CHAPTER SIX
RECORDS

"YOU KNOW, I THINK IT'S KIND OF CUTE THAT YOU KEEP A LIST." Inside the Attic Record Store, a shop up north into Millvale, Annika held Steve's pocket-sized notebook face-up to the fluorescent overhead lights, trying and failing not to laugh.

          "The way you say cute, I feel more patronised than flattered."

          "Did I say I was trying to flatter you? Or did you just assume?" Annika flipped to the next page, shaking her head in playful disbelief. The notebook, feint-ruled and of the Field Notes brand, was filled with—as Steve put it—all the things he needed to catch up on. Annika's eyes traced Steve's neat handwriting: Star Wars/Trek, Thai food, Troubleman (soundtrack) amongst others written in scratchy blue Biro.

          "Got me there."

          "But seriously, this is actually a really clever idea," Annika said charitably, looking between Steve's face and the open notebook, face, book, back again. "Wish I'd had a list to go off when I first left the Room. You know how many pop culture references I didn't—and honestly, still don't—understand?"

          "As many as me, I imagine."

          "Yeah, but also, no. You're definitely ahead." Annika pointed at an item on his list: Rocky (Rocky II?). "I've never seen Rocky."

          "Well, me neither."

          "At least you know of it. I didn't know it existed until like, last year. Did you know there are like, four movies in that series?"

"I knew there were at least two."

"Well, yeah." Decidedly, Annika's finger did not move from (Rocky II?). "You don't seem sure, though."

"Never am with these things."

"'These things' including..." Annika scanned the page, settling on Berlin Wall (Up + Down). "The Berlin Wall?"

Steve lowered his voice, turning his body to hers as if to shield her—and their conversation, somehow—from view. "I was in the ice for a long time."

"One thing the Room didn't keep from us was history. I mean, it was definitely biased, but they wanted us to be able to assimilate anywhere. For that, you need a broad cultural understanding." Annika looked up at Steve with a small, tight-lipped smile. With her free hand, she reached to adjust his cap, successfully concealing the crop of blond hair that was peeking out from underneath. "I could give you a crash course."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. After the end of World War II, pre-war Germany west of the Oder-Neisse line—the border between Germany and Poland—was divided into four zones, each one occupied by one of the Allied Powers: the U.S., the U.K., France, and the Soviet Union."

"I know who the Allied powers are," Steve said, but not indignantly. He smiled a little, nodded; signalled for Annika to continue.

"Yeah yeah, you were there, I get it. Anyways," she laughed, "insert NATO stuff here, the Warsaw Pact, Eastern Bloc, Western Bloc, whatever. The Soviets eventually established the German Democratic Republic, GDR, East Germany—again, whatever—and removed the current Soviet military government while still maintaining influence over the GDR state and keeping a presence in East Germany."

"Uh-huh."

"And—" A pause. "You know, if I really go into it, we're going to be here forever, and I'm pretty sure this place has to close soon. So I'll be quick. The Wall went up, there was a no-man's-land in between, years later in 1989 after the Eastern Bloc began to disintegrate—with East Germans attempting to flee left and right to Hungary—the Wall finally came down. Not literally, yet, but the checkpoints at the wall were opened and people were finally allowed to cross through with little or no identification."

"Great explanation." Steve looked very solemn for a moment. "I still don't really understand."

"Honestly, that's fair enough. Maybe we should buy you a book. And maybe I should never offer a 'crash course' ever again."

"It wasn't bad, I'm just... missing a lot. Missing present-tense and missed, past-tense."

"If it helps, the average American doesn't know shit about history." Annika scoffed gently, taking a pen from her jacket pocket and adding an asterisk next to Berlin Wall (Up + Down?). "Even then, I had to read up on a lot of things after I left the room—make sure I was remembering history correctly. You can imagine that the USSR's assessments of their own government, personnel and actions, especially post-war, would not leave a lot of breathing room for other perspectives."

"They're not alone in that regard. American history isn't... above reproach."

"No shit. Every country has skeletons in their closet."

"Like me."

"In the closet, not the ice." Annika closed Steve's notebook and handed it back to him with a shrug. He slipped it into his back jean pocket. "If you count, then so do I. You can definitely see the differences in our approaches, though. The U.S. government wanted a super-soldier, and they got you. Blond, blue-eyed, handsome, star-spangled and wearing spandex."

"The suit's not made of Spandex anymore."

