New York was chaos. Absolute and utter destruction. No one knew what to do...where to go. The police were hilariously and terrifyingly useless. The people ran about, confused, panicked. The Captain and the demi-God were on the ground, attempting to rescue citizen life one by one. It seemed puny, but neither could abandon it.

A woman awoke on the cold, hard concrete, glass imbedded in her forearm, blood pooling about her. She sat up, choking on the smoke that seemed to push out all the air in the open street. Her beautiful new day dress was torn, the floral and tulle tattered and stained. She mourned for a moment the hand-stitched frock, the screams and explosions about her a low din in her ears. One shoe was missing from her small feet. The ringlets that fell upon her ears bounced in her vision before she fully recalled the events that led her to this spot.

Her city was under attack. She came fully awake to take in her surroundings. A bus overturned at her left was the source of much of the screams that dulled her senses. She scrambled toward it, discarding her remaining shoe to restore her balance. All at once, the noise and fear hit her, nearly knocking her down, but she kept her resolve, seeing a young girl's face in the bus's window. Through a crack in one window near the rear of the bus, she shoved a further passage and drew out the passengers, one by one, instructing them, through some dazed sense of survival, to head toward the nearest subway. The destructive, alien beings passed by them, turning their ammunition toward the bigger threat: the man with the impenetrable shield and the man with the dangerous hammer. The woman turned her glance toward them momentarily as she handed the very last bus passenger safely to the ground and out of the steel trap. Who they were, what they were doing was not for her to understand. Survival was for her to understand.

She dashed after the last passenger she assisted in freeing, until a 'Pew! Pew!' above her head had her rolling once again on the broken concrete of the street. She heard a high shriek pierce the air and realized, belatedly, that it had come from her, upon seeing the fresh gash that had torn her pale thigh. A harsh, cold hand slid round her delicate throat and hauled her up. Her toes dangled inches from the pavement and she choked for air. Mercifully, she was lowered, and the grip loosened to the point where she could just barely breathe. Her vision was blurry, but she was able to make out a red, white and blue beacon just in front of her, speaking to the monster that held her in strong, stern tones.

"Let her down, Loki, your fight is with us," he said.

A low rumble vibrated from behind her and permeated her. Whoever had invaded her beautiful city held her literally in his palms. And he laughed. He laughed!

"So weak, humans. Your inferior species does not understand the concept of sacrifice. A few in exchange for a great many."

Her vision focused, quite suddenly, on the anguished face before her. His mask had been torn away, but she was quite certain it was the man, the hero, whom her father had worshipped when a child. In those innocent days, when the world needed saving, Captain America had rescued them, saving her father, and in turn, saving her. She'd know that face anywhere.

The few who knew her intimately would not call her a ferocious woman, but in that moment, when her Captain came into clear vision, she grew angrier than she could ever recall being.

"Weak my ass," she ground out between clenched teeth and threw her similarly clenched fist upward toward the general direction of the poisonous words spewing from his mouth. She hit paydirt as her tender knuckles smashed against teeth. At the same moment, she stomped her bare heel upon the foot that she could see in her peripheral, and swung her other fist toward where she felt the juncture of his legs. As he doubled over, she threw herself upon the ground and rolled away as far as she could, feeling new glass cutting into her tender flesh. She felt like a porcupine, as though every inch of her were covered in gashes.

The 'Pew! Pew!' of some sort of weapon she'd never heard of slashed through the air. A scuffle followed and a

"Is he secure?"

"Yes, Captain."

She felt a gentle tug at her elbow and pulled her head from under her hands. The Captain helped her to her feet with concern in his blue eyes.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

The buildings were crumbling about them, and he was concerned for one person? She felt as though she might cry. She also felt as though she might vomit, so a quick nod was all she could muster.

"Thank you." he said quietly.

"No," she breathed, acting purely on instinct. "Thank you."

She thought he may have smiled a little before he turned away to rejoin his teammates, the group of amazing individuals who would come to be known as the Avengers.

She wandered home in a daze, taking care to skirt around the lifeless alien bodies that littered the streets like garbage. She would not recall later how she managed to come to be sitting in her club, amidst the concerned faces of the staff who'd been preparing for her annual soiree.

To all the questions fired at her, she was silent, until she muttered, with a giddy smile that, to those about her, indicated shock, "I met Captain America."