Chapter 39

The jet hummed steadily as it cut through the night sky, the lights of the city far below twinkling like scattered stars. Inside, the cabin was filled with a mix of tension and uneasy camaraderie. Ororo sat stiffly in her seat, her fingers gripping the armrests. Her gaze was locked on the window, though her reflection showed the turmoil swirling behind her composed expression.

Harry leaned back in his seat across from her, his green eyes fixed on Ororo. His signature smirk danced on his lips, but there was a softness in his gaze, a deliberate effort to put her at ease. "So," he began, his voice light and teasing, "what's the first thing you want to do now that you're not Klaue's favorite conversation piece?"

Ororo turned to him, her brow furrowing slightly. "Favorite conversation piece?"

"Yeah," Harry said, his grin widening. "The guy talks big, but let's be real—he's just a second-rate Bond villain with a bad haircut and an even worse attitude."

Ororo blinked, caught off guard by the blunt absurdity of the comment. "You... don't take him very seriously."

"Why should I?" Harry replied, leaning forward slightly. "He's not a problem anymore. You, on the other hand, are a lot more interesting."

Ororo felt heat rise to her cheeks and quickly turned back to the window, though a faint smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "I'm not sure what to do next," she admitted softly. "It's been a long time since I felt… free."

Before Harry could respond, Natasha's voice cut through the cabin like a whip. "Freedom's an illusion." She was perched near the cockpit door, her sharp eyes scanning the cabin, her posture deceptively casual. "You might have walked out of one cage, but there's always another waiting."

"Wow, Natasha," Harry said, throwing her an exaggerated look. "Really leaning into that whole 'brooding assassin' vibe tonight, huh? What's next? A monologue about darkness and the price of redemption?"

Natasha's lips quirked into the faintest of smirks. "You'd do well to take notes, smartass. This isn't a game."

"Isn't it?" Harry countered, his tone light but his eyes betraying a deeper seriousness. "We're all just playing the hands we're dealt. The trick is knowing when to bluff."

From the cockpit, May's voice chimed in over the comms, rich with wry humor. "Look at you, waxing philosophical. Guess there's more to you than just bad jokes and shiny armor."

Harry flashed a grin toward the cockpit, even though May couldn't see it. "Thanks, May. That almost sounded like a compliment."

"Don't let it go to your head," May shot back. "We've still got a job to do."

Ororo glanced between them, a mixture of confusion and amusement crossing her face. "Is this how you always talk to each other?"

Natasha gave a dry chuckle, crossing her arms. "Welcome to the team. Dysfunction's part of the package."

Harry leaned back again, giving Ororo a lazy grin. "Think of it as a very weird, very chaotic family."

"Family?" Ororo asked, skepticism lacing her tone.

Natasha's expression softened just slightly as she replied, "Not by blood, but we've been through enough together. That counts for something."

Ororo considered this, her fingers relaxing on the armrest. "I've never really had… that," she said quietly.

"Well, now you've got us," Harry said, his voice carrying an unexpected sincerity. "Whether you like it or not."

The faintest hint of a smile crossed Ororo's lips, and Harry couldn't help but feel a small surge of satisfaction. He was about to say more when Natasha stood, stretching with the precision of a cat. "We're landing in New York in twenty minutes," she said, her voice all business now. "There's a safehouse where we'll regroup."

Ororo frowned. "New York? That's… far from Cairo."

"Sometimes distance is what you need," May said, her tone softer than usual. "Gives you space to figure things out."

"Plus," Harry added with a playful smirk, "New York's got great pizza."

Natasha rolled her eyes, shooting him a look. "This isn't a vacation, Harry."

"Could've fooled me," Harry quipped, though his gaze softened as it flickered toward Natasha. "But fine, boss. Whatever you say."

Ororo watched the exchange, her gaze lingering on the way Natasha's lips twitched despite herself and the warmth in Harry's eyes when he looked at her. Something about it made her chest tighten—not jealousy, exactly, but something close.

As the jet began its descent, Harry leaned closer to Ororo. "Hey," he said, his voice low so only she could hear. "You're gonna be okay. Whatever's waiting down there, you're not alone in this."

