Steve ground his teeth at the same time that he was shaking the tension out of his arms and legs. For almost two years, his morning run had served him well to loosen his body right along with the constant tug of stress that nagged his mind. For the past few months since the fall of SHIELD, he'd had the responsibility of leading the Avengers. Lately, running only worked his heart and lungs for him. He ended his miles just as tight and tense as when he'd began. His brain wouldn't shut up. There was too much to think about.

Steve bent and stretched at the corner of the park before he was in sight of the sidewalks and traffic. He breathed deeply of the grass and the trees. It was a nice morning, not too hot for August in New York. Sweat slicked his body, but he felt fine. A breeze rustled the leaves on the trees as he strode through the park gateway and to the crosswalk at the corner. The sounds of vehicle traffic, busses, taxis, and couriers on bicycles roared in his ears, but it was all normal background noise.

He was always alert, always assessing his surroundings. He mixed in with the bunch of pedestrians waiting to cross, most hurrying to work in nearby office buildings. There were various ringtones and text alerts, mixed music leaking from people's earbuds, and several voices talking on phones.

A small child's voice caught his attention. He looked down and to the side where a young woman stood with a baby in a stroller and a toddler in hand. The little girl was dark skinned, with beautiful curly hair held in purple clips.

"Mama, is dat Cap'Merica?" the child asked as she tugged at her mother's hand.

The woman barely paid attention to her daughter, she was so focused on safely navigating her family on the busy sidewalk. The crosswalk light changed to green and the crowd surged forward.

"I don't think so, Boo. Come on, let's go," the woman murmured.

She tugged the child along, but the girl only had eyes for Steve. He smiled at her and nodded his head slightly. Just so the kid didn't stumble in the street trying to look at him and walk at the same time, Steve strode ahead when he could so at least the child would be looking the same direction she was supposed to be walking.

He'd been back in the city for a while now, so people were getting used to seeing him around. Especially near the park in the mornings. Most people going about their business paid him no mind, like the mother had done, just now. Everybody was in too much a hurry to notice another tall guy. They were too engaged with their phones. At least once a week, he saw people almost get flattened in traffic while looking at their phones.

The crowds thinned when he was a little farther away from the main shopping centers and the office buildings. His destination was only a few blocks from the tower. A glint of unusually bright metal in the sun caught his eyes, but when he looked up, it was just a reflective sticker on a courier's pack. Steve frowned at himself and turned to walk through the door of his most recent favorite coffee shop.

The morning rush was almost over, so he was just third in line at the counter. The girl at the register saw him and smiled in a manic sort of way. She got his usual size cup and wrote his name on it. There was a brief and ever so slight hush inside the shop, then Steve could pick out people's voices here and there excitedly saying "Captain America" or some derivation of his name. Most people were regulars and knew better than to make an issue of his presence, but there were always tourists and new people.

"Good morning, Kara," Steve said when he stepped up to the bar.

"Hi," Kara said. She smiled shyly and blushed to a deep rose color.

"Iced mocha today," Steve told her. He schooled his features into a kind, bland smile. Izzy, the morning barista, took the cup with Steve's name on it and started making his drink. Steve paid and tipped a dollar into the jar. Izzy rolled his eyes at Kara's flustered silence.

There were several different kinds of reactions he got from women, and they hadn't changed a whole lot since he came out of the ice. Kara was just about in the category with the worst of them, barely saved from it by her shyness and her blushing. The very worst just blatantly stared at him, either in shock or in open lust. At least Kara had the dignity to turn her attention to the next customer nowadays and she tried to ignore Steve until her blushing stopped.

The first day he'd come into the coffee shop, she'd been much worse. They'd been busy and Kara was already a little overwhelmed. The customer in front of Steve had stepped aside and Kara's mouth fell open. She'd stared silently at him for a good fifteen seconds before Steve had tried a grin along with placing his order. Izzy'd had to bump Kara away from the register and take Steve's order, then wash his hands again after handling the money.