"But the sentiment still stands." Annika stepped away from him and towards a nearby rotating-rack of discount CDs. She spun the display, watching it spin and spin and spin, then stop. "Now, when the USSR wants a super-soldier..."

Steve opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it. Annika watched him, mildly amused.

"Cat got your tongue?"

"A cat? No. You're a spider."

"You're funny." A pause. "We did have a Red Guardian for a while."

"And a 'Red Guardian' is?"

"Hm." Annika ruminated on her answer. "Like Captain America, but Communist."

"Oh."

"Yeah." Annika held her hands up to Steve's face. "He had Karl Marx tattooed on his knuckles."

"I know who Karl Marx is!" Steve sounded so excited that Annika was almost happy for him.

"Congratulations, babe."

"Thank you." His expression sobered. "Was he trained in the Red Room?"

"No, only women were. We're Black Widows, not Black Widowers."

"Why only women? Do you know?"

Annika gave him a look. "I do know, and I will tell you, but can I ask you something first?"

"Yeah, always."

She gave him another look, one markedly more displeased; his willingness to be—or at least, appear—forthcoming made her seem less trustworthy by default. And she already wasn't trustworthy. "When you did you and Nat took your little sabbatical from S.H.I.E.L.D., and you spent all that time together," a hint of something in her voice here; inference, implication, "was she honest with you?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Because with all these damn questions, you're either as naïve as most might assume you are, being a good, clean-cut All-American boy stuck in the ice since '45—"

"—Or?"

"—Or, for some reason, Nat was more open with you than she's ever been to anyone else in her entire life, and that misguided, uncharacteristic honesty has set a precedent for our relationship. A precedent that I resent, by the way."

Steve considered his words for a long moment. Then, he folded his arms and shook his head. "No, she wasn't. She was almost as secretive as you."

"Ah. So you're just annoying, then."

Steve laughed. "Annoying? That's a new one."

"Is it?"

"Ouch."

"Sorry. Maybe Nat can kiss it better." This last part said with a taunting smile. Annika spun the CD rack again, then stepped past Steve to explore the rest of the store.

He trailed after her, that blush flooding his neck again. The sight of it drew a laugh from Annika, who turned and disappeared down a nearby aisle. "You know about that?"

"Mhm."

Steve followed Annika down, moving awkwardly around an unpacked stack of boxes to reach her where she stood in front of a shelf section labelled COMPILATIONS—BEST OF. "It didn't mean anything."

"To you, or to Nat?"

Silence. Annika felt Steve's gaze on her, boring into her side profile as she reached to ghost her fingers along the plastic-wrapped spines of the CDs before them. "Nat and I are just friends," he said.

"I know."

"It was just... I dunno. Nice to be close to someone for a moment there."

This made Annika laugh again. "Okay, Steve."

"What?"

"Your oversharing is adorable."

"You're patronising me again; and I'm not oversharing. I'm just telling the truth."

"Did I ask you to?"

"You didn't have to."

"What, are you trying to lead by example?"

"Something like that. And, you're—"

"—I'm what?" Annika regretted cutting him off; the moment she spoke she saw his expression change, flicker, fall like the leaves in the world outside. He withdrew into himself and shook his head, his expression flat, impenetrable.

"Don't worry about it."

"Fine," Annika said, reaching out to remove a couple CDs from the shelf. Best of 60s; 70s; 80s; 90s. ABBA Gold. Michael Jackson: Greatest Hits: HIStory, Volume 1. "She's very pretty though."

          "Who?"

          "Natasha."

          "Oh... right." His blush, which had receded somewhat, made a sudden reappearance. Annika's gaze dropped to his neck, throat—eyeing his pulse, and the pink splotches accompanying it. "Yeah, she is."

          "Most Black Widows are."

          "I've noticed." Steve said, quietly. Shyly, Annika might've thought—and she would've been right.

Her attention on the CDs and her pile of selections growing steadily taller, Annika pretended not to hear him. Instead, she said, "There was a male Black Widow, once. Called a Wolf Spider instead." Pardosa alacris. "He was hand-picked from birth, as the girls were. As I was," she added, as an aside, as if her inclusion in the cold, cruel history of the Red Room might contextualise things for Steve, might make the rough edges of her upbringing softer, sweeter, easier to swallow. "Nikolay Vyacheslavovich Constantin was his name."

          "Did you know him?"

          "The Wolf Spider training program was scrapped a few years after I was brought into the room. We might've crossed paths once or twice, but I would've been very young. I don't remember."

