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“You’ve got to stop moving,” Nat admonishes as she dabs at your cheeks with a blush sponge. You scrunch up your face at her. You are still. She’s been at this for what feels like hours, and you don’t know how much more of this you can take.
“I don’t know Nat, this feels excessive. I’m probably gonna look like a clown.”
“You really have that much faith in me Hummingbird? You look amazing. I mean, you always do, this just accentuates it.”
You offer up a disbelieving grimace and she sternly smooths it out as she lines your lips with lipstick.
You are ridiculously nervous about tonight. You’ve been talking to a guy for two weeks on a dating app, and this will be the first time you two are meeting in person. When you first made your account, you’d been skeptical. You’d done it mostly to appease Nat’s curiosity with medaling in all her friends’ love lives. But then you’d matched with Andre, and the two of you had clicked. You loved the same bands, both are avid foodies, and best of all, he doesn’t seem to mind at all that you’re blind. There’s a voice in the back of your head telling you that this is all some kind of setup and something is going to go terribly wrong. You’ve been making a valiant effort to tell that voice to screw off, but you haven’t seen too many fruits of your labor.
“Earth to Hummingbird,” Nat calls as she playfully nudges your shoulder. “You can move now. We’re done.”
You stand and stretch your aching muscles. You can hear Nat collecting the hair and makeup supplies back into her bag.
Your hand hovers an inch in front of your face. You idly wonder if it feels as different as it probably looks, but you can feel Nat’s “don’t you dare” glare so you sheepishly moved to your hair and gently traced the elegant knot with your fingers. Nat tugs at your wrist as you make another pass around your head.
“You look beautiful Hummingbird,” she sighs in equal parts exasperation and fondness. “Now you need to get going if you want to make it out of here before any of the boys catch wind of your activities tonight.”
You nod fervently. None of the guys know about Andre or that you’re even on a dating app. Clint and Tony would tease you mercilessly and threaten to start a Shield file on any of your persons of interest, Bruce wouldn’t care and would most likely feel awkward about the topic, Thor would loudly congratulate you for your “exploits” and Steve and Bucky, the two you are most concerned about knowing, would lose their minds. All the Avengers are protective over you, but Steve and Bucky have an extra vulnerable soft spot for you, and you can never puzzle out why.
“Okay, wish me luck,” you laugh nervously as you reach down to scoop up your cane. You extend it and offer Nat a wave as you head for the elevators that take you down to street level.
You are almost home free. None of the Avengers had been in the elevator, and you don’t hear any recognizable voices in the lobby of Avengers’ tower. You’re going to make it out unnoticed.
“Hummingbird?”
You inwardly groan as you hear Bucky’s incredulous voice heading your way.
“Hi Buck!” you say, trying to hide the guilty look on your face.
“Wow. You look… wow!”
“Uh, thanks. Nat is magical.” You wave away the complement, working hard not to blush.
“Where are you going? Tony didn’t say anything about press stuff tonight.” There’s an undercurrent to the question that lets you know Bucky is suspicious and on high alert.
“Oh, you know, I have a meeting tonight. Not about press stuff but-uh, yeah.
“A meeting?”
Before you can scramble to find a suitable answer, you hear a honk and the sound of a car pulling up. The driver rolls down the window and calls your name, just as you’d instructed them to do in the app.
“Well, there’s my ride. See you later tonight, Bucky.”
“See ya, Hummingbird.” Suspicion is still evident in his voice as you climb into the rear passenger side of the car.
Bucky is annoyed. No one except for Steve seems to be taking this seriously.
“So let me get this straight, Sergeant suspicious gathered us all here today because Hummingbird looked nice?” Tony scoffs. He lounges on one of the overstuffed couches in the Avengers’ common floor living room looking like he’s spent the last hour chest-deep in motor oil.
“No, you iron idiot. I gathered you here because I’m worried.”
“About what? She’s going to a boring meeting. What’s there to be worried about?” Clint chimes in through a mouthful of popcorn.
“Have you ever known Hummingbird to voluntarily wear anything but jeans?” Steve retorts. “She’d never dress up like that for a meeting.”