"Are you crazy? Captain America shouldn't have to pay for his coffee!" Kara had finally hissed at Izzy as if Steve wasn't standing right there.

"Kara," Steve had said, looking at her nametag, "Captain America sometimes gets a free ride, but Steve Rogers always pays his way."

"Yessir," she'd mumbled faintly. Steve had taken his drink from Izzy and left the shop. The next several visits to the coffee shop were almost as bad. There was no point in switching shops, because he got pretty much the same treatment everywhere. By now, Kara just blushed and let him pay, so it was tolerable.

Today, there were people at all the café tables outside. Steve realized he was grinding his teeth again and made himself loosen his jaw. It wasn't these people's fault that he had a lot on his mind. He was aware of how his facial expressions affected others, since he was stared at so often. When he looked anything other than pleasant or bored, young people tended to get nervous around him. Older folks picked up on his mood and he didn't want to bring them down. He purposefully relaxed his face and glanced around for a spot to park his rump.

The only spot that wasn't in anyone else's personal space was at one end of a long city bench near the sidewalk. A thin, scruffy looking person sat on the other end. Steve wasn't afraid of scruffy. He'd been scruffy for a while, himself, many years ago. He swished his iced mocha around in the cup with his straw and ambled casually over toward the bench.

"Mind if I sit?" he asked the person on the bench.

Dark eyes flashed up at him from under matted blonde hair, then a hand waved at the vacant seat. As Steve sat, the person inched as far away as they could toward the other end of the bench. Steve felt bad for bothering an obviously disturbed person, and almost changed his mind. Then, he glanced up from sipping his beverage to see everyone pretending not to stare at him on the bench next to the scruffy person.

While he very well understood the concept of personal space in the city, there was a different dynamic going on here. He could feel it. The street person next to him wasn't drunk or drugged out of their mind, nor were they sleeping. They were hyper-aware and clutching their almost empty coffee cup in a slightly trembling hand.

For some reason, the sour tension fogging Steve's mind and the speculative, judging looks they were getting from the other coffee shop patrons broke his intentions to stay pleasant.

"Look at them. Wearing their hundred-dollar shoes, holding their thousand dollar phones, staring at us like we're gonna do something to them. I wonder what they think I'm gonna do?" Steve said, low and disgusted. He kept his eyes on his running shoe, which was crossed over his knee. He flicked a few blades of grass off of the dark gray rubber sole.

The silence next to him was still intent and uncomfortable, but Steve got the sense that the person wasn't on the verge of running away anymore. So he kept on.

"Yeah, I know I have hundred-dollar shoes, too, but I actually use mine for something. Really, decent shoes can't even be had for a hundred dollars anymore. That's a shame, huh?" He said, still keeping his voice from carrying across the twelve or so feet between their bench and the café tables. People walked by in between on the sidewalk, but nobody was stopping to listen to him. He could say anything he wanted, and only Jarvis might be listening, this close to the tower.

Steve saw that the other occupant of the bench had their feet pulled up under them, knees bent sideways. They probably didn't have hundred-dollar shoes. Steve relaxed back against the bench and angled himself into the corner a little. It wasn't precisely comfortable, but Steve didn't expect comfort everywhere he went.

He sipped his coffee and let himself shut his eyes in appreciation of the cool breeze that swept past the bench. There was a small tree shading them, and its leaves shushed softly in the wind.

"You've got good taste in sitting spots. This is nice," he said lazily.

For some reason he couldn't figure, the tension he had worked so hard to get rid of during his run was draining away while he sat there. For several minutes, he held his cup in one hand propped on his crossed knee. His other hand hung limp from where his elbow was bent over the back of the bench. The breeze dried the last of the dampness from his skin, and he felt his body temperature ease back to normal.

