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sunriserose1023 · 5 years

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Burden of Proof (1)

WORD COUNT: 5340 WARNINGS: THIS IS AN AU; mentions of past domestic violence/abuse, divorce, poverty, hunger, lawyers, bounty hunter, high school flashback, police, blood, murder mystery, death, arrest AUTHOR’S NOTE: This little project was inspired by this anonymous ask: Hello SunriseRose, I don't know if you take requests but I was wondering if I could make one StevexReader as I love your Modern AUs. One where Steve is always a former captain and an artist but also a famous public defender and has to defend the reader, who is the love of his life he hasn't seen in years, because she was wrongly accused and he's all protective but has to be professional and she still loves him. Now, I almost didn’t write this, because the ask reminded me a lot of @captain-rogers-beard‘s Just Desserts series. I didn’t want Mimi to think I was trying to copy her, but I talked with her and she gave me the go-ahead. Which I’m so grateful for, because my muse just would not let this go. So, I hope you guys enjoy!

MASTERLIST

You set your bag on the rickety table in the corner of your tiny apartment, wincing as you toed your shoes off. You groaned when your socked feet touched the carpet and you yawned, stretching your arms over your head. Your stomach growled, reminding you that you’d forgotten to take Wanda up on her offer to have Vis cook you something before you left the diner.

Maybe tomorrow.

You untied the apron from around your waist, folding it and setting it beside your bag on the table. You shook your head and put the apron in your bag, to ensure that you wouldn’t forget it. You made your way to the fold-out sofa you slept on and sighed, making a mental note to see if Wanda could trade you some quarters for a few dollars so you could do some laundry.

You made your way to the tiny bathroom, washing your face and hands before you looked at yourself in the dirty mirror. No matter how much you’d scrubbed—even borrowing cleaning supplies from the diner—the mirror was filthy. The whole place had been filthy, but you’d scrubbed until your fingers bled, painstakingly making your shoebox apartment into a space you were semi-proud of.

Well... You were proud it was clean. You wouldn’t be inviting anyone over anytime soon, but it’s not like you had any friends to invite. Except for Wanda, who was a Godsend. She was the only one who’d stood beside you through the farce of your divorce, the one who’d offered you a job when you didn’t have any options, the one who’d given you a place to stay until you got back on your feet. She hated that you lived in this rundown building on the wrong side of town, but it was all you could afford, and she and Vis deserved a place to themselves.

You yawned and stepped away from the mirror, unzipping the gray dress you wore as your work uniform and hanging it over the shower rod. The apartment was too small for a closet. It practically was the size of a closet. You had a couple of boxes that held your clothes—the few you’d bought at the local Goodwill, the few Wanda had collected and washed for you. There wasn’t room in your place to put a dresser—or much at all—and you had more important things to put your money towards than furniture.

Like the massive attorney and court fees for both you and your ex. He had plenty of money to pay his own fees—and yours too, and not even blink an eye—but that’s not what the judge had ruled. No, the judge had piled the blame on you, despite the mountain of evidence that Brock had cheated on and abused you, thereby nullifying the pre-nup he’d insisted you sign just before the wedding. You’d known the judge would do just that, since Alexander Pierce had always attended the dinner parties Brock had made you host, along with playing golf with Brock every Tuesday. You’d tried to get him recused from the trial, but Pierce—and Brock—had many friends in high places.

So that was how you found yourself at rock bottom, in an apartment even the roaches turned up their noses at, with an aching stomach and no food in the refrigerator. Well … if you’d even been able to afford a fridge.

You dug through one of the boxes and found an oversized t-shirt, one that advertised the annual Stark Expo from 2010. You pulled it on and smiled as you ran your hand over the faded picture on the front and sighed, pulling the blanket back and crawling onto the lumpy sofa bed. You stared up at the ceiling, until your eyes got too heavy to keep them open. You sighed, your last thought hoping that you’d be able to sleep this one night without dreaming.