          "What happened to him?"

Annika handed Steve her stack of CDs and moved on to a different aisle, rolling her shoulders back. "He was too difficult to control. All the methods used for us, for the Widows—they didn't work on him." Annika's sterilisation made her submissive; Niko's only made him angrier. As a child, his story had been treated like myth, like folklore—a tale tall but chilling for their supervisors to tell the girls, keep them docile and afraid and, most importantly, in line. Now, looking back, Annika wished she had been more like him, as much as she was told the opposite.

It was less about anger, and more about the absence of it. She wished she hadn't let herself be so numb.

          "They could've tried again, with someone else, but they didn't want to risk it. Constantin was sent away, probably put to death. I don't know," Annika bit her lip. "I guess the general consensus was, if it's not broken, don't fix it. It was easier to train girls, easier to... obtain them. Natasha was sold into the Room, and so was I. Other girls were brought in by much less savoury means."

          "It's still horrible, Annika."

          "I know." Annika distracted herself by searching for another CD, exhaling sharply once she'd found it: the Beach Boys' Pet Sounds. Then, All Things Must Pass by George Harrison, one of her favourites. "Constantin was taken against his will, though. I used to think about it, when I was younger." When I was handcuffed to my bed, so I couldn't try to escape while my handlers slept. "I wonder what his family were like. Did they miss him?"

Did my family miss me?

"Do they wait for him still?" Annika asked this question to no-one in particular, not even Steve. "I don't know. Maybe that's why he couldn't be broken in, not completely—he might've still remembered his parents. His siblings, if he had any. Our trainers used to call him the prodigal son. And I'm sure the thought of his family might've kept him going, the memory, but... I don't think he'd be welcomed back, if he ever went home."

"And you?" Steve questioned, solemn.

"And me?" Annika forced a smile, handing him another stack of CDs. "Hold this for me, would you?"

Steve did, immediately and without complaint. "What have we got here?"

"A couple 'greatest hits' compilations for the past couple of decades, to give you a general idea of what music was popular back then. We've also got a couple really classic albums—Rumours by Fleetwood Mac, I Put A Spell On You by Nina Simone... Nirvana. Some MJ, Elton John, Bon Jovi, Billy Joel, Tupac, the Beatles—"

"—I've listened to some of The Beatles. I was told they were important."

"Overrated, in my personal opinion, but yes, important." Annika shrugged, "we've got some Cat Stevens, the Cranberries, the B-52's, Madonna—"

"—you're speaking a whole other language right now, Annika."

Annika rolled her eyes playfully. "You'll understand soon, I promise." She led him to another aisle full of newer releases and, after scanning the stacks for a minute, picked out some more CDs: Back to Black by Amy Winehouse, For Emma, Forever Ago by Bon Iver. The Con by Tegan and Sara.

"You really don't want to talk to me, do you?"

"What?" Annika asked, gasping with faux-surprise. Offence, even. "How could you even say that? I just want you to be educated."

"Like you? How did you figure this stuff out?"

"I guess it started with survival. Talking about music, knowing music... it made me feel normal, and it made me look normal, too. If a conversation ever lulls, you can just talk about what music's popular right now, or what isn't. It's an easy way to fit in, to seem like more of a person even if there's not a lot to you when it comes down to it. People talk, project. From there, it's easy to observe and then fit yourself in."

"Okay. But how did you know where to start?"

"Boyfriends," Annika said simply. She turned, removing a few of the greatest hits compilations from Steve's growing pile and holding them up for emphasis. "One of them was really into classic rock. David Bowie, ELO, Aerosmith, AC/DC, Bruce Springsteen, et cetera." Mac. "A different one," Annika gave the greatest hits back to Steve, then took out a handful of less mainstream albums; by The National, American Football, Band of Horses, Bloc Party, Death Cab for Cutie. Elliott. "is into this more... indie, stuff."

The Bon Iver she got from him, too.

"Indie?"

"Independent, I think. I actually don't really know."

"I see." Steve nodded slowly, peering down at the CD on the top of his pile once Annika returned what she'd taken out—High Violet by The National. "And what kind of music do you like?" He paused. "You, as in, the real Annika. Not... the Annika that's trying to blend in."

Annika scoffed. "Does that matter?"

He was solemn again. "To me, yes."

Annika walked away from him once more, and towards the counter, where a teenager was sorting through a box of records. He wore a grey knit cap, pulled half-down on an angle over shaggy hair. Black, the kind of black you get from box dye.