""Scuse me, Captain 'Merica, can I have your, uh, auto, uh, can you write your name for me?" a little voice asked at his bent knee. He'd heard the small person approach, his ears listening to shifting sounds as people moved by. He could almost see his surroundings in his mind, just from what his ears were telling him. He opened his eyes and turned a relaxed smile to the little guy who'd so bravely approached him.

"Sure, buddy," Steve said. He even withheld the sigh he felt like huffing out. It was a little kid, and little ones didn't understand that he wanted to be left alone while he was off-duty. Steve glanced at the child, then across at the mother who had sent him over. The kid only had eyes for him, but the mom was watching his bench-mate with concern and a little frown on her face.

He signed his name with the ink pen offered onto the bill of the red ballcap the boy held out to him. The brown haired child stared at him for several seconds more after he'd handed the pen and the cap back. They did that sometimes, like they were waiting for something else. Steve took his arm off the bench long enough to pat the kid on the shoulder, then he rested his arm back where he'd had it.

"Be good for your mom, now," Steve said. The boy nodded seriously and turned to run back to his mother. He bumped into a passing man, but the man ignored the incident and kept walking. The mother exclaimed over the autograph on the ballcap, then ushered her son away from the coffee shop.

"Would ya look at that," Steve exclaimed softly, "They don't know me any better than they know you, but they want my autograph while they're scared of you."

"Hmph," the person next to him on the bench grunted. It was a distinctly feminine grunt, so that answered one of Steve's questions. The baggy, dull-colored clothes and huddled posture had made it impossible to tell the sex of his bench mate. Not that it mattered.

"Yeah," Steve agreed vaguely.

Celebrity had settled uneasily on his shoulders. He'd rather be out fighting or training in the gym, or running miles than be fawned over by the public. But he didn't always get what he wanted. He hadn't thought about becoming a celebrity when Dr. Erskine had offered him the serum. He'd only wanted to serve his country like his father had. Like Bucky was. Steve understood the kind of symbol he was for people, and he tried to project the image most people wanted to see from him. Lately, he'd more often wanted to keep his on-duty and his off-duty lives separate. Maybe that was because he had so much to manage and plan that he had almost no off-duty time and what he had, he wanted to guard jealously. But he was tired of looking at the internet and watching movies up in the tower.

Steve allowed himself to shut his eyes. He hoped he had at least a few minutes of peace in the pleasant breeze before he heard the words "Captain America" again. The sun was hidden behind a cloud and the breeze got even cooler. It felt like it might rain. Steve let his mind drift. He'd tried closing his eyes like this before and pretending that when he opened them, he'd be back home and Bucky would be beside him, smirking at something he was thinking about doing. It didn't work well. New York sounded too different.

There was movement near him, and Steve tensed slightly, imperceptibly. He waited for someone to ask for another autograph, but the person must not have been coming for him. They moved away and his peace continued undisturbed.

A light, misting rain began to fall, and people got up from the café tables to hurry away from the weather. Steve sighed deeply, happy to hear them go. Sure, there were still some folks around, but he knew they clutched umbrellas and hurried along. Nobody would stop to bother him in the rain.

The scruffy girl was still sharing the bench with him. Steve rolled his head around and cracked an eye at her.

It was a light rain, just barely enough to dampen his hair and his shirt. He hardly noticed damp skin anymore. Dark eyes watched him.

Steve shrugged.

"The rain doesn't bother me, but maybe you should get somewhere dry?" he suggested with a rattle of ice in his nearly empty coffee cup.

Her eyes darted around nervously. Her clothes were in pretty bad shape, and the dampness in the air carried a distinctly human smell to him. It wasn't awful, but it wasn't perfumed and shampooed, either. He'd smelled worse. Much worse.

She was uneasy with just him there and she didn't want to make the first move. That much was obvious. Steve casually got to his feet and sipped down the last of his drink. He stepped over to toss the cup in a recycling bin. The wind was starting to gust and the rain was getting heavier.

"See ya," he said to the person on the bench. He tilted his head at her and then turned to stride off to the tower. He didn't look back. She didn't want him to see where she went. He understood and respected that, so he kept walking.