Steve took a sip of the bourbon, exhaling as he stared out the window at the lights of the city.

“Got him.”

Steve raised an eyebrow as he looked over his shoulder. Bucky smiled at him, plopping himself on Steve’s plush couch, kicking his booted feet up onto the coffee table and crossing his ankles. Steve exhaled and pointed at Bucky’s feet, but Bucky just shrugged.

“Who, you ask? That little rat bastard that jumped bail.” “Not—“ “Yep. Jasper Sitwell. God, even his name gives me chills.”

Steve glanced into his glass, speaking before he took a drink.

“He wasn’t one of mine.” “Nah, he was Rumlow’s. That bastard sold his soul a long time ago to be defending creeps like Sitwell.” “Where’d you find him?”

Bucky grinned.

“The Jersey Shore. He was meeting up with who he thought was an underage hooker.”

Steve glanced over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. Bucky just shrugged.

“Can’t help it if Michelle looks younger than she actually is.” “Michelle? Not Peter’s Michelle.” “The one and only MJ. She’s completely legal, Stevie. In the academy now, unfortunately.”

Steve smiled.

“Just because the NYPD wouldn’t take you—“ “The hell they wouldn’t!”

Steve chuckled, finishing off his glass of bourbon. Bucky sighed, crossing his thick arms over his chest.

“Anyway, I wouldn’t be surprised if Sitwell tries to call you to defend him.”

Steve glanced into his glass and shook his head.

“He can try.”

Bucky smiled again.

“There’s my guy.”

Steve rolled his eyes, walking towards the liquor cart, ignoring the blue eyes watching his every move until the silence grew too loud.

“Don’t you have a boyfriend to go check on?” “Eh, Clint’s got a big project coming up at work and I’m just in the way.”

Steve shook his head.

“So you’ll let Clint work in peace, but you come over to annoy the piss out of me?” “Well, you don’t give me sex on the regular, so…”

Steve made a gagging noise that made Bucky laugh. After a moment of silence, Bucky spoke again.

“I noticed what tomorrow was, and I wanted to come check on you.”

Steve exhaled, setting the glass down on the cart and uncapping the bourbon.

“I’m fine, Buck.” “How much of that have you been through?”

Steve sighed.

“Half a bottle. But it doesn’t affect me.” “I know.”

Steve ran a hand over his face and Bucky stood up, walking over and standing just over Steve’s shoulder.

“It wasn’t your fault.” “I know it wasn’t.” “Do you?”

Steve closed his eyes, setting the bottle down on the cart before his hands started to shake.

“I gave the order.”

Steve’s voice was barely a whisper, but Bucky heard it anyway.

“We didn’t have to go. We chose to, Cap.”

Steve shook his head and Bucky stepped forward to grip Steve’s shoulder.

“Sam would kick your ass if he could see you acting like this.”

Steve gave a ragged exhale.

“Well, he’s not here to see it, is he?” “Don’t try and pick a fight with me.”

Steve squeezed his eyes shut and Bucky made him turn around, wrapping him in a hug. Steve put his face in Bucky’s shoulder, soaking in his strength until he could breathe again. He nodded, patting Bucky on the back before he straightened and stepped away from him.

“I’ll be okay. I just … every year, I can’t help but think about him, what he’d be doing.” “I’ll tell you exactly what he’d be doing. He’d be right here with us.”

Steve smiled as he met Bucky’s eyes.

“With me or with you?” “Well, Sam was excellent at straddling the fence. He’d do some legal stuff with you, but I figure he’d spend a fair amount of time on the less than legal side with me.”

Steve laughed at the grin on Bucky’s face, then nodded.

“You’re right.” “I know I am.”

Steve rolled his eyes and Bucky tilted his head.

“Want to crash with Clint and me tonight?”

Steve shook his head.

“Nah, I’m fine.” “You gonna call Nat?” “For what?”

Bucky grimaced.

“If you have to ask that question, you definitely need to call her.” “Oh my go—Bucky!”

Bucky cackled as Steve shook his head.