Ororo met his gaze, surprised by the intensity in his emerald eyes. "Thank you," she said softly, her voice carrying more weight than the words themselves.

"Anytime," Harry replied, his grin returning. "After all, what kind of hero would I be if I didn't help the goddess of storms?"

Ororo's cheeks flushed again, but this time, she didn't look away. For the first time in what felt like forever, she allowed herself to feel something she hadn't dared to before: hope.

—

The jet's engines let out a dramatic whine before cutting off completely, the rumble of its descent shaking the cabin like the aftershocks of a small earthquake. May, ever the expert, guided the plane down onto the hidden tarmac of the New York Safehouse with the kind of grace that made it look like she was born to fly planes into secret hideouts. The ramp hissed open, and the first person to step out was Harry Potter—who was, as usual, dressed like a walking piece of superhero merchandise.

His Armor gleamed in the dim light, a sleek red-and-gold suit that looked like it belonged in a comic book, or maybe a high-budget action movie. The Cloak of Levitation fluttered behind him like a giant bat wing, making him look way cooler than any of us have the right to look at 3 a.m. He stood there, chin high, shoulders back, the picture of confidence... or was it just sheer stubbornness? Either way, he was ready for whatever drama was about to unfold.

Behind him came Natasha Romanoff, also known as the Black Widow, with all the grace of a ninja and none of the flair. She didn't make a sound as she walked, and if you weren't paying attention, you might've missed her entirely. But her eyes were sharp, taking in every detail of their surroundings with that assassin's instinct of hers. She gave Ororo a quick glance, a silent acknowledgment that they'd made it out of whatever mess they'd been in—alive.

Ororo Munroe stepped off the jet last, her eyes wide as she scanned the place like she was trying to figure out if it was safe or if they were just walking into another trap. Her jacket, black and sleek, hugged her frame, but there was still a certain tenseness about her—like a lion about to pounce, but not sure if she was in a zoo or the wild. She met Harry's gaze, and that flicker of hope? Yeah, it didn't escape him. Maybe she didn't trust this place yet, but there was trust in his eyes. She could see that.

As if on cue, May's voice came through the intercom. "Systems check complete. You guys are on your own from here."

With that, Harry gave a short nod, and they made their way off the jet. At the foot of the ramp, there were two figures waiting—Nick Fury, the one-eyed man who had made it his life's work to look perpetually unimpressed, and Maria Hill, who could probably run the world in her sleep. Fury's coat flapped behind him as he turned his attention toward the jet, his face going through the motions of 'this is the most inconvenient thing I've done all week.'

"You're late," Fury grumbled, voice so gravelly it could've been used to grind rocks. "Think you're running a hotel or a daycare center?"

"We like to be thorough," Natasha replied with a shrug, making it clear that 'thorough' was her middle name. "And we brought you a present."

Fury's expression darkened as two SHIELD agents dragged Ulysses Klaue out of the jet, his hands bound, his mouth gagged. The man looked like someone had slapped him around with a wet noodle—frustrated, furious, and completely helpless.

"Klaue, huh?" Fury muttered under his breath. "Can't say I've missed that face. Don't worry, though. This time, we're keeping you locked up tight."

"Good luck with that," Harry called back casually, crossing his arms. "Kraven's muscle didn't put up much of a fight, but I left him out cold for Wakandan justice. Figured it was fitting."

Maria Hill stepped forward, eyeing the group with the precision of someone who had calculated every variable in the room. "What about the kids?" she asked, not looking at Harry, but at May.

"They're safe," May replied, her voice as cool and steady as always. "King T'Chaka's taking care of them. They're in good hands."

Harry stepped forward, his gaze shifting over to Ororo, and that casual confidence melted into something more serious. "Kraven didn't exactly impress, but it's done. You're safe now. You'll be with us, and no one's going to hurt you again."

Ororo just nodded, though the weight of his words seemed to settle into her shoulders. She didn't speak, but her eyes—those stormy blues—held a silent promise of gratitude.