She waited. Since she'd been caught by the rain, it wouldn't be good to go to the library. They didn't like any dampness brought in near the books. She watched his tall figure for a few blocks until he was lost among the few other people on the sidewalks. He probably turned in at the big tower.

It wasn't fun being damp, but at least it wasn't winter. When she was sure that nobody was watching, she moved toward the alley beside the coffee shop. She squeezed into the narrow gap between the dumpster and the chain link fence. Where the fence met the brick wall of the building, she'd unbent a few wire brackets so that she could squeeze through. Her clothes snagged and tore a little, but it didn't matter. The chain link fence wall had privacy battens running diagonal both ways across the alley, and nobody could see her after she passed through it.

Her alley was almost fifteen feet wide, paved with cracked asphalt, and surrounded on all sides by brick, except for the one chain link wall. The two buildings were pretty tall, but older and not made of metal or glass. The only windows were a few small ones above the second floor, mostly covered with curtains which never moved. The back wall was mismatched brick, probably twelve feet high. Nothing ever came over it but maybe a cat now and then. She liked cats.

She hurried to her shelter against the side of the coffee shop. She'd scavenged some abandoned scrap at night and snuck it into her alley. There was an old trash can shelter with a metal roof from before there'd been a dumpster. She'd cleaned it out until there was nothing but pavement and brick wall. Then she'd raised the floor with pallets so that she could lie down right up under the metal roof, out of the rain or the snow and away from any eyes. Eventually she'd closed in the sides with metal and plastic so that the wind didn't get her so much in the winter. Layers of mostly new, clean carpet remnants cushioned her wooden pallet bed.

She had learned that it was best to keep no food or water near her nest. She'd tried setting out a little extra food to attract cats, hopeful that they would keep vermin away, but cats were unreliable. Mostly, vermin had come instead. So she'd scavenged an old broom and kept her alley meticulously clean.

Rain water ran down the brick wall her little lean-to roof was attached to. That was alright, because she'd moved her pallets and carpets an inch away from the wall a long time ago. As long as she lay still and careful and the wind didn't blow too much, she would stay dry.

Except, she was already damp from having to sit out in the drizzle until he'd left.

Sure, maybe he was a hero and all, but she didn't let anybody know where she lived. It wasn't safe. No one could be trusted. She knew she had a good place here, but if anybody knew about it, she'd have to move on. And she'd have to find another place. And more scraps for shelter. And worst of all, she'd have to learn the timing of everything all over again.

She'd moved around a lot. This alley was the longest she'd stayed anywhere, and that was because she was getting wiser. The police had shuffled her along out of her last place, and there'd been too many dangerous men at the place before that. This part of town was a good place, relaxed and low-key. She'd passed by and watched for days before she'd looked for a nook to settle into. There were always small places for small people. Some were better than others.

As she lay down and pulled her clean, dry blanket around her, she wondered what it was like to be a hero like him. He was on the news every time something big and awful happened. And he was on the news when he went to charity things, too. She'd seen him in shop window televisions, and the muted coffee shop TV, and it was blaring from everybody's phones when something was actively happening. That thing with the weird ships going up then falling out of the sky had been so unreal, she wondered if it had actually happened. Did the government actually have ships like that, that could just hover over people ominously? She shivered. She guessed they didn't anymore. Because of him.

He did what he had to do. Some people loved him for it. Others complained about the mess. Like with the aliens. She didn't think the aliens were his fault. If anything, they were likely Stark's fault. Or maybe it wasn't even related, and the Avengers had only stepped in to stop the aliens. Aliens!

"Hmph!" she grunted and shook her head to clear it of the troubling thoughts. Nobody wanted to think about aliens. Nobody in New York, anyway. She wondered if people in other cities didn't believe that the aliens had been real, just like she had a hard time believing the hover-ships were real. But she'd seen the aliens with her own eyes because it had happened here, right overhead. A lot of the scraps her shelter was built from were throw-outs from all the reconstruction.

