closer to him.
   For a moment nothing happens. We wait in silence until fifteen or so armoured men dressed in black uniforms (much like those the HYDRA agents wear) run from the trees. They don’t seem to notice us, but keep going in the direction of the HYDRA building. I quickly swim to the dock, and pull myself up, and Pietro follows. We both run-- at the same pace-- after the new agents, but keep our distance. I don’t want to be seen, and clearly neither does Pietro.
   We follow them to the building, and they enter it. There won’t be enough of them to fight off the HYDRA agents, I think, but then scores of more agents run out from the woods. Pietro, with his hand on me, and I with mine against a tree, turn to look at these agents. Several of them glance at us, but do nothing, save for run to the building.
   Once they have all entered through the trapdoor on the porch, there is a silence, and I wait, listening.
   Then I hear gunshots, and I run-- Pietro following-- to the building. The trapdoor is still open, and I hurry in, quickly descending the spiralling stairwell. Once I am down, what is before me is something of a battlefield. I gasp at the scattered bodies of the fallen agents, for there are many. I run my fingers through my hair, combing it over to one side. I reach back and take Pietro’s hand, and he steps down to stand beside me. The floor at our feet is shattered in some places where the bullets broke through the glass. I step down, careful to mind the shards, and look around, listening to the constant sound of gunfire.
   I follow the noise, leaving Pietro in his petrified place on the stairs. I step over several bloody bodies, as I make my way to another staircase. I descend this one, and hurry to the sound of the bullets. When I come to the bottom of the stairs, I look out, and see two sides-- HYDRA versus… I squint to see who the others are. A body drops, near me, and I see an emblem on his shoulder. S. H. E. I. L. D. That is this other agency. What have they come here for, I wonder?
   They seem to have the upper hand in this battle they are fighting, seeing as more HYDRA agents are falling than S. H. E. I. L. D. agents. Then I see that they are making their escape. Through another door which I didn’t even know about. They swarm through the doorway, and up a staircase. The S. H. I. E. L. D. agents follow, and I hurry up the one I am standing in. I run across the main floor, though I do not see Pietro is where I left him. In fact, I cannot see him anywhere. Still, I hurry from the building, and outside. Now both sides of agents are in the car park, their bullets ricocheting off of cars, trees, anything. I look around for Pietro, until someone grabs me from behind, clamping their hand over my mouth.
   Something-- a needle-- is stabbed into the side of my neck, and I grow dizzy. I close my eyes, and everything fades away.






   When I wake, I am on my knees in the middle of the car park, staring at the dumbstruck faces of the S. H. I. E. L. D. agents gathered there. There are two hands on my shoulders, and to my left is Pietro, in the same position as I. He slowly looks at me. His lips are covered in blood, and there is a cut under his left eye. There are tears running down his face. I wonder why as I close my eyes tightly for a moment.
   “Let a lesson be learned today,” Agent Cotton’s voice breaks through my thoughts, the same words she had spoken in my dream.
   I hear a gun cock behind me, and my eyes widen. Something hard is pressed against the back of my head, and I gasp. The hands move from my shoulders, and Cotton sighs. I can tell she is facing the agents across from us.
   “Congratulations,” she says to them. “You have killed all of my men but two, and have lost barely any of your own. But now you have a choice to make: Leave, or I will kill these two if you don’t.” I can hear her smile.
   “Let’s leave,” one of the agents whispers to another. But the second shakes his head.
   “No, bringing Quicksilver back to his sister is our mission. If we return empty handed--” he shakes his head again. Then he turns to Cotton. “Give us Quicksilver.” She clicks her tongue.
   “I’m afraid I cannot do that,” she replies, pressing the gun harder against my head. Suddenly, Pietro is not where he used to be. He has run to the other side of the car park and takes on of the agent’s pistols. He looks to aim it at me.
   The gun goes off-- eight times, I count it. I exhale heavily, realising I had been holding my breath. But the bullets hadn’t hit me. They were never aimed at me. I turn my head ever so slightly, and see Agent Cotton fall to the ground, blood covering the front of her shirt. She collapses in a puddle of red, and Argus steps forward, raising a gun.
