#themusechronicals

Thor was a socialite. Girls fawned over him, men wanted to be him, practically everywhere he went people were asking for a picture. Juniper, a shy orphan, taken in after her and her twin sister were given away to Hydra as experiment subjects was the exact opposite. She saw him striding around Avenger’s tower like he owned the place, valiant with each step. It didn’t help that during her time there, she had developed a small crush on the man, but she had no clue how to talk to him. 

He used foreign vernacular, evidence of his growing up on Asgard. He exuded confidence, and Juniper was almost fearful of the man. Yet hopelessly had feelings for him. 

Is it possible to acclimate to a new setting when it’s the polar opposite of what you came from? Juniper struggles to figure that out. The avenger’s tower seems like a castle compared to her house back in Maine. Every day she discovers a new nook and cranny to explore. Today, she found herself in the wrong nook to discover. 

As she tiptoes down the stairs, she finds a whole new room that seems like a mechanical museum. Robots, cars, weapons, you name it, it was there. Breathlessly, she looks around to see if anyone was there. Thinking she is in the clear, she walks over to a prototype Mr. Stark has been working on. 

“He really out-did himself with this one.” she whispers, reaching out to touch the shiny half done suit. 

To say the team took a hit was an understatement. Everyone is low in spirits and energy as they recover from the attack from the dark elves. Some faired better than others, thus why Juniper is inseparable from the infirmary ward. 

It was only a few weeks since Juniper and Steve had confessed feelings for each other when the attack happened. She wasn’t even with Steve to see anything happen, but when she got back to the Avenger’s tower, her entire world came crashing down. 

She could barely stand once she saw Steve unconscious in a hospital bed. Her knees buckled from under her, yet she still found the energy to rush over to his side. Hot tears pricked her eyes as she reaches out over to brush her fingers over one of the cuts on his face. She waited like that for 26 hours straight. Her eyes now sunken in, face pale and clammy. Natasha had brought her one of Steve’s sweatshirts, and she graciously put it on with a half hearted smile. 

It wasn’t until 35 hours after the incident that she finally passed out from exhaustion, sitting in a chair next to the bed with her head resting next to his hand.