punchedhitler | (no subject)

(no subject)

Well.

I went out today to see if I could help with the fact that there's no sun, and I saw this man making lightning and cutting himself, and he was terrorizing the entrance to the underground, so I told him to cut it out. He cut himself and tried to hit me with lightning, but I blocked it, and after I managed to get him somewhere safe where he couldn't hurt anyone else, I noticed that my shield feels right again!

So I guess it just had to be hit by lightning. But the fact that it feels normal makes me a whole lot calmer about this whole thing.

[Pause]

But really, try to use these powers for good, okay? Especially if you have to something terrible to make them work.

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[He looks very interested, now]

And they killed your father.

Not yet. That does have a huge part of the story, though. No. The grandparents I mentioned earlier? Their names were Norma and Irv Manders. Fantastic people. Irv saw a scruffy looking father and daughter on the side of the road and took them home to have lunch and rest a bit.

[She smiles slightly.] I remember eating so much, I thought I'd split. The Shop found us there and Irv, who was about 70 at the time, saw me absolutely terrified of these men in business suits who drove up the road to their house and stood on his porch with a deer rifle, demanding to be shown a warrant.

Irv was shot and out of anger and fear, I reacted. I ended up causing a lot of damage to the people trying to catch us and while I still regret it to a degree, I'm more relieved that it scared them off.

Irv was kind enough to give us an old Jeep of his and we drove it to Tashmore, Maine where we owned a cabin. We stayed there for a whole winter and my dad had this idea to send letters to all of the major newspapers. He hoped that one of them would print it and The Shop would back off. Unfortunately, winters are kind of harsh in Maine. The most my dad could go into town for were supplies. Mail was a little harder to get out.

When he finally could get the letters mailed out, they were intercepted by The Shop and one day when we were leaving, my dad and I were tranquilized.

When I woke up, I found myself in probably one of the most luxurious rooms I'd ever seen. But it was The Shop and I didn't know where my dad was so I didn't care. They kept saying I could see him, I just had to show them what I could do and for months, I refused.

So, they had the guy that tranquilized me from some hidden spot somewhere, come in and pretend to just be some common place, kindhearted janitor. I fell for it after a while. He said he'd get letters to my dad and I believed him. I trusted him so much that I started cooperating with The Shop. I demonstrated my ability on woodchips. Piles of logs. Cinderblocks. Whatever they put in front of me, just because they kept promising I'd see my dad. Really, all that was going to happen was the janitor was allowed to get rid of me once they were done.

I think my dad knew I was in danger because he pushed someone into getting a note to me and we planned our escape.

We made it as far as the barn before the orderly I told you about showed who he really was and shot my dad. I think I regret how I reacted to that a lot less than I do my reaction to the Manders farm. And I feel awful for admitting that.

Don't ever regret not backing down from a bully, even if it means you have to use violence to protect yourself.

[He says it softly, but there's a certain intensity to his face]

You were just a girl. They were using you and hurting you.

[That makes her feel a little better.]

That mission I mentioned? After I left the compound, I made it back to the Manders somehow. Almost died in the process but once I was better, I went to Rolling Stone magazine and told someone what happened. They ran a story that sort of made me sound like one of those fables a parent tells their kid to get them to behave. And the people I mentioned? My dad and all them? I don't think I could tell them what happens to them. Not even the people from The Shop. S'why I don't ever want to see them here.

[He's quiet for a long time]

I got experimented on, too. They gave me a serum to make me a better soldier. The army didn't treat me badly. I served my country.

But it was my choice, I knew what I was signing up for. I'm sorry about what happened to you.

[Is it weird this also earns him brownie points? Or is that just the norm for special people like them?]

Don't worry about it. It was years ago and life has been significantly calmer, since.

[She fiddles with her fingernails a moment, watching Steve.] Thank you for listening. I appreciate it. I think you're the first person I told that much to, even if that is the short version. And I feel bad for being depressing.

[Even though quiet honestly, she wasn't all that upset when she told her story. Annoyed, sure. Upset? Not so much.]

So, what were you like before the serum, if I may ask?

[He laughs at the question, because, well.]

I was short, and skinny, and I had asthma. I couldn't pass the medical portion of the army entrance examination.

I bet that's hard to believe now. Sometimes I still feel like him.

[Charlie gives him a very obvious, very disbelieving once over.] Seriously? I'm having a hard time believing it, now. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt, though.

I was only five foot three, before.

But an army doctor, he was impressed with me, so he suggested me for the program.

That's amazing. A positive side to the wonders of science. Another random question, were you just as nice then as you are now?

[As flirty as this sounds, she's actually curious.]

[Pause, and he fumbles a little because well that's who Steve Rogers is]

I guess? I don't think I changed that much.

Are you still a soldier back home? And if I ask anything you don't want to answer, let me know. I don't like overstepping anything and making people feel uncomfortable.

Well...I think so. I don't know what's going on back home, really. Last I remember, I was, anyway.

[Pauses.] I hope you are, if only because you sounded happy to be one.

I always just thought it was the least I could do for my country. That's what my mother taught me, before she died.

I bet she's proud of you, if you don't mind my saying.

[He's got the charming, sweet kind of smile]

That's nice of you to say.

[He does and it's unfair. Hers looks busted and unused.]

It's the truth.

Thank you.

You're welcome, Steve.

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