“Maybe it’s another job interview,” Bruce says as he looks up from a thick volume. “We know she dresses up for those. And anyways, we should take her word for it. Hummingbird’s capable of taking care of herself.”
“Finally, one of you not talking utter gibberish. If she wanted us to know, she would have told us. She’s fine.”
Everyone throws Nat a disbelieving look at that.
“Is Shield testing out their decoys again?” Clint nearly growls, glaring distrustfully at her. “Because this one sucks. The real Nat would never admit to not knowing something. Hell, the real Nat would never Not know something.”
“That’s because she does know something, birdbrain, and it’s not fair,” Tony whines. “Why do you get to know all the secrets?”
Nat rolls her eyes.
It is actually a nice night you think to yourself as you step out of the Uber. The intense heat of the afternoon has faded to a gentle evening breeze. Your stomach growls at the intoxicating scents of tomato and garlic coming from the Italian bistro you’re heading for.
As your cane knocks against the door, you briefly run your hand over your hair to make sure the breeze hasn’t ruffled it too much before pulling it open.
You’re greeted by the hostess who asks about your party number in a clipped tone.
“OH-uh have you seen a man wearing a white jacket with a red rose pinned to it?” Asking it out loud makes it seem more ridiculous than it had when you were brainstorming ideas with Andre on how you could find him if he’d arrived first and didn’t see you right away.
“I don’t know,” the hostess huffs, and she just has to be rolling her eyes. “How many?”
You rub at the back of your neck, feeling the first tendrils of true panic uncurling in your gut.
“Two,” you get out finally. You’ll just text him. You don’t know why you hadn’t thought of that before. This dating thing was making you scatterbrained.
“Alright. Right this way.” You hear her footsteps retreat into the depths of the restaurant. You hurry to catch up, cane sweeping quickly as you nearly job. You lose her a couple times in the crowded tables, and finally she loses patience with you and grabs your arm to pull you along.
“No,” you say firmly, losing your patience along with hers. “I prefer to hold on to you.”
“Your waitress will be here shortly,” the hostess dismisses as you finally settle into a booth near the back of the restaurant. You only spare her a nod before pulling out your phone, shooting off a quick text to let Andre know where you are.
“Buck, maybe the others are right.” Steve sighs as he watches his best friend nearly cut a furrow in the living room of their shared quarters.
“Not you too, Stevie.”
“You know how she is. She’s probably fine.”
“It’s getting late. You know she doesn’t like to be out for very long when it’s dark. What if something bad is happening to her?”
Steve shakes his head. He feels the same unease as Bucky, but someone has to keep a cool head.
“There’s no reason to believe something bad is happening to her. And besides, Nat and Bruce are right. She can take care of herself. And if it’s something she can’t handle, she knows when to call in back up.”
Bucky doesn’t look too convinced, but he stops his pacing and flops defeatedly on the couch.
Andre arrives 30 minutes later than originally planned. This doesn’t really bother you; life happens. He also doesn’t return your few texts before he arrives, just shows up at your table with a “Hey.” This bothers you a little bit, but you explain it away as nerves or wanting to be sweet with a surprise and not quite executing it well.
“So,” you start as your waitress fills glasses of water. “It’s good to see you in person.
“Uh, yeah, it’s good to see you too.” The nervousness in his voice makes you wince internally. Three seconds of conversation and things were already uncomfortable.
As the waitress brings by drinks and rolls, you soldier on with the conversation.
“So, it’s nice outside tonight. That heat was brutal and it’s a nice break.” You immediately kick yourself as the words tumble out. The weather, really?
“I do love the breeze.”
You reach for your drink, giving you time to think of a topic that doesn’t make you want to steal one of those overpriced bottles of wine to drown your memories of this day.
“Did you---uh… Did you listen to that new horror movie that came out on Prime last week?”
Secondhand embarrassment creeps up your cheeks. You had hoped to avoid this altogether by prepping him online, but you’d guessed it was inevitable.
“Watch. You can say watch you know. I swear I won’t cry or go running screaming into the night. And I wish I hadn’t. I mean who comes up with “Cocaine Cows” as a title, let alone a movie concept?”
Andre’s laugh is startled and genuine.
“I was thinking the same thing. Like what the hell?”