“We don’t do that anymore.” “Right, right. That was a one-time booty call.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and Steve punched him in his shoulder.

“It wasn’t a one-time thing, but we’re just better off …” “Not mixing business and pleasure?” “Yes, you ass.”

Bucky laughed, shaking his head as he raised his hands.

“All right, fine. Whatever you say. I do think it wouldn’t kill you to get laid, but you do you. Oh, wait. Ew. Don’t actually—“ “Stop talking.”

Bucky nodded, closing his mouth. Steve shook his head, a smile playing at his lips. Bucky reached out and squeezed Steve’s shoulder.

“If you need me, don’t hesitate to call.” “I will. Thanks, man.”

Bucky nodded, squeezing Steve’s shoulder once more before he turned and put his hands in the pockets of his jacket as he waited on the elevator.

When he was gone, Steve sighed. He made a face when he lifted his hand and turned to walk through his penthouse back to his bedroom. He slid the jacket off his shoulders, removing the cuff links from his sleeves before he loosened the tie around his neck.

He hadn’t even bothered to get comfortable when he’d left the office. He’d just gone straight for the liquor cabinet.

He sighed, shaking his head to try and clear it of the thoughts that plagued him. He dropped the tie in the hamper, then unbuttoned his shirt and dropped it on top of the tie. He sat on the bench of the vanity—wondering yet again why he had a vanity with a bench seat in his bathroom—untying his shoes and tossing them out into the bedroom. He dropped his socks and slacks in the hamper, walking into the bedroom in his boxer-briefs. He took in a breath and let it out slowly as he climbed into the California King, moving a hand behind his head and staring at the ceiling.

He was exhausted, but he knew as soon as he closed his eyes, he’d be back in Afghanistan. He’d be back to that day, when he gave the order, when Bucky nearly lost his arm and Sam lost his life. He braced himself as best he could, finally giving in to the exhaustion, body going slack as he drifted to sleep.

“Here, taste this.” “I’d much rather taste—mmph.”

Steve took a bite before the cupcake was shoved into his face, chewing as he listened to the quiet giggle. He nodded, swallowing and meeting her eyes.

“That’s delicious.” “Lemon cake with raspberry frosting.” “Little sweet, little tart. Like you.”

You rolled your eyes, turning back to the cupcakes you were frosting, smiling when Steve’s hands slid over your hips, his warm chest pressing against your back. He started kissing your neck and you sighed, leaning back into him.

“My parents will be home soon.” “Guess we better get it in quick, then.”

You laughed, shaking your head and leaning forward, forcing him backwards.

“Come on, baby.” “I have got to frost these.” “But we—“ “Can sneak away later. I’ve got to get these ready and delivered before it gets too late.”

Steve groaned and you turned to face him, a cupcake in your hand, frosting it as you spoke.

“I promise I will make it worth your while if you can help me pack these up and deliver them.” “Who’re they for?” “Wanda’s mom for her open house.”

Steve sighed, rubbing a hand over his hair.

“I’ll let you touch my boobs.” “Sold.”

You laughed, setting the cupcake in the box you’d been packing up, closing the lid and walking to him, looping your arms around his neck. You closed your eyes and shivered when his big hands slid up and down your sides, leaning in and pressing your lips to his, speaking softly.

“I love you.”

Steve smiled as you went on kissing him, and he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer.

“I love you.”

He broke the kiss, smiling down at you.

“Whoever would have thought I’d fall in love with my tutor?”

You rolled your eyes.

“Oh, shut up.” “Just imagine if I’d have been good at English. We may never have met.” “Oh, we’d have met, Mr. Quarterback. You just wouldn’t have had anything to do with me.”

You squealed as he gathered you up into his arms.

“Guess I’ll just thank my lucky stars, then.”

Steve sat at his desk, twirling a pen between two fingers, absently swaying his chair back and forth. He glanced over at the knock on his door and a smile spread over his lips.

“Hey, you.”

Natasha smiled.

