America had barely set foot back from the mission when her comm crackled. Fury's voice was already laced with irritation.
"You came too. I saw everything on video." His one good eye narrowed from the screen, disappointment sharper than a blade.
America crossed her arms. "I'm sorry, but that was all Felicia's fault."
"Don't." Fury's tone cut through her words. "Your job was to secure the item. Not to play blame games. Not to let a thief waltz off with something dangerous."
His voice wasn't loud, but the weight of his disappointment pressed heavier than a shout.
Before America could snap back, Hill stepped into the room. "Director, let me talk to her."
Fury didn't look away from the monitor. "Make it quick."
Hill touched America's arm lightly, guiding her out. The hallway was silent except for the low hum of the helicarrier's engines. After a moment, Hill sighed. "Is it really so hard not to lose your temper every time?"
America shot her a glare. "Oh, great. Now you're defending Fury? My only ally is Kate Bishop, apparently. Everyone else thinks I'm the problem."
Hill's expression softened but stayed firm. "It's not about sides, America. That artifact—if Black Cat keeps it, the fallout could be catastrophic."
"It's not for her," America muttered.
Hill stopped walking. "What do you mean?" Her voice sharpened. "Why are you only telling me this now?"
America turned away, jaw tight. "Because none of you ever listen. To you, I'm just the 'angry teenager who punches holes through dimensions.' You don't want the truth. You just want obedience."
Without waiting for a response, she strode into her quarters and slammed the door. Hill exhaled in frustration, knocking once. "America, open the door."
No answer.
Inside, America leaned against the door, chest heaving. Felicia's smile, her taunts, the way she slipped through her fingers—it replayed like a loop she couldn't shut off. And beneath her anger, a dangerous truth burned: she hadn't wanted to stop Felicia. Not really.
Her hands trembled until she forced herself to focus, reining in the star-shaped energy rippling at her fingertips. A breath, then another.
The walls vibrated as her powers reignited. With a final glance back, she whispered under her breath—half to herself, half to the thief who haunted her thoughts—
"Guess it's my move now, gata."
The portal cracked open in a burst of light, and America Chavez stepped through, leaving Hill pounding uselessly on the other side of the door.
America landed hard, the echo of her star-portal fading into the sterile air. The room hummed faintly, consoles half-lit, dust motes swirling in the thin beams of overhead light. It wasn't the kind of place she wanted to crash after a mission; it felt like walking into someone's half-forgotten nightmare.
"Great. A science lab. Just what I needed." She dragged her fingers across a workbench, brushing off a layer of dust that clung stubbornly.
On the desk, a yellowed profile folder caught her eye. Doctor March. Assistant to Dr. Curt Connors. America's stomach sank. "Connors… The Lizard? This can't be his hideout…"
Footsteps. Light, deliberate.
Her fists clenched. "I'm not afraid of you, Lizard."
A laugh rippled through the shadows, smooth and familiar. "Whoa, whoa, whoa… relax, querida. That's no way to greet a lady."
America's eyes narrowed. "You again."
Felicia stepped into the dim light, silver hair gleaming, the stolen device dangling from her fingers like jewelry. She didn't look surprised to see her—if anything, she looked amused.
"Me? Don't sound so disappointed." Felicia smirked. "Last night was fun, wasn't it? Call it a date, call it whatever… I'm not picky with labels."
"It wasn't a date, Felicia," America snapped, though her pulse betrayed her.
Felicia twirled the artifact idly, its faint glow reflecting in her eyes. "Mm. Training date, maybe? Warming up before you take that pretty friend of yours—oh, what's her name again? Right. Kate Bishop."
America stiffened, jaw tightening. "Don't. Mention. Her."
Felicia tilted her head, lips curving in a mock pout. "Touchy, touchy. I was only being… contextual."
"You're crossing a line."
"Oh, darling," Felicia purred, stroking the artifact like it was a prize cat, "I thought the rule was no mentioning other women while we're on a date."
America bristled. "For the last time, this isn't a date."
"Funny," Felicia said, stepping closer, voice dropping into a velvet whisper. "You only ever chase me like this when you care."
America moved toward her, the distance closing. The artifact thrummed between them, pulsing in Felicia's hands like it wanted to join the argument.
America thrust her fist through the air, tearing open a glowing star-shaped portal that shimmered like a doorway of light. She stepped through in a blink, landing directly in front of Felicia and blocking her path across the rooftop.
Felicia only smirked, her silver hair catching the moonlight. "Well, aren't you quick on your feet?"
Before America could swing, Felicia vaulted into a handspring, twisting gracefully over a ventilation unit. The trap collapsed as the thief slipped through her grasp, her laugh trailing behind like a taunt.
"Stop running!" America shouted, spinning another portal and hurling it like a weapon.
But Felicia darted past it with feline ease. "Running? Oh no, querida, I'm just keeping you interested."
America clenched her jaw. "One day, I'll definitely catch you."
Felicia perched briefly on the edge of a fire escape, her eyes glittering with mischief. "That enthusiasm of yours—mm, it's refreshing. I let you chase me. Spider-Man never gets that privilege."
"Spider-Man has webs. He can snare you in seconds. Why are you comparing me to him?" America frowned, her tone caught between annoyance and curiosity.