"Hey," Annika said.

"Hey," the teenager said. He had a nose ring, and his name badge—handwritten—read: Harvey. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, Harvey, you can!" Annika beamed. "Hypothetically, if my boyfriend here has been living under a rock for the last seven—"

Behind her, Steve cleared his throat.

"—years, what albums would you recommend to him to listen to?"

Harvey gestured vaguely at Steve; rather, the CDs Steve was carrying around for Annika. "Most of those are more than seven years old."

"Don't worry about them." Annika hummed, "What would you recommend to someone your age?"

"My age?" Harvey said. "Uh, I don't know."

"You're very good at your job, Harvey."

"I'm not sure he would like the kind of stuff I listen to."

"You'd be surprised. He's real surprising. Aren't you, babe?" Annika looked at Steve over her shoulder. "Grant, come over here."

"Coming," Steve said. He stepped up to stand in line with Annika, his posture just a little too perfect. Annika looped an arm around his waist, and after a moment of hesitation, he relaxed into her touch. Better, Annika thought to herself. Her smile, still directed at Harvey, flickered imperceptibly.

HARVEY: I like Radiohead. Uh... Neutral Milk Hotel. Jeff Buckley.

ANNIKA: (vaguely recognising the names) Could you help us find their albums?

HARVEY: CD or vinyl?

ANNIKA: CD.

HARVEY: (putting down the record he was holding) Um... yeah. Sure. Follow me.

So Annika did, linking her arm with Steve's and pulling him along with her. "It only just occurred to me," she said, practically whispering so that only Steve could hear her, "that you were frozen when CDs were invented. Do they blow your mind or what?"

"Oh, totally." Steve gave a hint of a smile. "Imagine my reaction when I learned what a USB drive was."

"Laptop computers must've broken your brain."

"You don't know the half of it, Annie."

Annika set her jaw as she and Steve came to a stop behind Harvey. "Annie's cute."

"Anna felt too formal for my girlfriend," Steve said pointedly.

"Anna is my name." Her actual name. "Don't tell me you forgot."

"'Course not. Anna Alexeyevna Kretova."

"That pronunciation just caused me real, physical pain—"

Harvey cleared his throat, suddenly materialising before them. Annika shut up, flashing him one of her classic Annika smiles. Elliott called it "diplomatic", which they both knew meant: fake. "So, um... here we have In the Aeroplane Over the Sea by NMH—Neutral Milk Hotel—which I really like. And... um, OK Computer by Radiohead. You already have Death Cab For Cutie, so I don't need to give you that..."

Annika nodded, leaning her head against Steve's shoulder. "You have anything a little bit more upbeat? When I say he lived under a rock, I mean it. I want to give him a really comprehensive understanding of modern music."

Harvey stared at Annika, then Steve. Then, he nodded. "Umm... Gorillaz?"

          "Gorillaz," Annika repeated. "Sounds good."

And familiar. Maybe Elliott had mentioned it, once?

          "And Oracular Spectacular by MGMT." Harvey paused, offering Steve an awkward half-smile, "It's really good. Um... yeah. I think you'll like it."

          "I agree." Annika propped her chin on Steve's shoulder. He turned to look at her, a brow raised. She smiled innocently and shrugged. "I basically cried the first time I heard the song Kids."

          "It's amazing," Harvey nodded, a dashboard bobblehead in all-black and a badge. "Um, I'll go get it for you. You can just stay here."

          "Thanks, Harvey," Steve said without moving, and without looking away from Annika. As the Attic's lone teenaged worker disappeared into periphery, Annika untangled herself from her companion, scrunching her nose.

"Which one of your boyfriends likes MGMT?" Steve asked, still frozen in place.

"The indie one."

"Has it just been him and..." Steve knit his brows together as he searched for a moniker, "Classic Rock?"

Annika snorted, imagining Mac's reaction if he ever found out what the Captain America had nicknamed him. Classic Rock. "No. There have been others."

"But they didn't work out."

Annika straightened his CDs, her fingers brushing against his. "Nope, they did not."

"You're not seeing anyone right now?"

"No."

"Neither am I."

"I know. I remember." Annika laughed lightly, delicately, the way you walk when you know there's a landmine underfoot. One wrong move and you're gone.

"Do you find it difficult to connect with people?"