“Hey, back.”

Natasha walked into the room, looking effortlessly gorgeous in her simple navy blue dress. Her fiery hair was curling gently around her face and she moved with grace, despite the sky-high heels she wore. She took a seat in the chair in front of Steve’s desk, crossing her legs.

“What’s on your mind?”

Steve pursed his lips and shook his head and Natasha rolled her eyes.

“You’ve got this pensive look on your face. What’s up?”

Steve sighed, turning his head and glancing out the window.

“Do you have a one that got away?” “Doesn’t everyone?”

Steve smiled at that, flicking his eyes back to hers. Natasha smirked at him, shaking her head.

“That’s for me to know and keep as my secret.”

Steve nodded, and after a moment of quiet, she spoke again.

“What about you?”

Steve nodded again, staring at the pen in his hands.

“High school sweetheart.” “Did you love her?”

Steve nodded, rubbing a hand over his chin.

“She was my first love. My first … everything.”

Steve bit his tongue as he ran his fingers over his lips.

“I haven’t thought about her in years, but I dreamed about her last night.” “What was the dream?”

Steve shook his head.

“Nothing, really. She was baking; she was always baking something. She was incredible at it. And I was just there, nagging her like I always did.”

Steve shook his head again.

“It wasn’t anything special, but looking back …” “All those seemingly ‘nothing special’ moments end up being everything.”

Steve met her eyes, and she smirked at him again.

“So you’re in here, drowning in nostalgia while we’re all working our asses off.”

Steve chuckled under his breath.

“Our case load is pretty light at the moment. Want me to go stir us up some business?”

Natasha rolled her eyes.

“Please. Just one glimpse of you in the Times or on any of the news channels gets our ‘case load’ going. Everyone wants to be defended by America’s sweetheart.”

Steve laughed out loud, shaking his head.

“America’s sweetheart. That’s a good one.” “Where is the lie?”

He shook his head again, a smile on his face.

“Go bother someone else. I’m sure Peter would love a visit with the Black Widow.”

Natasha’s eyes widened and Steve shrugged.

“You got a nickname for me, I got one for you.” “A couple little divorce settlements and I’m a deadly spider?” “Little settlements? Nat, you drained the men for everything they had and money they hadn’t even made yet.”

Natasha smiled, shrugging her shoulders.

“They deserved it.”

Steve nodded, a smile on his face.

“I’m just glad to be on your team.” “And don’t you forget it.”

Natasha put both feet on the floor and leaned over in the chair.

“But I do have one thing I’d like your professional opinion on.” “Hit me.”

You set the plates you’d been carrying into the soapy dishwater and made a face as you rubbed your left wrist. You’d found that in working this job, old injuries liked to make themselves known, as if the throb of pain was a reminder of everything you’d been through. You closed your eyes as your fingers massaged your wrist, trying to block out the memory of Brock’s hands coming at you, the feel of the marble floor as you were thrown onto it, the snap of the bone as your wrist broke—

“Y/N?”

You opened your eyes to see Vis standing at the stove, glancing over his shoulder at you. He raised an eyebrow over his glasses when you looked to him and you shook your head, dropping your hands, pushing a smile onto your face.

“If one more dirty old man smacks my ass, I swear...”

Vis gave a laugh, shaking his head, turning back to the stove.

“You’re still shiny and new to them. Wanda’s threatened to break all their fingers at least once.” “What is it about men? Why do you like it when we’re mean to you?”

Vis raised his hands, then sighed.

“I already hate myself for this, but not all men …”

You laughed, and he smiled. He nodded his head towards the front counter.

“Wanda’s counting up the register if you’re ready.”

You nodded and walked through the kitchen doors and Wanda smiled when she lifted her head and saw you.

“Hello, lovely.”

You smiled, pulling your tips out of your apron.

“Hello. Can you spare some quarters? I’ve got to do laundry before you fire me for indecent exposure.”

Wanda laughed, pulling a roll of quarters from her bank bag.

