Sorcerer in the Marvel Universe

What does it matter if they’re superheroes?

They’re still people.

Sure, they spent their working hours dressed like living symbols of justice, looking polished and heroic enough to belong on a billboard. But that’s the job. A receptionist could spend eight hours smiling politely and looking immaculate, then go home and spend the evening yelling at a broken dishwasher.

Superheroes weren’t any different.

Once the costumes came off, they had ordinary problems too. Petty frustrations. Bad habits. Embarrassing little quirks nobody outside their inner circle ever saw.

Take Natasha Romanoff, for example.

To the public, Black Widow was the definition of deadly elegance. Beautiful, confident, and impossibly alluring, she was practically everyone’s idea of the perfect woman.

Sarah had once told Evenson that after Natasha completely relaxed and fell asleep, however, she snored, ground her teeth, and occasionally smacked her lips.

The point was simple.

Nobody was perfect.

Not even Captain America.

Steve Rogers was celebrated as one of the greatest heroes in American history, a symbol of courage and righteousness.

And right now, he looked like he’d lost a fight with his own love life.

Evenson glanced at the dejected Captain America.

Honestly?

He wasn’t impressed.

What was the big deal?

So Peggy had beaten him up a little.

Steve had been thrown out of a third-story window, sure, but he’d landed on a car.

Evenson had once been kicked several miles by a single hoof, then rolled across gravel until half his dignity had been sanded off.

Had he complained?

No.

You picked yourself up and moved on.

Simple.

With that profound piece of wisdom settled, Evenson stopped paying attention to Steve and caught up with Dottie.

"Why did you move in here?"

Ever since the Battle of New York, Evenson and the Eredar twins had more or less left Dottie to her own devices.

He hadn’t expected her to stroll into Peggy Carter’s home and start living with her and Steve.

As far as Evenson was concerned, that was quite a leap for someone who was technically still supposed to be working as a special operative for Umbrella.

Dottie stopped walking.

She flicked her braid over one shoulder and turned around.

"That’s a good question."

Then the complaints began.

"The boss who recruited me sent me on one mission and then completely stopped contacting me. It’s as if he forgot I exist."

She shrugged.

"That’s fine. I’m used to undercover work."

Then her expression hardened.

"But!"

Her voice rose sharply.

"I knew the organization I work for wasn’t going to give me a proper benefits package. I wasn’t expecting health insurance, retirement contributions, or anything fancy."

She pointed accusingly at the ceiling.

"But they haven’t paid me a single dollar!"

Evenson’s lips twitched.

Dottie continued, thoroughly offended.

"They told me my identity has been compromised, and maintaining financial transactions with me could create unnecessary complications."

She rolled her eyes.

"They claim every penny I’m owed is being kept on record and that they’ll pay me everything at once when the situation is safe."

She folded her arms.

"So I’ve had to live off my savings."

You want a paycheck?

Evenson nearly laughed.

If Dottie only knew.

Umbrella’s unofficial philosophy was practically don’t pay anyone.

Evenson was one of the company’s founders, and he’d spent more money putting into the organization than he’d ever taken out of it.

And he’d accepted that perfectly well.

So really, Dottie should learn to embrace the entrepreneurial spirit.

Before Evenson could answer, Peggy spoke from ahead of them.

"Dottie’s position is extremely sensitive."

The three of them had entered Steve’s home without Evenson even realizing it.

Peggy sat on a sofa directly facing the entrance.

She was dressed impeccably in a white blouse, skirt, stockings, and high heels. Her posture was perfectly ladylike.

Her expression was not.

Her face was cold enough to freeze water.

And even through her sunglasses, Evenson could see the violent green fel energy burning behind her eyes.

Peggy was not in a good mood.

"If we left Dottie somewhere on her own, there are people within S.H.I.E.L.D. who would lose sleep worrying about what might happen to her."

Peggy’s tone was calm.

That somehow made it more threatening.

"So I asked her to stay here. With me personally keeping an eye on her, it gives everyone some peace of mind."

She paused.

"And it also provides her with protection."

"See? I knew little Peggy cared about me."

Dottie’s voice immediately became syrupy sweet.

She practically glided across the room before dropping onto the sofa beside Peggy.

Then she gave Steve a triumphant look.

Steve rolled his eyes.

"See that? Peggy likes her more than she likes me."

"I noticed."

Evenson patted Steve on the shoulder.

"You need to learn to look at this rationally. Dottie took care of Ms. Carter while you were gone."

He paused.

"How long was it again?"

"Twenty years, six months, and three days."

Dottie answered instantly, flashing a brilliant smile.

Steve stared at her.

Evenson stared at her.

Peggy’s expression remained unchanged.

"You really don’t want to keep score like that, Steve."

Peggy’s voice was ice-cold.

Then she turned toward Evenson and forced a smile.

"It’s been a long time. What brings you to our home?"

"I wasn’t planning on coming."

Evenson shrugged.

"I was on my way home when I saw Steve get thrown out of a third-floor window and land directly in front of my car. Naturally, I had to come upstairs and see what happened."

He looked around.

The room was a mess.

Considering what had apparently happened moments earlier, Evenson couldn’t exactly blame them.

He found the cleanest-looking place available and sat down.

"So... what exactly happened?"

The moment Peggy heard the question, her expression darkened.

She pointed her chin toward Steve.

"Ask him."

Evenson glanced sideways at Steve, who was standing nearby with his hands planted firmly on his hips.

"Thought so."

Steve immediately shot him a betrayed look.

I thought you were on my side.

Evenson pretended not to notice.

To be fair, Peggy’s personality had a remarkable resemblance to Melinda May’s.

Although, perhaps that comparison was backwards.

It was probably more accurate to say Melinda had inherited some of her temperament from Peggy.

Still, Peggy had age and experience on her side. She was old-fashioned in certain ways, extremely well-mannered, and had been raised as a proper British lady.

That made her current level of aggression rather surprising.

Evenson figured Steve must have done something particularly stupid to push her this far.

There was also the possibility that Peggy’s demon-hunter instincts and fel energy had simply gotten the better of her.

Steve suddenly exhaled.

"I got stabbed in the back."

His tone was sharp.

He immediately glared at Dottie.

Evenson followed his gaze.

Could Dottie have deliberately poisoned Peggy against Steve?

Was she trying to eliminate her romantic competition and claim Peggy for herself?

Dottie didn’t even flinch.

"Smoke doesn’t rise from a chimney without a fire."

Her tone was just as sharp.

"I simply think Peggy has the right to know what you’ve been doing."

Evenson frowned.

"What exactly did he do?"

Nobody answered immediately.

Steve finally spoke.

"I don’t know what’s going on lately, but the neighborhood hasn’t been very peaceful."

He folded his arms.

"Last night, a group of drugged-up lunatics tried to attack the woman who just moved in across the hall from us."

His expression hardened.

"I went over, drove them off, and rescued her."

He spread his hands.

"That’s it."