"No. I find it difficult to be honest with them." Annika turned, so that Steve could no longer see her face. "Which may not surprise you, considering how you've chosen to perceive me, and portray me in your mind. But... I don't know. It feels as if there's so little of me that I have no choice to become them. Like, I was raised to assimilate, right? So that's what I do. I listen, I learn, I turn into something new."

"But that something new isn't you. Not necessarily."

"Yes and no. It is, because I don't have a reason to hide anymore, to lie—but it isn't, at the same time. Like, I meet these guys, I like them, I want them to like me, so I become the person I know that they would. And it's me, but it also isn't. But it is."

"But it isn't," Steve said, with a slow nod of understanding. "Not completely."

"Not completely," Annika agreed. "Classic Rock smoked cigarettes; so I did, too. Indie, he likes to run. So I ran with him. But nicotine and substances aside, do I like smoking? I don't know. Do I like running? I don't know that, either. I'm nothing. I'm nobody."

Depressing, much? Annika nudged Steve in the shoulder. "Don't look at me like that, Cap. And don't feel bad for me."

"I don't feel bad for you." He was lying, she could tell. "Ma'am."

"If you say so. Hey, because I'm so desperate to impress—us working together might turn out alright. Give it to me straight: do you think it's possible to assimilate my way into joining the Avengers? On a scale from one to ten."

"Is that what you want?"

          "Mm. I want to be palatable to you."

Steve's expression softened. "You don't need to be palatable to me, Annika."

          "You don't get to decide that."

          "Actually, I think I do." Steve smiled a smile that told of something Annika didn't have enough time to decipher before Harvey returned, carrying half a dozen CDs.

               HARVEY: So I got you guys Oracular Spectacular, and also Myths of the Near Future by Klaxons. I think you'll like them. I saw you have 2Pac, did you want some more East Coast hip hop, too?

               ANNIKA: Yeah, sure.

               HARVEY: It's right over here.

               HARVEY: So, um... how did you guys meet?

               STEVE & ANNIKA: (at the same time) Work.

               HARVEY: Oh, cool. What do you do?

               HARVEY: You don't resell CDs for more than the recommended-retail-price, right? Haha.

               STEVE: ...

               ANNIKA: Haha. We're in accounting. We work up north; Syracuse.

               HARVEY: Ooh, cool.

               ANNIKA: (to herself) Yeah, Syracuse. So cool.

               HARVEY: What are you doing in Pittsburgh? If you don't mind my asking.

               ANNIKA: Of course not.

               ANNIKA: We're driving up to the West Coast—my parents live in Seattle. Grant here's meeting them for the first time. It's adorable how anxious he is.

               STEVE: Yeah, I'm real anxious.

               ANNIKA: We're doing a road trip to calm his nerves beforehand. Grant loves the great outdoors, as do I.

               HARVEY: It's a really nice drive. Me and my dad took a road trip up to Seattle, once. Visited the Puget Sound—I had an orca phase.

               ANNIKA: Love orcas.

               HARVEY: But it's a really long drive.

               ANNIKA: Mhm, hence all the CDs.

               HARVEY: Makes sense. Um, (turning to Steve), you don't need to worry about meeting her parents. I'm sure it'll be okay.

                ANNIKA: Right?

                ANNIKA: (nudging Steve) Say thank you, baby.

                STEVE: ... Thanks, Harvey.

                HARVEY: I mean, if you make her happy, that's all that matters, right?

                STEVE: Right. (Clearing his throat) Yeah, of course.

                ANNIKA: The wisdom of the youth...

                ANNIKA: Unparalleled.

          "I think we're done here," Annika said, stretching her arms. "Could you ring these up for us, Harvey?"

          "All of them?"

          "Yup."

Harvey nodded, adding the MGMT and Klaxons CDs to the top of Steve's pile before taking it. He shuffled away, balancing the pile with one hand while the other adjusted his knit cap. Annika traced the boy's steps back to the counter, fiddling with her ribbon: she'd tied it around her wrist for safekeeping. Black, binding, like a promise she didn't know if she could keep.

          "Out of all of these, which one do you like the most?" Steve said suddenly, sidling up to Annika—resting one arm lengthwise along the counter.

          "I don't know." She didn't mind Elliott's taste in music; it was depressing, sure, but cathartically so. Besides, if she was the one sitting alone in the dark watching cello recitals over and over, she didn't exactly have a leg to stand on. "I'm more of a classical girl. Fauré, Tchaikovsky, Debussy—that's my poison."