Before the conversation could go much further, a loud clattering at the end of the hangar broke the moment like an alarm clock at 6 a.m. James and Lily Potter appeared, Sirius Black trailing behind them like a particularly rebellious shadow. And there was Tonks, who was always ten steps ahead of everyone, bouncing around with more energy than a toddler hopped up on sugar.

Harry's lips twitched when he saw them. His parents were an immediate source of comfort, but the real entertainment? Tonks, whose energy could power a small city.

"Oh, hi!" she called, her voice like a burst of sunlight in the middle of a dark, stormy night. Her hair was bubblegum pink, but it shifted instantly to blue when she noticed Ororo's surprised stare. "I'm Tonks. Well, Nymphadora, but please don't call me that. I hate it."

Ororo blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Your hair… how did you do that?"

Tonks grinned like she'd just won a lottery. "Metamorphmagus!" she declared, practically jumping in place. "I can change my face, my height, my hair—anything! Wanna see?"

Ororo hesitated, but only for a second. "Yeah. Show me."

Tonks immediately morphed her face into various comical shapes—nose growing absurdly long, ears vanishing completely, and her hair flashing every color of the rainbow. Ororo didn't even try to suppress the laugh that bubbled up from her chest. It was so unexpected, so ridiculous, that it was impossible not to.

Sirius, who had been silently observing, clapped Harry on the back, looking far too proud for someone who'd definitely missed all the action. "Well, look at you," he said, his grin making him look like he'd just stolen the last cookie from the jar. "Saving kids, taking down bad guys. Guess you're the hero of the week now."

Harry rolled his eyes but couldn't hide the grin. "Jealous? You're the one who missed all the fun."

"Maybe," Sirius admitted, not bothering to act like he was bothered. "But I'd rather not be dealing with Fury right now."

Fury, who had been overhearing, grunted. "Damn right. Potter, you're with me. We've got a debriefing, and someone get this clown out of my face before I find a cell with no windows and make it his new home."

Harry gave Sirius a mock salute and turned to Ororo with a more serious look. "You're in good hands now. Tonks will show you around the place. And if anyone gives you trouble..." He let the sentence hang, his gaze promising that he'd handle it. "Just let me know."

Ororo met his eyes for a long moment, and there was something in that look—a quiet, unspoken thanks. She nodded, and Harry, with a flick of his cloak, disappeared into the depths of the safehouse with Fury and Hill.

As Tonks bounced back into her transformation act, Ororo watched with a smile that was just starting to feel more real. For the first time in a long while, she wasn't entirely alone. And maybe, just maybe, she wasn't as lost as she thought.

—

Tonks was practically skipping down the sterile, almost military-like hallways of the SHIELD safehouse, her steps light, each one filled with a playfulness that almost made the place feel less like a covert base and more like a giant playground. She hummed a little tune, weaving around agents who seemed to know exactly when to step aside, giving her that knowing look that said, Oh, it's just Tonks being Tonks.

Ororo, on the other hand, was walking with more careful purpose, eyes wide and alert as she took in every detail. She wasn't used to this—SHIELD, Hydra, all these new terms. She had been introduced to superheroes, villains, and now magical bloodlines in one crash course, and it was... a lot. She kept her cool, though, even if her mind was racing.

"So, this place is, what, like a fortress for superheroes?" Ororo asked, keeping her voice low as if the walls might be listening.

"Yep, you got it. Welcome to SHIELD," Tonks chirped, not missing a beat. "Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division, if you wanna get all official about it." She shrugged with a grin, clearly not the type to be bogged down by lengthy titles. "But mostly, it's Nick Fury's personal playground for keeping the world from falling apart, dealing with things like Hydra." Tonks paused, her eyes narrowing slightly. "And trust me, you don't wanna mess with them. They're the absolute worst—imagine Nazis with a twisted obsession for science. Yeah, that's them."

Ororo gave a slight nod, absorbing the gravity of the situation. Her brows furrowed as she tried to comprehend just how deep this rabbit hole went. She had powers—like lightning and storms—but this? This felt like a whole new universe, one where bloodlines and ancient curses were as common as morning coffee.

