Chapter 1
On Friday, Steve Rogers wakes up. The sun is coming through the curtains, cheerful and bright as Steve blinks at it, confused for a minute, although he can’t exactly place the reason why. It’s Friday, in the year 2012, and apparently, he has overslept.
“Steeeeeve. It’s too early, come back to bed.”
Ah, that explains it. It is Friday, in the year 2012, and Tony has turned off his alarm clock. Steve feels a rush of contentment as he smiles down at Tony, who is facedown in a pillow, the sunlight streaking over the lean muscles of his back. Well, it is Friday, after all, and he has just completed a particularly tricky mission for SHIELD. Sleeping in one day isn’t going to hurt Steve, and he deserves it, after all. So the super-soldier lies back down, pulling Tony in close and closing his eyes. His last thought before falling into unconsciousness again is that the super-serum really was amazing—he can’t feel any of the bruises he had gotten yesterday.
--
In an abandoned warehouse, there is a hissing sound, echoing off the empty walls.
--
Steve finds himself heading into the common area of the Tower, where Bruce stands at the stove on breakfast duty, the rest of the Avengers in various states of consciousness.
“Morning,” Steve says cheerfully, opening the refrigerator door and rooting around for the orange juice he knew he had just bought but couldn’t find.
“Good morning, Steve,” Bruce says with a smile, “breakfast will be done soon, if you want to wait.”
Steve turns away from his search to give Bruce a smile and thanks before turning back to the fridge, where he grabs the carton of orange juice—Steve could have sworn it wasn’t there a moment ago—and a glass.
“How was your run?” Natasha asks, taking a dainty sip from her coffee mug as Steve makes his way over to the table.
“Good,” Steve replies automatically, although he feels a strange, nagging feeling as he tries to remember his run. He must have gone on a run, because Steve doesn’t feel sticky like he usually does after a run, which means he showered, which means he must have gone on a run.
“…Steve?” The blond snaps back to attention, looking over at Natasha, who looks at him with a quizzical look. Sitting—or rather, splayed out—between them is Tony, all but inhaling his coffee.
“When did you get here?” Steve asks Tony suddenly.
“What’re you talking about?” Tony replies, “you’re the one who dragged me out of bed, Cap. Sheesh, the things I do for love.” And Steve feels his mind and heart skip at that, and he loses the thread of whatever he was thinking before that moment to smile at Tony and kiss him, although that prompts a round of juvenile noises from Clint. He still feels like he’s missing something, but Steve just chalks that up to stress. This is the first day all week that he hasn’t been running around like a chicken without its head, after all. He just needs to rest, and everything will go back to normal.
--
The sun sets, the last rays of sun slipping through the windows of a warehouse, hitting red, white, and blue metal and reflecting the light.
--
Steve is on the street running errands when he sees her. She holds herself in an elegant, almost aloof manner, poised and graceful as she levels her gaze at him, icy blue. She smiles at Steve, and then the light changes, and he continues walking towards the supermarket.
Steve sees her three more times after that. Each time, she just catches his gaze and smiles before moving away, in the opposite direction. And each time, Steve frowns, and takes a different route than he might have usually taken, just to see if, and confirm if, she’s following him.
She is.
Finally, Steve makes his way to a little café that he likes to sit and sketch at sometimes, and orders a coffee. He’s not sure how much time passes, but his cup is half-empty by the time she appears for the fifth time. This time, however, when she catches Steve’s eye and smiles, she doesn’t walk away. Instead, she steps towards him, footsteps light and delicate before she comes to a stop in front of Steve, one hand on the chair facing him.
“May I join you?” she asks, tilting her head. French, Steve thinks to himself, and then inclines his head towards the chair.
“Of course, ma’am,” he replies politely. The woman sits down, smoothing her black skirt with a practiced motion. Something about her reminds Steve of Peggy, which should but doesn’t put Steve at ease. Steve just watches her with a wary face, the wheels in his head turning as he tries to figure out what is going on here. She laces her fingers together, setting them in her lap.
“You’ve had an unproductive day, haven’t you?” the woman asks, tilting her head at Steve’s lack of bags.
“You were following me,” Steve states, blunt. The woman smiles again, mysterious.
“Yes, I was,” she agrees amicably.
“Why?” Steve demands. Her hands come up to the table, and she re-laces them together, placing her chin on top of them and leaning forward.
“Would you believe me if I told you you were in danger?” she asks, still calm.
“Why should I?” Steve responds.
“Because,” she says, “I am not the only one who knows you are Captain Steven G. Rogers, born July 4th in the year 1918 to Joseph and Sarah Rogers. I am not the only one who knows that you are also Captain America, leader of the Howling Commandos and the Avengers, subject of Abraham Erskine’s Project Rebirth.” She stands, leans in until her lips are right next to Steve’s ear. “I know who you love,” she says, “and I am not the only one who does.”
Around him, Steve feels the air freeze, as if the city is resetting itself the way Steve’s head is. Tony, he thinks automatically, Tony, Tony, Tony.
“Who are you?” Steve demands. The woman smiles.
“I have been called many things lately,” she comments, “a ghost. A shade.” She pulls back, “But you, Captain Rogers, you may call me Mal. And now I have a question for you: do you remember how you got here?”
--
In a warehouse, the last rays of sunlight leave, and everything slips into darkness.