She'd gotten distracted from thinking about him with distressing thoughts of aliens and hover-ships. Her mind wasn't always the best, though she tried. She knew that she'd need to eat more if she wanted her brain to work like it used to. But it wasn't worth the risk.

She fell asleep to dreamy thoughts of what it would be like to be strong and big, like him. How wonderful it must be to not have to be afraid all the time. To walk down the street like she owned the place and didn't expect anything bad to happen to her…

Steve hit the bag again, hard. He wished Thor was around, but he was off somewhere with Jane. He had learned to moderate his anger and frustrations, drawing them out into longer boxing sessions, instead of short bursts of rage which broke equipment. The tough Asgardian could take as well as he gave, and Steve didn't have to hold back for him. Tony could only spar with him wearing one of the suits, and Steve had damaged the suits too often for Tony to want to do that anymore.

Bruce. Steve huffed a laugh between punches. Bruce was amazing. He had very little agility or aggression in him most of the time. Getting him into the training room was like trying to herd water uphill with a sieve. Mostly, Bruce stood resigned and cautious when he could be badgered into the training room at all. The one time Steve had tried to punch him lightly to get him in the mood, Bruce had caught his fist like concrete with a slightly green hand. Natasha had smirked at them both and shook her head.

Thor was who he needed. Steve felt humbled working with Thor. Natasha was a thrill and kept him on his toes, but they both knew she couldn't really hurt him. They both knew he could ignore the pain she rained down on him and choose to slam her to the mat if he really tried. Nat mostly sparred with Clint, who understood her. Or with Thor, who got the biggest grin of admiration when he was with her on the mats. Because Thor was a gentleman. Like Steve used to be.

Steve moved from the heavy bag to the speed bag. It was frustratingly small, but it helped him work on his timing.

Like his morning run, Steve eventually left the floor unsatisfied. Without Thor, there wasn't anyone or anything that could really work him. It was only early afternoon, and unless something happened, Steve had no plans.

He wiped at sweat with his towel and headed for the elevator.

"Good afternoon, Captain," Jarvis greeted him.

"Hey," Steve replied. He wished Jarvis would simply call him Steve, but that apparently wasn't going to happen.

In a bid to encourage Jarvis to be less formal with him, Steve used casual grammar in the common areas of the tower whenever he could.

"Do you have eyes on the coffee shop I went to this morning?" he asked while the elevator sped up to his floor.

"I do have surveillance available, if you wish to review it. I only keep the last month's data unless a notable event occurs. I can have anything you wish sent to your rooms. Do you have a time range I should provide? Visible spectrum or infrared?" Jarvis offered.

"Thanks, Jarvis, but no. I don't think I'll need all that. Did you see the person on the bench with me today?" Steve asked.

The elevator stopped on his level and opened at the lobby he shared with Clint. Steve walked to his suite and Jarvis' voice followed him.

"I did. Female, between fifteen and twenty years of age. Appallingly undernourished," Jarvis offered the information. His voice was polite and cool, even when mentioning her poor physical condition.

"Fifteen?! It was hard to tell, but…Wow. What could cause a person so young to be out on the street? Are you sure?"

"A dental scan confirmed her age range, though I am sorry to say I cannot be more precise. Unfortunately, there are many reasons a young person might find themselves without a home. An internet search for the terms "homeless youth" would provide you with better answers, Captain," Jarvis told him.

"Alright. Thanks, Jarvis," Steve said.

His door was keyed to his biometrics. All of them, down to the serum in his blood. It opened and he walked into the cool, dark space.

"My pleasure, Captain," Jarvis said from out in the hall before the heavy door closed. Steve knew the AI could listen and speak to him in his suite, but Jarvis was good with at least maintaining the illusion of privacy. Steve walked through his spacious living room, past the efficient galley kitchen, and to the end of the hall into his bedroom. The living room and master bedroom had floor to ceiling windows, but Steve kept the privacy tint active in the glass much of the time.