   But Pietro also raises his, the deepest set glare I have ever seen. Agent Argus sets his hand on my shoulder, and I hang my head. Two of the S. H. I. E. L. D. agents grasp Pietro’s arms, and he struggles, but they don’t let go, and they lead him away, knocking the gun from his hands.






Argus takes me to another HYDRA division-- a building made entirely of glass. Just as before he pulls into the car park, several police cars surround the suburban, their lights flashing.   “Sir, please exit your vehicle,” one of the officers says, and I am the first to scramble from the car. Argus steps out casually, and several cops gather around him, setting their hands on him.
    “Argus Black, you are under arrest for murder, conspiracy, and kidnapping,” they say. “You have the right to remain silent.” They continue speaking to him as they bring him to the backseat of one of the cars. I am left alone, and I sigh. Then one of the officers comes to me, and gently sets a hand on my shoulder.
   “I’m going to take you home, okay?” He says, and I nod, following him to the car. He opens the back door and I slid in, closing it once I am inside. He goes around to the front and sits in his seat, turning the keys in the ignition. My stomach churns at the thought of Agent Cotton, laying in her own blood. I never knew that someone so gentle and benevolent as Pietro would do something like that. I sigh deeply, and lean back.
   Soon the officer drives down the long gravel road leading to my house, and parks before the porch.
   “Thank you,” I say, and he nods, offering me a smile. I return it, and step out of the car. I walk slowly up to the front door, and open it, stepping inside. I hurry into my room and lock the door before anyone notices I’m home.
   I take a long shower, processing the events over the past two years. It’s been so long since I have seen anyone that I actually know, and I am relieved to be home. After a while, I turn off the water and dress, staring at my reflection in the mirror as I brush my hair and braid it.
   Days pass, and I avoid speaking about the past two years as much as I can. I am made aware that Abigail is safely back home and has been for over twelve months. Also Chloe and Michael were returned to their home, safe and sound. Of course I paid them a visit, and we don’t say much to each other, only smile and embrace, and tell each other how glad we are to all be home.
   Several weeks later, there is a knock on the front door, and I hear my mother open it. She speaks to the visitor, and then says something in a very surprised tone. I hear footsteps sounding on the stairs, and I quickly hurry to sit on my bed, and she knocks on my door.
   “Zoë?” She says, and I stand. I open the door, and she exhales softly.
   “Who was at the door?” I ask. She sighed, shaking her head.
   “Someone named Pietro Maximoff?” She shrugged. “I told him to go away but he said he needed to speak with you about something important.” I can’t help but barely smile, and run past her to the door.
   There he is, standing there, with sunlight falling over his silver hair (which, I might add, has grown out since the first night I met him), and his beautiful blue eyes shining. I run to him and throw my arms around him. My laughter turns to tears-- joyful tears, though. I’ve never been so happy to see anyone in my life.
   “What have you come here for?” I ask, breaking away and stepping outside after him. I close the door, and we walk down the steps. He turns around to face me. Mother has come down the stairs by now, and is watching us through the window, no doubt wondering why I am with him.
   “I’m going to New York,” he says. I lower my head, nodding. Of course he would be going there. “And I am saying goodbye.” I look up, and touch his face with the tips of my fingers.
   “Of course,” I say calmly, though my heart is pounding inside. I feel like bursting into tears, but I don’t. Instead, I smile. “If you are going, then, you have to promise me something.”
   “And what would that be?” He whispers, and I sigh.
   “You must write to me, or call me, or come visit,” I say, and he nods, taking my hand.
   “I will,” he replies, bending down and kissing me softly. I sigh, and he backs away.
   “I love you,” I say, and he nods.
   “I love you, too.” He waves, as do I, then he turns, and walks back to the black car he had driven here. I smile, and fold my hands in front of me.
   “Don’t forget me,” I breathe as he drives away, casting one last glance at me. I sigh, and turn around, walking back to the house.