"Your powers… you said they're not mutation-based, right?" Ororo asked, curious.

"Smart cookie, you are," Tonks grinned, pointing a finger in her direction. "Nope, not a mutation. It's a family thing. My mom's side of the family has this whole thing going on, like... a bloodline ability. We call it being a Metamorphmagus. Fancy, right?" She twirled a strand of her bubblegum-pink hair between her fingers, her voice filled with that trademark mix of mischief and pride. "Basically, it means I can change anything about myself—hair, height, face—hell, I could even turn into a toaster if I really wanted to, though that's a bit of an overkill."

Ororo's eyebrow shot up. "So you just... change? Like shape-shifting?"

"Yep! I'm basically my own walking, talking magic show. Every time I look in the mirror, I get a surprise. It's fun at parties." Tonks winked. "But, uh, it's not magic like yours. I'm a witch." She raised an eyebrow knowingly. "And Harry? Harry's a wizard. Magic, wands, potions, all that fun stuff. We live in a world where unicorns aren't just a fairy tale. And trust me, magic is not the weirdest part of our lives."

Ororo blinked, taking it all in. Wizards. Witches. Magic. It was a lot to process, but if anyone could handle it, it was her. She'd walked through storms, fought battles she thought she could never survive, and now, here she was, walking through a SHIELD safehouse, meeting witches and wizards, and all she wanted was a cup of coffee.

"So Harry—he's a wizard, you said?" Ororo asked, clearly still processing. "And you're a witch? This is... new for me."

"Oh, it gets way more interesting, trust me." Tonks gave a mischievous grin as they turned a corner. "Let me show you something. You're gonna love this."

They approached a door, and Tonks knocked lightly before swinging it open without waiting. Inside, Ororo was greeted with a scene that could only be described as utterly surreal.

At a small, child-sized table sat a little girl, no older than six, with wild red hair and oversized glasses that almost swallowed her face. She was hosting a tea party with two grown men in full SHIELD tactical gear—Phil Coulson and Billy Koenig—both of whom were seated cross-legged on the floor, holding tiny plastic cups as if their lives depended on pretending to sip tea.

Tonks, already laughing, introduced the scene with a flourish. "Ororo, meet Rose—Harry's twin sister."

Ororo blinked, trying to make sense of it. "Twin sister?" she asked, the confusion evident in her voice. "But Harry—he's, um, older, right? How can she be his twin?"

Tonks chuckled, stepping into the room and gesturing for Ororo to follow. "Yeah, so here's where it gets really wild. Harry's actually only six. He was five when Hydra kidnapped him. They snatched him from his aunt and uncle's place, did all this messed-up stuff to him, and—poof—he went from five to, well, the guy you met. They injected him with the Super Soldier Serum, which... ages you up. They did a bunch of other stuff, too, but honestly, it was so complicated, I only half understood it. Harry gives the full rundown when he's in one of his 'I need to talk science' moods." She looked over at Coulson and Koenig, both of whom were engaged in the ridiculous tea party with a stoic seriousness that was both hilarious and impressive.

Ororo's eyes narrowed slightly. "So... Harry's six, but he's... what? How is he so different?"

Tonks nodded sagely. "Hydra turned him into a child soldier. Think of him like a mini Captain America, but with a whole lot more claws."

"Claws?" Ororo echoed, glancing at Coulson, who gave a slight nod, his usual cool demeanor unwavering.

"Yep, metal claws. Vibranium, in fact." Tonks flashed a grin, obviously fond of the fact. "It's pretty cool, right? He can retract them and everything." She gave a dramatic shrug as if to say, What can I say? Harry's just that awesome.

Ororo glanced back at the scene in front of her: Rose, the tiny redhead, offering Coulson an empty teacup with an earnest expression. She couldn't help but smile at the absurdity of it all. SHIELD agents, actual superheroes, reduced to playing make-believe for the amusement of a six-year-old. And yet, something about it felt... comforting. Like it was normal. Or at least, their normal.

"This is a lot to take in," Ororo muttered, shaking her head in disbelief. "I thought I had seen everything."