Felicia tilted her head, lips curling into a sly smile. "Because, Miss America, you're not like him. And you'll figure out what I mean—eventually."
With that, she blew a kiss and flipped backward into the shadows. America lunged, summoning another star portal, but by the time she stepped through, Felicia was already gone—her laughter echoing from the alleys below.
America exhaled sharply, staring into the night. For someone so powerful, chasing Felicia Hardy felt less like a battle…and more like a game she wasn't sure she wanted to end.
America shoved her hands in her jacket pockets, Fury's voice still ringing in her head. One more failure and you're out. Great. Exactly what she needed. She ducked into Joe's Deli, hoping a soda and a sandwich might take the edge off.
She yanked open the refrigerator door—then froze.
A woman in sleek black leather was bent down, reaching for a bottle of sparkling water.
"Don't turn around. Don't talk."
That voice. Smooth, confident.
Felicia Hardy.
America's pulse spiked.
Felicia straightened, a sly smile tugging at her lips as she slipped a bottle into her hand. "So this is the real America Chavez. Casual clothes, no glowing portals, no star-spangled jacket." She leaned closer, her perfume subtle but intoxicating. "Honestly? I like it. You're…different like this. Softer."
America stiffened, forcing herself to look away. Don't get distracted.
"Because of you, I got chewed out by Fury. Again." She brushed past Felicia toward the counter.
Felicia followed, unhurried. "Over a failure to catch me?" She chuckled low. "Come on, you've been more fun than Spider-Man in weeks. He's predictable. Snare me, web me, lecture me. You…you make me want to keep running."
America stopped in her tracks, heat flaring in her chest. She turned. "But…aren't you and Spider-Man…together?"
For the first time, Felicia faltered. Her smile dimmed, the air between them tightening.
America caught her face fully then—those sharp green eyes, the cascade of silver-white hair that glowed under the fluorescent deli lights. She wasn't just striking. She was magnetic.
God. She's beautiful.
"Why?" America asked, trying to steady her voice. "Why keep playing this game with me?"
Felicia stepped closer, her tone dropping into something intimate. "Because, querida… it isn't just a game. You're the only one who hasn't bored me yet."
America reached instinctively, her hand brushing Felicia's arm. For a moment, neither pulled away.
Felicia leaned close, her breath grazing America's ear. "But remember this—I'm the prize. And you? You're the player who hasn't given up."
A shiver ran down America's spine. She released Felicia abruptly, scowling to mask her racing heartbeat. "You're…unbelievable."
Felicia's smile returned, softer this time. "And yet…you're still here. Still chasing."
She turned and glided toward the door. America stood frozen, soda still in her hand, her chest tight with a realization she didn't want to name.
What is this? Am I really falling for Felicia Hardy?
America pushed out of the deli, scanning the street. No sign of Felicia. She cursed under her breath, then caught movement down a narrow side alley.
There she was.
Felicia crouched low, gently pouring kibble from a small packet onto the cracked pavement. A skinny gray cat meowed, curling around her hand as it ate.
"This little one needs to eat," Felicia said without looking up. Her tone was light, but there was something unguarded in it. She straightened, brushing her hands together.
America folded her arms. "Enough games. Who's behind all this? Who sent you?"
Felicia chuckled, though her eyes flickered uneasily. "Kittens don't care who fills the bowl. They just eat what's in front of them."
America groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "There you go again—talking in riddles. It's like you want me to get a headache."
Felicia stepped closer, brushing past her as if the alley belonged to her alone. "Or maybe you just don't like admitting you're curious about my boss."
America's chest tightened. "Boss?"
Felicia paused at the mouth of the alley, glancing over her shoulder. "All I'll say is… this job isn't just another shiny trinket. It's bigger. Much bigger."
The words hung between them. Then, with a graceful flip, she scaled the fire escape and melted into the shadows above, leaving only the stray cat licking at the last crumbs of food.
America clenched her fists, staring up at the empty rooftop. Fury's voice echoed in her mind: One more failure and you're done.
But all she could think about was the look in Felicia's eyes when she fed that cat.
Why do I feel like I'm chasing more than just a thief?
America stayed rooted in the alley long after Felicia vanished, her fists tightening at her sides.
More than a theft… Felicia's words gnawed at her. That ancient artifact wasn't just some relic to flip on the black market. If Felicia was working under orders, then whoever her "boss" was wanted it for something bigger—something dangerous.
A gust of night air carried the faint trace of Felicia's perfume, and America caught herself inhaling before snapping her head away in irritation.
She's a thief. A liar. Working for people I should be stopping.
And yet…
Despite the reprimands from Fury, despite every narrow escape, America couldn't deny it. Part of her almost looked forward to these encounters. The chase. The taunts. The way Felicia's smile lingered in her mind longer than it should.
She slammed her fist against the brick wall. "Damn it, Hardy."
The stray cat purred at her feet, finishing the last of the food Felicia had left behind. America crouched, staring at it, her jaw tight.
"She always slips away," she muttered. "Always one step ahead. And I hate that I don't…completely hate it."
The cat meowed in reply. America sighed, shoving her hands into her jacket. Somewhere out there, Felicia was already moving on to her next step.
And America knew she'd be right behind her.
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To be continued.