          "If you like classical music," Harvey said, looking up from the price-scanner and register screen, "and you're staying in Pittsburgh for a bit? There's this, um, child prodigy who's coming to town to perform. Down at Heinz Hall with the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra."

Annika arched a brow. "Oh, yeah?"

          "Yeah." Harvey took out a brown paper bag for the CDs. "She's like, thirteen—it's crazy. Lettie something. Lettie Evers?"

          You have to let her perform, Dexter. Annika could close her eyes and remember that moment like it was yesterday. She's brilliant, you know she is. You give her this, and she'll play nice in training—I know it.

          I don't need her to play nice, Annika. Dexter's hair was silver, backlit by the afternoon sunlight pouring through his study's great, bay window. I need control.

          And this is how you control her. You need to lengthen the leash.

          Too much and she'll pull free.

          Not enough and she'll break free. You don't want that. Give her something to be grateful for.

          "You heard of her?" Steve said, breaking Annika out of her spell. He reached out, twirled her ribbon around his forefinger.

          "No, I don't think so," Annika said quickly, pulling away. "But child prodigies make me feel old, so I think I'll pass." Here, Annika managed a laugh. "Maybe next time."

          "Sure," Steve said. If he was suspicious, he said nothing of it.

          "Cash or card?" Harvey asked.

          "Cash." Annika took out a handful of notes from her jacket pocket; having kept a running tally of the CDs' individual prices, it was quick work to add it up in her head, and pass Harvey just over two-hundred-and-fifty dollars. She hesitated a moment, then added an extra twenty-dollar note. "Keep the change for yourself, okay?"

          "Okay," Harvey said, blinking. He offered her the paper bag, which Steve took on her behalf. "Thanks."

          "You're welcome." Annika said with a smile. Not diplomatic, and not fake. "It was nice meeting you, Harvey."

          "You too. Um, what was your name again?"

          "Anna," she answered so swiftly it could've been a lie. For once, it wasn't.

           "Good luck with everything, Anna. And you too, Grant. Everything's gonna be fine."

           "Thank you," Steve said. Then, without touching—ribbons, shoulders, skin—they left. Back to the car, and back to the road.

AUTHOR'S  NOTES

🕸️ GRAPHIC BY eidclons 🕸️

don't @ me if the berlin wall stuff is wrong, i wrote this chapter with ten dollars and a dream.

with the help of my dear friends kat and gia (elfaouly and dancefevers respectively) i've made a playlist for steve and annika's road-trip; it's mostly classic rock (the type of stuff white dads really fuck with LMAO) but if you'd like to take a listen, feel free to scan the spotify code below:

i really enjoyed writing this chapter ☺️ steveannika are so loved by me, and writing their banter has been very entertaining. their conversation regarding annika's previous (and current... oop) relationships does have a very intentional, charged tone; steve subtly complimenting her as well as his declaration that she doesn't need to be palatable to him? steve, baby, let's not get ahead of ourselves here! :P but still. i love them.

massive rip to elliott, though.

i snuck in a lot of my own personal favourites into annika's music recommendations; not so much in mac's music taste, but definitely in elliott's. a lot of my favourite music by the artists mentioned did come out after 2014, so i was limited to mentioning music released prior to captain america: the winter soldier. had to charge it to the game.

you'll also notice the lettie / scout / scarlett mention; if you couldn't tell, this story is very much about appearances vs. reality. annika is called the false widow for a reason (aside from me wanting to name her moniker after a spider.) she gets a fake name; so does steve; so does scout. everyone's a liar, in some way or another.

even cap 😚 though in a much more quote-unquote "noble" way than annika is. presently, at least.

and annika is totally lying about not knowing niko. hehehe.

this chapter is dedicated to kat, my best friend, who has supported me endlessly through the writing of this fic (AND THROUGH WATTPAD'S FUCKASS NOTIFICATIONS GLITCH). she was also kind enough to make the following manips for annimac, and steveannika:

i know we haven't touched much upon annimac yet, but it's coming up real soon and i'm so, so excited. thank you again for these stunning edits, kat! i love you so much! 🪡

i hope you guys liked this chapter! thank you for your patience with the delays created by the notification issues. please vote, comment, and let me know what you think of the story so far! steve and anni are headed to chicago next chapter, where their first official assassination will take place. let's fucking go!!

as always, if you see a typo. no you didn't ❤️

🕷️ GRAPHIC BY soulofstaars 🕷️