“No worries, love. Now, I don’t want to tell you what to do, but the less laundry you do, the more tips you may get.”

You shook your head, a smile on your lips and a flush in your cheeks. Wanda bumped your shoulder with her own and nodded towards the kitchen.

“I put an order in for you and me a couple of Vis’ juicy burgers.” “Ah, sounds great. Want to take it out of—“ “Don’t finish that sentence. You work doubles every day. The least we can do is feed you.”

You nodded, hoping your face didn’t give away the relief that was all but seeping from your pores. Wanda counted out your tips and exchanged your ones for bigger bills, and you smiled when you slipped the money into your apron pocket.

“Not too shabby tonight.”

You shook your head.

“Not bad at all.” “You okay?”

You met Wanda’s gaze and sighed. You nodded.

“I’m fine, just …” “What?”

You tapped your fingers on the counter, watching Wanda count the money. She flicked her eyes towards you and smiled.

“I can multitask, you know.”

You smiled.

“Do you remember Steve Rogers?” “Love of your life Steve Rogers?”

You rolled your eyes.

“Wanda.” “Sorry, were you not there in high school?” “That’s exactly my point. It was high school. Nobody finds the love of their life in high school.” “Lies. What about Nathan and Haley?”

You laughed.

“Wanda, they aren’t real people. That’s a TV show.” “Yeah, but it’s pretty true to life. Don’t start with me.”

You giggled, shaking your head. She shut the cash register and turned to face you.

“Why are you thinking about Steve?” “I have no idea. I haven’t thought about him for years, but I dreamed about him last night.” “Seriously?”

You nodded, and Wanda leaned closer.

“Sexy dream?” “Stop it.”

You smacked her shoulder and she laughed.

“What was the dream about?”

You shook your head.

“Nothing special. I was making cupcakes for one of your mom’s open houses.” “Oh, I forgot about how much you loved to bake.”

You smiled sadly, glancing towards the kitchen.

“I haven’t done it in so long.” “Really?”

You nodded, that uneasy feeling you’d grown accustomed to making itself known in your gut.

“Brock was so … consumed with his appearance. I made him a pie one time and he completely freaked out. Said I wanted to make him fat, and then no one would take him seriously and he’d lose his job, and it would be all my fault.”

You left out the part about the bruise on your hip that stayed there for months after he threw you across the room. You shrugged, shifting your weight, ignoring the phantom pain in your leg.

“After that, I stopped baking altogether. I tried to focus on healthy food until he hired the nutritionist/chef.”

Wanda blew out a breath, leaning in and hugging you. It jolted you at first, the gentleness of her touch, the easy way she showed affection. You still weren’t used to human contact in a non-harmful capacity, but you relaxed into her touch as Wanda stroked your hair.

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that.” “Wanda, it’s okay. It’s over now.” “Thank God.”

She leaned back, taking hold of your arms and staring into your eyes.

“He’s never going to hurt you again.”

You nodded, making yourself smile. Wanda nodded back at you, giving your arms a gentle squeeze.

“So tell me more about this dream.”

You shrugged, walking around the counter to sit at one of the stools.

“There’s not much to tell. I was baking, he was bothering me, like he always did.”

You smiled, then sighed.

“It was nothing, but everything all at the same time. It was one of the last times we were together, one of the last times I ever felt … happy.” “Why are you dreaming about it now?” “That’s the question on my mind, too. Maybe it’s because I’m starting to feel happy again?”

You and Wanda turned at the sound of the bell in the kitchen window. Two plates of burgers and fries appeared a second before Vis poked his head through the window and smiled.

“Order up, ladies.”

After you sat at the bar and devoured the burger Vis had made for you, you swept the floor. Wanda, despite your protests, insisted on mopping, and she would periodically hop across the wet floor to take a bite of her own burger. That only happened twice before Vis walked out of the kitchen, taking the mop from her hands and dropping a kiss to her mouth, ushering her to the seat beside you. When she’d taken a huge bite and was working on chewing it, you nodded towards the man pushing the mop around.