Tonks put an arm around her shoulders in a mock-sympathetic gesture. "Oh, sweetie, you're just getting started. But don't worry, you're doing great. Stick with me, and I'll show you the ropes. It's like a crash course in 'How to Survive When the World is Insane.' You've got this." She winked. "And hey, if anyone gives you trouble, you've got magic on your side. And claws. And a bunch of other cool stuff."

—

In a brightly lit tech lab nestled deeper within the safehouse, the faint hum of machinery filled the air. Stark tech clashed with ancient magical relics in a strange but functional harmony. The walls, lined with high-tech screens, looked like something out of a high-budget spy thriller, but the presence of magical artifacts scattered across tables hinted at something far older—something more mysterious.

James and Sirius stood near a workbench, speaking in low voices, but their conversation stopped when they heard the thud of heavy footsteps from across the room. Turning toward the sound, Harry felt a ripple of unease—he wasn't sure if it was the footsteps or the man walking toward him that made him feel that way.

A towering figure with a deeply scarred face and a perpetual scowl approached, his missing eye replaced by a dark, enchanted glass that shimmered ominously. Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody had a reputation—one that Harry knew all too well from stories and his own brief interactions with the world of magic.

Mad-Eye's unnerving magical eye swiveled wildly in its socket, glinting as it fixed on Harry with a sort of eerie scrutiny. He was accompanied by a SHIELD agent, who wheeled a high-tech prototype prosthetic leg toward him. The leg was sleek, built from Vibranium, and pulsating with an aura of both magic and technology.

"Ah, there he is," Mad-Eye grunted, his voice rough, as though every word was a battle. "The boy who survived Hydra. You're the one they've been whispering about."

Harry blinked, suddenly feeling far too young in the presence of the older wizard. Sirius, seeing his tension, gave him a reassuring smile, but there was something about Moody's presence that made Harry instinctively want to brace himself for something... more.

Mad-Eye gave Harry a quick once-over, his magical eye spinning like a gear in a clock before locking onto Harry's face, narrowing with intensity. "Let me get a good look at ya, boy," he muttered, stepping closer. "They say you've got the claws of a beast. Vibranium claws? A soldier's build at six years old? No normal kid could take that kind of thing."

Harry stood taller, meeting Moody's piercing gaze with a mix of curiosity and wariness. "I'm not normal," Harry said, voice steady despite his nerves. "But I'm not a soldier either. I just want to survive."

"Good answer," Moody grunted. He gestured toward his new prosthetic leg, which the SHIELD agent had just finished adjusting. "Same goes for me, kid. People think I'm some kind of freak because of this," he tapped the gleaming metallic leg with a sigh, "but I'm just another man trying to do his job. Now... I hear you've had some serious lessons in survival."

Harry nodded slowly, but before he could respond, Sirius spoke up. "Harry's been through a lot more than most people could imagine. He's made it this far because he's stronger than he realizes."

Mad-Eye's magical eye zoomed over to Sirius with what seemed like an approving look. "Ain't that the truth." He tapped the edge of his prosthetic leg against the ground, the sound ringing out through the lab. "That's why I wanted to meet you, Potter. I've seen enough kids fall through the cracks of the system, grow up to be what the world turns them into. But you, lad... You've got that fire. You've been through the fire, and you're still standing. That's rare."

Harry blinked at the words, unsure how to respond. His mind was still processing the fact that a man like Mad-Eye Moody—who was feared by many in the wizarding world—was speaking to him like he had some sort of authority.

Sirius grinned and put a hand on Harry's shoulder, giving him a little nudge. "Don't worry, he's a softie on the inside."

Mad-Eye snorted in response, his magical eye now swiveling back to its regular scanning motion. "Softie, he says. I've got more scars than you've got hairs on that messy head of yours, Black."

James stepped forward, his eyes glinting with amusement. "You're one to talk, Alastor. The boy's just been through enough trauma to last a lifetime. He doesn't need any more war stories right now."