He flicked on the lighting in his room and shucked off his shoes by the closet door. The rest of everything came off in the bathroom and splatted onto the creamy tile floor. Steve stepped into the shower and again marveled that even the first spray of water was warmed to the temperature the preferred. Tony had every physical comfort he could think of available to the Avengers, and many Steve had never imagined.

He didn't want to know what a flesh light was, but he'd found one in his night stand drawer. It was still unopened in its clear plastic hygienic wrapper. The mind boggled. He'd set the unwanted thing out in the elevator lobby. It had been gone the next morning and Tony had frowned at him like a kicked puppy for days. He knew Tony. The disappointed expression was only there to bait him into asking what was wrong. Steve had resisted the bait.

Steve relaxed under the warm water until he was thinking about nothing but the sensations from his body, as Bruce had taught him. As a calming tactic, it only worked in the shower when there wasn't anything else to distract him. Bruce could meditate in the middle of a busy street, Steve imagined. He grabbed the bar of soap and lathered up. His ma had taught him since he was little to clean out funny areas like the crinkles of his ears and his navel. He scrubbed his back with the floofy thing, then rinsed off. He liked the floofy thing a lot, except when he had stitches.

His hair was getting longer because the guys in his barber shop only wanted to talk about Captain America, and he didn't want to be rude and correct his elders. Well, technically, they weren't his elders, but they looked like his elders even though he had a good thirty years on most of them. It was simpler to go to the barber shop less often when he felt like indulging the fellas and putting on his Cap act. So, his hair was a little longer. Nat didn't mind trimming the back for him when she was around.

Steve squeezed a dollop of shampoo into his palm and worked it into his hair. He scrubbed and rinsed, then eyeballed the hair conditioner skeptically. Pepper would fuss at him for leaving his hair unconditioned, but he hated the stuff. It felt like slug slime or axle grease to him. Squeaky clean hair was good enough.

He shut off the water and dried his skin roughly. He wasn't planning to go anywhere so he poked his legs into his boxer briefs and went to the kitchen for something to eat. With a bowl of herbed noodles and shredded beef, he settled onto his couch and pulled up his pad to rest against his thigh while he ate.

Jarvis was right. He learned more than he ever wanted to know about why young people were homeless these days. It wasn't because of fathers lost to fighting a war. It wasn't because of tuberculosis or parents away to find work in a distant city. It was just sad. People were crappy parents.

He wondered at the cause of her situation. He was aware that he was a poor judge of what was dangerous and what wasn't. He always had been. The other folks at the coffee shop seemed to fear the girl on the bench with him today. He wondered why. She was sickly. Too poor to own a gun or a decent knife. If anybody took the time to look, they could have seen that she was more frightened of everyone than they were of her. The most she could have done would be to punch or bite someone, yet she hadn't been violent. It was a wonder she'd been brave enough to sit out in the open at all. With no phone to look at to put up a social barrier around her.

Steve flipped the cover over his pad and set it on the coffee table. He folded his arms behind his head and slid down into the deep cushions of the couch. He could faintly hear the rain hitting the glass on the outside of the tower. Where was she now? In a doorway somewhere? No, people didn't allow vagrants to linger in doorways anymore. Was she in a communal shelter somewhere, having to listen to a speil or attend a church service simply to have a roof over her head and a meal? Why was she so underfed?

Steve pondered all this as the rain lulled him into a shallow, restless sleep. Why did she choose to live like that? Did she find freedom in it? Life was complicated today. More complicated than it had ever been. Everything required paperwork and contracts and agreements not to sue. Just to live required a paper trail and medical plans and electronic accounts. Steve wanted to ask her what it was like to leave all that behind and not worry about it. To not have to be responsible for the lives of others must be wonderful. To walk down the street and have nobody notice him at all…