“He’s a good one.”

Wanda smiled as she nodded, glancing over her shoulder at him. She was still smiling when she looked back to you and she shrugged.

“He is. I know he’s a bit older than me, but … I’m happy with him. He makes me feel safe. Not to mention what an amazing cook he is.”

You gave a soft chuckle, taking a bite of one of the fries left on your plate.

“I don’t know what that’s like.” “What?” “Feeling safe.” “Oh, honey.” “No, it … it’s okay.”

You reached over and laid a hand on Wanda’s arm.

“I was under Brock’s thumb for a long time. Now I can see what that meant. What he did to me. But it’s over now. I’m still picking myself up and dusting myself off, but I’m here, and not with him. He’s Maria’s problem now.” “Better her than you.” “Took the words right out of my mouth.”

You lifted your water glass, clinking it against Wanda’s. You took a sip as the phone started to ring, and Wanda made a face before she leaned over the counter to answer it.

“Thanks for calling The … May I ask who’s calling?”

She made a face, covering the mouthpiece of the phone and meeting your eyes.

“It’s Maria Hill. She wants to talk to you.”

You blinked, mouth dropping open before you nodded. Wanda handed you the phone and you straightened your shoulders, trying to prepare yourself to talk to the woman you once considered your best friend.

“He—Hello?” “Y/N, it’s Maria. Look, I have a few of your things put aside that I think you’d like to have.”

You blinked again. That was not what you were expecting to hear.

“Really?” “Yes. If you could run by here, you can get it. Brock’s working late tonight and this might be your only chance.”

You nodded.

“Yeah, I … I’ll be right there.” “The door’s unlocked. Just come on in.”

The dial tone sounded in your ear and you blinked before handing the phone back to Wanda. She set the phone in the holder, then spoke softly.

“What is it?” “Maria said she put some of my stuff aside and I can come get it.” “Really?”

You nodded.

“I thought Brock threw all of my stuff away.” “Guess not. What do you think it is?”

You shrugged.

“Maybe some clothes. Or maybe some pictures. A few of those little knick-knacks that were my mom’s?”

Wanda nodded.

“Let’s go.” “Oh, I can’t ask you to—“ “You didn’t. But I can’t let you take a bus over there this time of night.”

You sighed.

“No, it would be better if I went alone, I think.” “What if Brock’s there?”

You shook your head.

“Maria said he’s working late. That means he won’t get in until sunrise, if he doesn’t just sleep in his office.”

Wanda bit her bottom lip, then shook her head.

“Let Vis and me drive you. He won’t mind.”

You smiled, reaching over and gripping her hand.

“Wanda, I’ll be fine. I promise. I’ll call you just before I leave there.”

She sighed.

“I really wish you’d let me get you a phone.” “Wanda—“ “It’s just so convenient! And you can pay me back whenever. No rush.”

You exhaled.

“I’ll think about it.”

She smiled.

“Plus, it would give me peace of mind whenever you’re in that rat-trap apartment you stay in.”

You laughed.

“It’s not that bad.” “Don’t lie, baby girl.”

You finished off your water, setting it on your empty plate. Wanda waved you off when you tried to take the plate into the kitchen.

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll take care of it. Just be careful.” “I will.”

You leaned over and kissed Wanda’s cheek, then gathered your stuff together. You waved to Vis and walked across the street to the bus stop, sitting on a bench and smiling as you looked down at your hands.

You stared up at the front door of the house you used to live in, taken aback again at how big everything was. It was too much space for just you and Brock.

But then again, your marriage was hardly ever just you and Brock.

You shook your head and twisted the knob, pushing the door open.

“Maria? It’s Y/N.”

You didn’t hear anything, and you closed the door behind you. You walked around the first floor, but your search for Maria and/or your things came up empty. You made your way up the marble staircase, going for the library that Brock had turned into an office. You’d always loved the library, and as soon as Brock kicked you out, he renovated it.