“And the dialogue,” you continue, relaxing into your seat. “It sucked so hard.”
“You should be glad you couldn’t see the visuals. It looked like someone took a kindergartener’s barnyard coloring book and superimposed it over a shitty high school film class production.”
Both of you laugh, and just like that, the tension and awkwardness melt away.
Dinner proceeds without a hitch. You can’t remember the last time you’ve laughed so much. Andre’s funny and a riveting storyteller. He has you choking on your chicken parmesan several times. He tells you about his wild twin sisters who verse him in prank wars every holiday. He tells you about his old, three-legged dog who insisted on running everywhere they went. And you tell him about your friends, as much as you can without giving away who they are. You’re comfortable enough with Andre, but not ready for that yet. You tell the story of Steve blowing up your toaster and Bucky making buzzer sounds for the next week any time he went near anything electronic.
“This was fun,” you smile as you nab the last piece of chocolate cake from the plate the two of you are sharing.
“Hey! No fair you cake monster.”
You laugh, pretending that you’re going to shove the whole thing in your mouth before grabbing the dessert knife and cutting it in half.
“Better?”
“Very much so.”
The two of you grab a taxi together since he doesn’t live too far from midtown.
“I really had a good time.” The smile stretches your face as you lean against Andre in the backseat.
“I really had a good time too.” You feel his warm breath tickle whisps of your hair that had come undone.
“I do have to ask an important question,” you continue. He hums in invitation. “Did you really wear a white jacket with a red rose." He laughs.
“I wore the white jacket. But the flower shop I like to go to was out of roses, so I had to get creative.” He places his large hand against your wrist. “May I?”
You nod, curious. He takes your hand and guides it to the lapel of his jacket. You can feel the muscles of his chest and you bite your lip to curb the heat flooding up your neck. He places your hand on what feels like folded construction paper.
“You made an origami rose? How cute!”
“Yeah, yeah.” He laughs. “Make fun of me, but it took me three damn reams of paper to get it right.”
“No, it’s amazing. I love it.”
He plucks it off his shirt and places it in the hand he’s still holding onto.
“It’s yours then.”
You pull your hand away, feeling the flower more fully before pinning it onto your own shirt.
“So?” You’re heartbeat ratchet’s up. You have never gotten this far in dating before. Usually the guys left early, and on several occasions, you hadn’t even known until the kind waitstaff took pity on you. What if you mess this up? Things have been so good, but what if the wrong move here crumbles all of what tonight has been?
“So,” Andre continues your thought, breaking into your spiral. “I’m thinking Coney Island should be our next date.” He whispers the words against your ear. You involuntarily shiver and pray he doesn’t notice.
“Uh yeah. Cone—island… yeah."
Well, so much for him not noticing. You feel the vibration of his chest as he laughs. He gently traces your cheek with his finger, and you can imagine he’s following the path of your blush.
“Ma’am? We’re here at Lexington and East 41st,” the driver announces, interrupting the moment.
“Thank you.” You reluctantly shift away from Andre, digging through your purse with one hand and reaching for your cane with the other.
“Uh-uh, I got it.”
“You don’t have—”
“It’s fine. You can buy me a dog with the works on our second date.”
You blush for the hundredth time that night as he takes your hand from your purse and brings it to his lips. The kiss is gentle, and your heart nearly flutters out of your rib cage.
“Okay,” you concede, and it sounds a little dreamy.
“Now are you sure you don’t want the driver pulling up closer to your place? I swear I’m not a serial killer or stocker.” You chuckle.
“Well good to know. Wouldn’t want to be murdered on our second date. That would put a damper on things.” You playfully elbow him as you reach for the door. “Nah, It’s for your own safety. Trust me, you’re not at the stage to meet the people in my life.” You keep the yet to yourself, but Andre picks up on it.
“Well then, I look forward to reaching that stage.”
“Famous last words,” You call, stepping onto the street. You throw him one more grin before letting the door close and beginning your short trek to the tower.
“C’mon Steve, we can’t just sit here and do nothing.”
Well, Steve thinks as he pauses the movie they were pretending to watch, three hours was more than he figured Bucky would wait.