Mad-Eye looked at Harry with something akin to understanding—perhaps even a little admiration. "Right. War stories can wait. But I'll tell ya this, Potter... You're gonna have to fight. Hydra's not the kind of enemy you can hide from. You can't just sit back and wait for it to go away. They'll come for you, sooner or later. And when they do, you better be ready."

Harry swallowed, the weight of Mad-Eye's words settling heavily in his chest. He was used to being told to prepare for battle, but somehow, hearing it from someone like Mad-Eye—someone with so much experience—made the prospect feel real. It wasn't just about fighting with his claws or his abilities. It was about surviving a war that he had never asked for.

"I'm ready," Harry said quietly, meeting Mad-Eye's gaze head-on. "I'll fight."

Mad-Eye's magical eye swirled again, and for a long moment, Harry wasn't sure if the old man was judging him or evaluating him. Finally, Mad-Eye gave a grunt of approval.

"That's what I like to hear," he muttered, then turned back to the SHIELD agent holding his new prosthetic. "Now, about that leg—"

James, noticing the tension easing in the room, chuckled. "You know, I'm still not used to seeing you so... chatty, Mad-Eye."

"Bah," Mad-Eye grunted. "I'm getting soft in my old age."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Really? Because you sure don't seem like the type to soften up."

"Shut it, Black." Mad-Eye snorted. "One thing I've learned in all my years is that you don't have to like someone to respect them. And I've got a hell of a lot of respect for this kid." He gave Harry a final look, one that seemed to appraise his every move before he added, "Stay sharp, Potter. Keep that fire."

As Mad-Eye turned to leave, his final words echoed in Harry's mind, a reminder of the road ahead. Harry was beginning to understand that this wasn't just about surviving Hydra—it was about forging a new path in a world where nothing was ever simple, and everything required sacrifice.

James put a hand on Harry's back, guiding him toward the door. "You'll do fine, Harry. Just remember—sometimes it's okay to let other people help. Even Mad-Eye knows that."

Harry, a little shaken but resolute, nodded. "Thanks. I think I'm starting to understand that."

—

The safehouse's training room had transformed into a battlefield of sorts, as Alexei Shostakov, freshly outfitted in his new Vibranium-weave Red Guardian suit, stood ready for the ultimate test. The gear, crafted by the brilliant minds of Howard Stark and Lily Potter, gleamed under the harsh overhead lights, and though Alexei was a man who had been through decades of warfare, there was something special about the technology and magic woven into the suit. It wasn't just for show—it enhanced his already formidable strength, giving him an edge he hadn't felt in years.

Standing across from him was Steve Rogers, the legendary Captain America, who was already wearing that stoic look of his. His shield rested at his side, gleaming as always. He was calm, collected—as usual.

Alexei, on the other hand, was anything but calm. He bounced on his heels like a man who had just been handed a golden opportunity. His heavy Russian accent thickened his words as he grinned ear to ear. "You know, Steve," he began, his voice louder than necessary. "I've been dreaming of this moment for a very long time. To finally fight Captain America—the Captain America. It's like... it's like my heart is going to explode in my chest!"

Steve gave him a sideways glance, his lips curling into a knowing, almost reluctant smile. "You sure you're ready for this? I've got some moves myself."

Alexei clapped his hands together. "Ready? Steve, I was born ready. I mean, look at me—do I look like a man who isn't ready for battle? Look at these guns," he said, flexing his arms dramatically, his chest puffing out proudly. The Vibranium-weave suit made his muscles look even bigger, and he was relishing the attention. "I was practically built for this moment."

Steve let out a short laugh. "Alright, let's see what you've got then."

Without another word, Alexei charged, his boots thundering against the floor as he lunged toward Steve, throwing a wide, wild punch aimed at his head. The power behind it was nothing short of impressive, and Steve had to leap back just in time, narrowly avoiding the blow.

"Ha! You're fast for an old guy!" Alexei bellowed, swinging again, this time with both fists. He laughed loudly as he continued to press the attack, each punch more powerful than the last, his face a mix of pure joy and intense concentration.

Steve expertly sidestepped the blows, his shield raised defensively. "You've got power, Alexei, but you've got to do better than that if you want to land a hit," Steve said with a grin, his voice cool and confident.

