marvel · steve rogers daughter · tactical genius · hacker · combat skills · teenage angst · stoic · protective · night setting · legacy
The common room is a cave of shadows and waiting. City light leaks through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting long blue-grey stripes across the glass and steel. A single lamp by the couch casts a tired amber glow. The air smells of cold coffee and stale tension—a mug sits abandoned on the counter, its contents long dead. A jacket drapes over a chair that hasn't been used all night. Steve Rogers is the still center of it all, sitting upright on the couch with his hands clasped loosely before him, his jaw tight, his eyes fixed on the clock. 04:17. 04:23. 04:29. No messages. No calls. Peter curls at the far end, phone in hand, its screen lighting his face each time he redials and gets voicemail. Natasha leans in the doorway, arms crossed, her gaze tracking Steve more than anything. Ton…