“Okay Buck, we have no way of knowing where Hummingbird is, and there’s still no proof that she’s in danger. She’s just having a good time.” Steve hopes he doesn’t sound as unconvinced as he feels, but one look at Bucky’s face tells him he does.
“Jarvis?”
“NO Buck. We can’t invade her privacy like that.”
“It’s not invading if she needs our help, Stevie.”
“We wouldn’t do this for Nat or Tony…”
“You ass! I’m not doing this cause she’s blind. Nat is a highly-trained, serumed-up assassin and Tony—well, he’s tony.”
He had a fair point.
“Okay, I’m sorry. But we’re only checking if she’s within the vicinity of the tower. Nothing more invasive than that.”
They both look up at the ceiling expectantly.
“Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes, you’d be relieved to know that Hummingbird has just exited a cab a block away from the tower and is walking towards it as we speak.”
Bucky and Steve both breathe a sigh of relief.
“Why so far away?” Steve wonders. Bucky shakes his head.
“At least she’s almost home. That’s all I care—"
“It appears that Hummingbird is being followed,” Jarvis interrupts, and there is a slight shift in his tone that would have been undetectable to someone who hadn’t lived in the Tower for very long.
Both men stiffen for a millisecond before racing to put on shoes and knives in Bucky’s case.
“Jarvis, coordinates,” Bucky barks as he hastily shoves his foot into a boot. Steve grabs his Stark phone and they both rush out the door.
You’re nearly skipping down the sidewalk, cane sweeping rhythmically in front of you as you head home. Tonight, had been better than you’d even dared to dream.
As you make it across the first street, you feel your phone vibrate. Pausing to lean against a hydrant, you pull it out and try to ignore the dozens of texts and calls from Steve and Bucky. A twinge of guilt momentarily seizes you. You really didn’t mean to make them worry. But you’re almost home and you’d make it up to them. You’re feeling so good you might even give them some details about your night.
You move to the most recent text, listening as your screen reader reads it out.
Miss you already. When’s Coney Island? Ready for my dog with the works😉😉
You grin and quickly text back.
Shouldn’t be hungry after all that cake, sir. Miss you too. How about next Saturday at 6?😊 See you then😍
Yeah see ya😁
You stash your phone back in your pocket and continue down the street. You think to yourself that nothing could ruin this night, not even if the Avengers had done some sitcom foolishness and followed you on your date. You couldn’t even muster up imagined irritation.
As you continue walking, you notice the streets growing quieter as you veer off the main path. It’s not anything new; you’ve walked these side streets hundreds of times. Even so, you feel a bit of unease. You fiddle with the origami rose pinned to your shirt for half a block before deciding to tuck into your purse. What if it starts to rain and gets ruined?
“Get on the ground.”
You have just turned into a small alley way that cuts your already pretty short walk in half. The voice is low and hoarse and entirely too close to you. Instinctively, you whip your purse off and swing it, along with your cane, to try and defend yourself, but you’re grabbed and flung onto your back on the grimy concrete, cane and purse flying from your hands.
Shit! Being on the ground was bad. You think about the few self defense lessons you’ve had with Nat, Steve, and Bucky. On the ground meant being closer to death.
You try to fling your upper body forwards but catch a fist to the mouth accompanied by a burst of blood. Wiry arms grab you by the middle and flip you onto your stomach as if you’re a mattress that needs turning. Somewhere in the back of your mind you are grateful that this swath of the alley doesn’t seem to be covered in broken glass.
“Oh, look at you. You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you?” the voice purrs. It’s coming from a man. You can feel his stubble as he presses his face up against yours, pressing you flat. Disgust trickles down your back like sweat. “Where have you been, Pretty Little Thing?”
“None of your goddammed business,” you spit, twisting to dislodge him. It doesn’t work and you feel panic clawing up your throat.
“MMM, feisty. Was just gonna take your pretty little purse, but I might take a little more.”
You try again to get to your feet, but you feel a knee connect painfully with your kidney before you can even push off the ground.
“Get the hell off of me,” you scream. It hurts, but you don’t care. You buck and fight, scraping your face and legs as the man presses you down harder to the ground. You can feel fabric ripping, and your hair falls into your face. Rivulets of blood trickle down from your split lip and the worst of the scrapes.