"Better?" Alexei scoffed, his smile never wavering. "You want better? I'll show you better!" With a dramatic flourish, he spun around and delivered a kick so powerful it sent the air whooshing around him. It collided with Steve's shield with a resounding clang, but Steve held his ground, his muscles straining as he absorbed the impact.

Steve gritted his teeth. "You don't make it easy, do you?"

"Of course not!" Alexei roared, throwing another punch, this one aimed directly at Steve's stomach. This time, Steve was ready, and he dodged, using the momentum to shove Alexei back with a sharp push to his chest.

Alexei staggered but immediately regained his balance, laughing like a man who had just been given the greatest gift. "Not bad! You've got moves! But now, we really see what you're made of!"

In a flash, Alexei surged forward again, and this time, he was throwing more than just fists. He was a whirlwind, using his massive size and strength to barrel into Steve with the force of a freight train. Steve struggled to keep up, his shield barely managing to deflect the blows that came raining down. Every hit that landed rattled Steve's bones, but Alexei was relentless.

"This is it!" Alexei shouted, his voice filled with adrenaline and excitement. "This is the fight of my life!"

Steve's grin widened. "Yeah, I'm starting to see that," he said, deflecting another wild swing. "But don't expect to win it."

Alexei took a moment to glance at Steve, his face lighting up with an exaggerated look of offense. "Win? Win?" He let out a dramatic sigh, putting his hands on his hips. "You really think I'm going to lose to you, Captain? I may be old, but I'm not stupid! This is what I've been training for—decades of practice, of trying to get this moment. Just wait! My time has come!"

The two men circled each other like a pair of gladiators, each sizing up the other, trying to anticipate the next move. Steve's shield was constantly in motion, deflecting every punch, while Alexei was like a wild bull, full of raw strength and fury, his every move driven by years of pent-up aggression and the thrill of the fight.

"You know," Alexei said between breaths, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "I gotta admit, I really thought you'd be more of a... boring guy, you know? You're Captain America! The symbol of all things good, right?" He ducked under a punch, swinging his own fist to catch Steve off guard. "But you? You've got spirit, old man."

Steve laughed, not missing a beat. "I'm glad to hear you're enjoying yourself. But just because you're having fun doesn't mean I won't take you down."

"You really think so, huh?" Alexei said, his voice a little more serious now, though still filled with that unmistakable twinkle of someone who lived for the fight. "Well, you may be a super soldier, Steve, but I've been around the block a few times myself."

He suddenly lunged at Steve with a fury, throwing a series of punches that caught Steve off guard, pushing him back. The shield in Steve's hands shifted, trying to absorb the impact, but Alexei was faster than expected. The Red Guardian suit was working wonders, amplifying his speed and strength.

"Ha! Gotcha!" Alexei laughed, his grin wild and unrelenting. He slammed his fist toward Steve's face, but before it could land, Steve deftly ducked, using his shield to propel himself out of the way.

Breathing heavily, Alexei stopped, his chest heaving as he wiped sweat from his forehead. He took a deep breath, holding up both hands. "Alright, alright! You win this time. But let's be honest, that was too close."

Steve, equally winded but with a satisfied smile on his face, raised his shield slightly in acknowledgment. "You've got some serious skills, Alexei. You're no slouch. I'll give you that."

Alexei grinned from ear to ear, his chest swelling with pride. "Of course, Steve! I'm not some rookie. But, hey, you still kicked my ass. Can't say I'm not a little disappointed, but hey, at least I'm still alive."

Steve clapped him on the back, his smile widening. "Good fight. Glad to have you on the team, Alexei. You've definitely earned your place."

"Glad to be here, Captain." Alexei smirked, winking. "Now, how about that drink? I've earned it, yes?"

Steve raised an eyebrow but couldn't help laughing. "Yeah, you definitely have. Let's go grab one. Just... try not to start any bar fights, alright?"

Alexei threw an arm around Steve's shoulder as they headed toward the exit. "No promises, my friend. No promises."

---

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