The door was closed and you knocked twice.

“Maria? Are you in here?”

No answer and you sighed. You should have asked her where she put your things, instead of just barging in like this. You had a feeling that what you were looking for was behind this door, because Maria had known how much you loved the room. You knocked again, then turned the knob. The room was dark, and you patted your hand over the wall, making a face when you felt something wet against your hand before you found the light switch.

Your mouth dropped open and your blood ran cold at the sight in front of you. Every surface was splattered with varying shades of red, the pristine white carpet was soaked a dark maroon, and just a few feet away from you in an office chair, eyes glazed over and staring at nothing, was your ex-husband with a jagged cut across his throat that was still oozing blood.

Brock was dead.

You started to cover your mouth with your hand, glancing down and seeing the blood on your palm, looking up and seeing a smear from where you’d turned the light on. You pressed your lips together and staggered out the door, turning your back to the gruesome sight and urging yourself not to vomit. You stopped when you reached the stairs, breathing a breath of relief when you saw the policeman a few steps below you, gun raised.

“Thank God. I don’t know what—“ “Don’t move.”

He spoke calmly and clearly, with authority. You went still and he slowly nodded.

“Raise your hands in the air. Keep them where I can see them.”

You did as he asked, shaking your head.

“I just got here. My friend said the door was open and—“ “It’s in your best interest to stop talking right now.”

Your eyebrows furrowed and you shook your head as he kept his gun trained on you, turning his head to speak into his shoulder.

“This is Officer Rollins, requesting backup at—“

His voice suddenly went fuzzy as he repeated your former address. You shook your head, feeling your legs start to grow weak.

“I—I’m sorry, what—“ “I thought I told you to stop talking.”

You nodded, glancing around.

“Ca—can I just—“ “Don’t move!”

You flinched at his harsh tone, closing your eyes. You tried to take in a deep breath, but panic was wrapping itself around your body, slowly squeezing. Your eyes flew open at the next words from the officer’s mouth.

“We received a call that there had been a murder at this residence.”

You nodded.

“I j—just found him.” “Oh really? Then how’d you get blood on your hands?”

You glanced at the hand you had raised by your head, your voice coming out as barely a whisper.

“I just turned the lights on.”

The man shook his head, eyes cold, gun still trained at your chest. You could feel your body begin to tremble and you spoke as calmly as you could.

“I need to sit down, please.” “Don’t fucking move or I swear I’ll shoot.”

Tears came to your eyes and you shook your head.

“I just—“ “Didn’t I tell you to stop talking? Shut the hell up!”

You let out a sob, gasping as the house was suddenly flooded with police officers and a S.W.A.T. team. You flinched as officers flew by you, doing your best to stay still and calm as voices overlapped and chaos ensued. You closed your eyes and tried to breathe, eyes flying open when your arms were suddenly wrenched behind your back. You yelped as handcuffs were placed around your wrists, tightened so tightly the metal bit into your skin. You tried to look back, to see who was touching you, but you were pushed forward. A pair of arms righted you when you slipped, gasping at the thought that you were going to fall down the marble stairs. You were pushed forward again, but this time, you took a step, forcing your panicked mind to focus on getting down the stairs in one piece. The blood was rushing in your ears, blocking out all sounds, until you were outside.

You squinted your eyes at the brightness of the flashing blue lights of the police cars lining the street and the driveway. You continued to walk forward, shaking your head as you grew closer to one of the patrol cars, as your brain finally registered that the person behind you was speaking.

“Do you understand these rights as I have read them to you?” “What?” “Do you understand these rights as I have read them to you?”

You shook your head, turning to look at the officer behind you. She was a woman close to your age, blonde hair pulled back in a tight bun. The golden nameplate on her chest read S. Carter. You felt like everything was moving in slow motion as you shook your head again.

“What’s going on?” “Did you hear anything I just said?”

You shook your head and she narrowed her eyes.

“You’re under arrest for the murder of Brock Rumlow.”

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