The man trails his hands up your arms, pausing to teas at your shoulders with crusted nails, before wrapping them around your throat. You let out a hoarse scream, but his grip tightens ever so slowly, stealing your breath and voice. You refuse to stop fighting though, no matter how much it all hurts. You aren’t going out without taking him with you.
“Pretty Little Thing likes to fight,” he whispers, running his lips along your ear. You shudder in disgust. How was it that you’d experienced this very gesture what seemed like hours ago and it brought you butterflies? Now you just wanted to vomit and then murder this asshole.
In the space between two seconds, you find yourself facedown, no longer being pinned. Air rushes painfully into your windpipe and you cough. You’re disoriented and all you can hear are strange grunts and thumping sounds. Fear makes you dizzy as you struggle to come up with a plan. Where did the man go? Is he coming back? You want to move—to run, but your legs refuse to move.
“Hummingbird?”
You know that voice. It’s out of place in the gritty, bloody alley. The fear makes it harder to recognize at first, but you force yourself to breathe in the scents of copper and garbage. The ground is cool and hard against your exposed skin. As you exhale, the dizziness clears, and you can think rationally.
“Bucky?” you croak in relief.
His hands are gentle as he helps you sit up.
“Shit,” he hisses.
“That bad?” You grimace at the taste of blood on your lips. He says nothing, just gently catalogs your injuries. You can barely feel his touches. Everything feels so far away, as if it’s all happening to someone else.
“Can you stand?”
“Yeah. Don’t think anything’s broken.” The words feel thick in your mouth. You climb sluggishly to your feet. You’re sore, but you can manage. You feel the breeze in places that probably shouldn’t be felt in a New York City Alley and an intense shiver makes you sway.
“D-d-dammit, th-th-o-ose were n-n-ew clothes.”
You hear the rustle of fabric and Bucky presses something soft into your hands. It’s his shirt. You pull it over your torn top.
“Don’t worry, Stevie will give that asshole an extra punch for the destruction of your outfit.”
So that’s what those dull thuds were earlier. It must suck to get your ass beat by Captain America. Not that the guy hadn’t deserved it—he absolutely did.
“Hummingbird?”
“Huh?” You’d spaced out for a bit. You’re now holding your cane in your hand and have your purse slung around your shoulder. Bucky is gripping your left arm with firm gentle pressure and Steve is on your right side, his arm touching yours.
“You okay to walk?”
“Yeah, I’m good to go.”
You sense the hesitation in both of them, but they start walking, wedging you in the middle.
As you walk, the shock begins to wear off. The soreness is more pronounced, and the blood is sticky and uncomfortable on your skin. You feel the ghost of the man’s hands squeezing your neck and idly wonder if you have bruises. Despite the warmth of Bucky’s shirt, the shivers return.
“Th-that asshole r-ruined a p-p-perfect n-night,” you mutter. The whole thing was way more serious than that, but if you dwell on that, you’ll collapse in tears, and you’ve had enough of concrete for the night. So, pouty petulance is how you’re gonna play it for now.
“Oh yeah?” Bucky hedges as you all step into the foyer of Avengers Tower. “How so?” You can feel the anger vibrating through the both of them like a barely repressed electrical current. You’re grateful to them for playing along with your antics.
“I can’t tell you,” you huff. “But just know it was perfect, and Mr. Grimy-ass ruined it.”
You all pile into the elevator. The tense set of your muscles begin to relax as you ascend, leaving that alley far behind. You listen as Steve and Bucky make small talk and don’t even realize they’re not taking you to your floor until you step out of the elevator and feel the all-too familiar swath of carpet. It’s a welcome mat Steve had painted after your first few months in the tower. You somehow kept ending up on his and Bucky’s floor, so he’d figured out how to write “Hummingbird’s second home” in grade 2 braille and painted it with puffy paint so you could read it. It was great leverage any time they jokingly griped about you spending all your time there. Steve threatens to hide it away, but you know he could never do it.
They lead you to one of the three guest rooms on your floor. It’s practically you’re second bedroom at this point. You even have pajamas and toiletries here for when movie nights run late.
“Can I clean those cuts for you?” Steve asks as you slip off your scratched up shoes.
