Sorcerer in the Marvel Universe

The moment Evenson realized who had just crashed onto the hood of the limousine, he hurried over and helped Captain America down.

As he did, one question kept nagging at him.

What the hell had happened?

Steve Rogers was practically the last person on Earth Evenson could imagine becoming suicidal. The man was almost pathologically optimistic. And even if Steve had somehow decided to jump off a building, surely he’d have picked something taller.

The front end of the limousine had been crushed.

Steve hadn’t even broken skin.

Maybe he’d fallen while cleaning a window?

No chance.

This was Captain America. The man had fallen off aircraft and somehow made it look like a perfectly reasonable Tuesday. There was no way he’d simply lost his grip while cleaning a third-floor apartment.

Which left one obvious explanation.

Someone had thrown him out.

Evenson glanced up at the building.

Sure enough, one of the third-floor windows had been knocked halfway out of its frame. That had to be where Steve had come from.

The apartment itself was dark, making it impossible to see what was happening inside. But Evenson’s eyes caught something anyway.

Two flickers of dark green flame briefly illuminated the darkness.

Evenson paused.

Then he nodded slowly.

Right.

He understood.

This looked like a domestic dispute.

And if there was one universal truth about domestic disputes, it was that outsiders were usually better off staying out of them.

Usually.

Evenson looked at Steve.

Still, there was no harm in taking a peek.

He slipped an arm beneath Steve’s and helped the thoroughly defeated Captain America toward the building.

Then he remembered the limousine.

"Hey, driver. I’m guessing this car isn’t going anywhere anymore."

The driver stared at the wrecked hood.

"I’m almost home anyway, so you don’t need to take me the rest of the way. Call a tow truck and have someone take the stuff inside to my place."

The driver looked at the crushed luxury car.

Then at Evenson and Steve disappearing into the building.

He stood there for several seconds.

Wait.

Who was paying for the tow?

Apparently not the man who’d just walked away.

Upstairs, Evenson continued supporting Steve.

The man’s expression was so utterly miserable that even Evenson felt a little sorry for him.

"How did Ms. Carter manage to do this to you?"

Steve’s head snapped up.

His eyes widened.

For a moment, a bewildering mixture of grief, anger, accusation, embarrassment, and helplessness flashed across his face. His lips moved as though he had a thousand things he wanted to say.

In the end, he released a long, exhausted sigh.

"Hard... to explain."

Evenson frowned.

"It can’t be that bad."

He gave Steve a skeptical look.

"Ms. Carter may be stronger than you right now, but she’s still a well-bred British lady. Surely she wouldn’t beat you up over a few domestic disagreements. You must have done something to push her too far."

"A lady?"

Steve’s expression twisted.

He repeated the word with such heavy sarcasm that Evenson almost laughed.

"That’s just how she looks on the outside. She’s actually incredibly sensitive. She holds grudges. She’s petty. And when she decides to get revenge, she really commits to it."

Evenson stopped walking.

"Huh."

He thought about that for a moment.

Something about Steve’s description sounded extremely familiar.

Then it clicked.

"I think I know who turned Melinda into that kind of person."

Steve covered his face with one hand.

"Oh, God. She trained someone exactly like herself?"

"Not exactly."

Evenson’s expression became strange at the mention of Melinda.

Steve lowered his hand.

"What’s different?"

"She’s a lady."

Steve nodded firmly.

"That’s good."

He sounded genuinely relieved.

"At least nobody will be fooled by the polite exterior."

"Cough."

The two men continued up the stairs, still talking, when a soft cough suddenly came from above.

A woman’s sultry voice followed.

"I heard everything you just said. I’m sure little Peggy would love to hear it, too."

Both men stopped.

Steve’s legs suddenly felt considerably less reliable.

Evenson, meanwhile, recognized the voice.

He looked up.

A striking Slavic woman was leaning against a doorway above them. One hand casually toyed with the long black braid Evenson had once tied for her.

Evenson’s eyes widened.

"Dottie? What are you doing here?"

The woman was Dottie Underwood, one of the founders of the Russian Black Widow program and a major figure within Leviathan.

She had spent decades locked in a vicious rivalry with Peggy Carter before somehow evolving into something much closer to Peggy’s devoted admirer.

She had since joined Umbrella.

After being modified by the Eredar twins, Dottie now operated as the covert agent known as Black Lily.

For a veteran spy, she was remarkably good at pretending nothing was unusual.

Dottie simply shrugged and continued playing with her braid.

"Why am I here?"

She smiled.

"I live here."

Evenson stared at her.

Then he looked at Steve.

Then back at Dottie.

His expression slowly shifted into complete disbelief.

"You three..."

He pointed vaguely between them.

"You’re actually living together?"

Peggy Carter really was something else.

One of the founders of S.H.I.E.L.D., and apparently capable of making a living arrangement this bizarre seem perfectly functional.

Steve drew in a long breath.

He looked at Evenson.

"Hard to explain."

It wasn’t really Steve’s fault that those three words had become his answer to everything.

Ever since the Battle of New York, he’d been struggling with something far more confusing than any battlefield.

Normal life.

The modern world had changed dramatically during his absence, leaving him with an enormous amount of new technology, customs, and everyday nonsense to learn.

Then there was the fact that his partner could currently beat him in a fight.

That part wasn’t really a problem.

People adapted.

And Steve had always believed that domestic violence was wrong.

Completely wrong.

It didn’t matter which person was doing the hitting.

Getting punched by your spouse was not an acceptable form of marital communication.

But even though his relationship with Peggy had begun with romance, danger, and more excitement than most people experienced in a lifetime, no marriage could stay that way forever.

Even superhumans had ordinary days.

Eventually the battles ended.

The adrenaline faded.

Life settled into something quieter.

And wasn’t that exactly what they’d fought for?

A peaceful life for themselves and everyone else.

Unfortunately, the longer Steve lived with Peggy, the more of her less charming qualities began to surface.

The warning signs had been there before.

She was calculating.

She was petty.

She held grudges.

And she had an impressive talent for revenge.

Still, nobody was perfect.

Everyone had their flaws.

And Steve certainly wasn’t innocent in this particular department.

After all, look where his own mistakes had gotten him.

Then things became even stranger.

Dottie Underwood, who described herself as Peggy’s oldest and dearest friend, suddenly moved in.

At first, it seemed harmless.

Nothing had been said outright.

There were no declarations, no open confrontations.

Just a few subtle signs.

But Steve Rogers had spent years surviving battlefields. His instincts were exceptionally sharp.

He had figured out Dottie’s real motive.

She wanted his wife.

That was... awkward.

If his romantic rival had been another man, Steve wouldn’t have been worried.

He could challenge the guy to a duel.

Simple.

But his rival was a woman.

Steve had absolutely no experience dealing with this kind of threat.

And challenging her to a fight came with its own problems.

For one thing, people might accuse him of bullying a woman.

For another...

Steve wasn’t entirely convinced he could actually beat her.

And that, perhaps, was the most frustrating part of all.