It was supposed to be a normal day. Just a quick stop downtown. But no, you had to go and get creative. Now you were sitting on the curb, wrists cuffed, two annoyed looking officers standing over you.

Apparently climbing a fire escape to retrieve a dropped phone wasn’t legal. Especially when you accidentally tripped a silent alarm and ended up on top of a locked rooftop. You didn’t say much. What was there to say?

Then, a familiar voice behind you, laced with disbelief.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

You looked up. Sam Wilson stood a few feet away, arms crossed, a look on his face like he had just walked into a reality show that existed purely to test his patience.

“Let me guess,” he said, stepping closer. “You ‘didn’t mean to.’ Or it ‘seemed like a good idea at the time.’ Or my personal favorite: ‘the door was locked, so naturally, the roof was the next best option.’”

The officers looked up, eyes widening slightly.

“Wait… you’re—”

“Yeah,” Sam cut in, pulling out his ID. “Sam Wilson. Avenger. Captain America.”

The cop holding the clipboard did a double take. “Sir, we didn’t know.”

“You’re good,” Sam said, waving them off. “I’ll take it from here.”

They hesitated, but when Sam gave them that look. The kind that said this isn’t worth your paperwork. They sighed and uncurled you.

“Try not to climb anything else today,” one muttered as they walked off.

Sam didn’t move.

You stood slowly, rubbing your wrists. “So… you just happened to be here?”

He gave you a long look. “I was grabbing lunch two blocks away. You managed to get yourself arrested within a five-minute walk of me. That’s a new record.”

You shrugged.

He blinked, jaw clenching. “Do you want to be thrown in jail? Like is this some form of recreational chaos for you?”

You opened your mouth.

“Don’t.” He held up a hand. “Just… don’t.”

He started walking. You followed, sheepishly.

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to convince people we’re the good guys,” he muttered, “when my teammates are out here treating fire escapes like public sidewalks?”

You said nothing.

He sighed, rubbing his face. “I could’ve let them take you. Let you sit in that holding cell with some guy named Lil Baby who thinks toilet wine is a fine vintage.”

You gave him a look.

“But no,” Sam said, turning back around. “Because now I get to yell at you myself. Lucky you.”

He opened the truck door and paused before getting in.

“You’re riding in silence,” he said flatly. You climbed in without protest.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, pulling onto the road. “Next time I see a rooftop, I’m chaining you to a park bench.”