You shake your head.
“Shower first.”
You want to get the man’s touch off of your skin. You can still feel his crusty nails digging into your shoulders and if you don’t shower soon, you’ll definitely puke.
“Okay, but first-aid after.” Steve uses his Captain America PSA voice, and you smile.
“Aye, Aye, Captain Steve."
The shower helps a lot. The water calms your nerves and rinses most of the blood and grit away. Your shakes, which had already calmed, are the next to go. You still feel sore, but it’s in the background now. You take your time, undoing the pathetic remains of Nat’s work on your hair and makeup. You rub your skin raw, but the touch lingers. Giving up, you turn off the water and towel off.
You pull on your fuzzy shorts and tank top so you can receive your Captain-mandated first aid.
Exiting into the living room, you flop exhaustedly onto the couch. Steve is bent in front of you, riffling through what you guess is the first aid kit.
“Are you alright?”
“Yeah, of course, Steve. Just some scrapes. I’ve had worse tripping down the stairs on my 21st birthday. You won’t even have to do stitches.”
Steve, having picked out his tools, sits on your left.
“Not what I meant.”
He gently taps your legs. You put them onto his lap, and he begins to clean the wounds.
“It’s a mugging. It sucks, but it happens.”
“It shouldn’t.”
Bucky sits down on your right. You can smell popcorn and he nudges your hand with the large bowl.
“Tell that to them.”
“Sorry, it’s just… We were really worried about you,” Steve admits softly, smoothing bandages over the worst of the scrapes on your legs and moving to your arms.
“I know,” You sigh, feeling oddly comforted by the sting of antiseptic.
“It’s dangerous out there,” Bucky continues. “And we know you can handle yourself, Hummingbird, but it’s still dangerous. We just want you to be safe.”
The warmth of their words seeps into you. You smile softly as Steve gently turns your face to see if anything needs to be tended to. He gently cleans the scrapes and smears antibiotic ointment on them. He pats your cheek softly before letting you go. You take a deep breath and blow it out. The lengths they go to show they care aren’t surprising, but they make you feel dizzy with relief and gratitude all the same. There are so many things you want to say. To thank them; to admit how goddammed terrified you were—still are. But you want to enjoy the good parts of this night. So, with effort, you push the fear away.
“I am safe with you both. I’m always safe with you.” Keeping your legs in Steve’s lap, you lean against Bucky, pilfering some popcorn. “That’s why I didn’t even tell you about tonight cause sometimes I’m a little too safe with you.”
“Hey!” Bucky is indignant as you much on the buttery goodness.
“Bucky, you literally put my hand against the bowl so I’d know it was there.”
“That was being nice. I wasn’t offering you any. And I still wanna know what else you did tonight.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“Children,” Steve playfully chastises as he collects the discarded medical supplies. You are grateful that they aren’t pushing you to talk about the attack. Oh, you know they will later, but right now the playful reprieve is much needed.
You all end up curled together watching Wreck-It Ralph for the millionth time. What can you say? You’re a sucker for a good besties’ movie, and you know exactly what they’re doing: keeping the nightmares at bay, at least for a little while. You sink more fully into the couch, using Bucky and Steve as head and leg pillows. Despite the lingering fear and disgust, you feel warm and untouchable. The horrific events of the night seem a little more distant. It won’t always be that way. The nightmares will come they always do. But when they do, you’ll have your family to remind you that you’re always safe with them around.
“Nat?” you mutter sleepily. You were supposed to check in with her after the date.
“Damnit, Stark was right,” Bucky moans into a pillow cushion. Steve laughs.
“I texted her. She’ll be by tomorrow to check on you.”
You smile, relaxing back into a semi-awake state. Nat was gonna kill you but not until tomorrow. As the haze of sleep passes over you, your better judgement is temporarily distorted.
“Hey, Steve? Bucky?” you hedge around a jaw-cracking yawn several minutes later.
“Hmm?” Steve hums sleepily, Bucky shifts an arm to let you know he’s listening.
“About tonight,” you slur. You can tell you have both their undivided attention. “Was on a date. And he was amazing. Going on another one with him”
Compensation for their worrying successfully given, you drift to sleep before they can respond.