Epilogue
✭

"So, I was telling Ned, you know, how we got 'mugged,'" Peter made air quotes here as we headed down the hall towards our door. In our arms were the groceries Aunt May asked us to get. "While Christmas shopping, right, and all he wanted to talk about was Rebel Columbia in Miami! Can you believe it?"

My response was barely-smothered laughter, which got me an elbow in the side. Peter complained, "Hey, c'mon! It's not fair! You'd think he'd at least mention Spider-Man, but nooo, the cool new superhero is way more important —"

Winter was in full swing at the start of the new year, and despite how bundled up Peter was, I could still see the bruises on his neck — starting to fade into yellow and green, finally. By the time Spring Semester started, they'd be all but gone.

"Hmm, sounds like someone's jelly," I smirked we stopped in front of our door and I fumbled with the knob.

"Am not!"

I myself was doing better. The bruises and burns had faded, although I had a sinking feeling I might end up with those black-cinder freckles forever. At least my hair was starting to grow out again, just skimming my shoulders. Nowhere near close to its original length a few years ago, but maybe someday.

Being grounded, not so much — I wasn't leaving the house beyond chores until my coming birthday. But I didn't mind; I had no reason to sneak out now.

As I argued with Peter, I opened the door, and caught a snippet of conversation. Aunt May and a low male tone I didn't recognize. I went quiet, throwing Peter an odd look, the door paused half-way. "Did Aunt May say she was having anyone over?"

Peter just gave me a bewildered shrug.

Before I could posit an idea, Aunt May called, "Hey, kids! I'm glad you're back. And Mia, there's someone here I want you to meet."

Peter's eyebrows shot up, and we exchanged another look. Why me in particular? Ears twinging, I pushed the door all the way open and stepped inside.

Aunt May was sitting at the couch, her arm slung over the side as she smiled at us entering. From her expression, I assumed I wasn't in trouble this time.

Next to her, on the armchair sat a man I didn't recognize. Blond and broad-shouldered, I could already tell he was big before he stood up to face us. At first glance, the man seemed completely normal. Late twenties, early thirties. Clean-shaven face and worn jeans.

My heart skipped a beat. He seemed at ease, but the way he carried himself spoke only of a super soldier.

I'd never seen his face without his mask on, but I knew immediately who this man was.

"Mia, Peter," Aunt May stood as well, gesturing to this giant of a man as he sidled awkwardly around the couch and coffee table, hands stuck in his pockets. "I'd like you to meet Mr. Rogers."

"Oh, no, please," the man chuckled, bowing his head in embarrassment. He waved a hand, saying, "Steve is just fine."

I was well aware of the consequences of Tony Stark's deal, but I didn't think they'd come knocking so soon. Oh god. I wasn't ready. I wasn't ready.

Mr. Rogers — no, Steve, approached us. Me. His eyes met mine and I froze, unable to read his face. A little dazed, I blinked up at his height, wondering if now was a good time to panic. What was he thinking? What did I look like to him? Why was he here?

"Amelia, right?" Steve Rogers smiled. It wasn't confident or self-assured — rather, uncertain, like he was testing my name, testing the truth of it. But somehow kind at the same time.

He offered me his hand. "It seems like you and I have a lot of catching up to do."

Rebel Columbia will return.

Bitter Protocol.