Okay, so I finally got around to writing the first chapter to the sequel to "If I Only Had a Heart." Hopefully it's not utter shit, but we'll see. I'm going to try to go a little more in depth with this one, so it might get a little gritty at times. Just as a heads up.

We've got both Established Capsicoul and Extablished Pepperony in this fic, so that... shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone. Ah... and I think that's all for now. Thank you for taking the time to read. :D

DISCLAIMER: I don't own shit.

"Steve, you have to let go," Bruce tells him softly. "He's gone."

Steve shakes his bowed head. That's not true. The hand in his is still warm. "He doesn't have a pulse, you know that, it doesn't mean—"

"Steve."

Bruce's hand is on his wrist, Clint's hands on his shoulders. He hears crying. Surely it's not him? No, the pitch is wrong. Pepper, maybe. But his face is wet.

"Stop," he says, pulling against them.

He wants to stay.

"It's just gonna hurt worse the longer you stay," Clint says, his voice sounding rough.

"He's not… We can't be sure… How can you just give up on him?" Steve demands, hearing the desperation in his own voice.

"Steve. Listen to me," Tony says. He's standing in the way. He's blocking Steve's view. "Phil's dead."

"No."

"Yes," Tony says, insistently. His voice is shaking. "What, you think I want to say it? You think I'd fuck around with you if he weren't?"

Steve shakes his head. He clenches his jaw and tightens his grip on the hand in his. But he's being pulled. They're pulling him away and he can't leave, he can't leave him. He can't give up, not after everything they've gone through, not after they tried so hard to get where they are.

But they keep pulling.

And pulling.

And pulling.

"Steve."

He wakes to the sound of his name. It's dark enough still so that he can't see, but he knows where he is. He knows the feel of cool, cotton sheets well enough to tell he's in his bed, knows the feeling of the gun-calloused hand in his well enough to tell that it's Phil beside him. The feeling of fingers carding through his hair, that's familiar, too. Burying his face in the crook of the agent's neck, he waits for his breathing to slow.

"Nightmare?" Phil says questioningly.

"Yeah," Steve replies.

"Would you like to talk about it?" Phil asks in that tone of voice that means he's not pushing it one way or the other.

"No," Steve sighs. "Come here, though?"

Phil complies, shifting at the direction of Steve's hands until his back is pressed to the super soldier's chest. Steve's arms wrap around Phil securely, holding him fast. Though, it's more appropriate to say that Phil's the one anchoring him down. He's careful about where he places his hands, making sure that, as distressed as he is himself, they don't touch Phil's scar.

"Did I hurt you?" Steve asks, his fingers brushing against Phil's hand.

"It's fine," Phil answers.

He knows that's as close to confirmation as he'll ever get. Phil doesn't like to outright lie to him, but the agent will do everything in his power to circumnavigate the truth if he thinks it'll protect Steve in any way. Phil didn't say 'no.' He didn't say 'yes' either. He supplied an answer that allows Steve to interpret the meaning however he likes. Needless to say, it's one of the man's more frustrating habits.

"If your hand is broken and I have to find out by seeing it in a splint, I'm not going to be happy," he says.

He feels Phil's shoulders quiver with silent laughter. "It's not broken. I might be a little sore tomorrow and I'll probably use my other hand to fill out reports, that's all. Happy?"

"I crushed your hand."

"You didn't crush it. You just squeezed a little harder than what's comfortable."

"Do you ever intend to give me a straight answer?"

"I'm afraid that's classified."

Steve snorts. Somehow, in times like these, when one of them doesn't want to talk about something painful, the situation always dissolves into a witty back-and-forth until they forget what they were talking about in the first place. Sometimes that's okay, other times Steve wishes they would talk. Of course, they do plenty of that besides; he's gotten Phil to open up to him in ways he'd never imagined, though the agent remains primarily reserved when it comes to this. Likewise, he's found himself doing the same, uttering things under cover of darkness that he can't bring himself to say in the harsh light of day.

"I'm sorry I woke you, anyway," Steve says.

"It's no trouble, you didn't wake me," Phil tells him.

"You were awake?" Steve questions with a frown. He's about to ask why when realization hits him and he blows out a harsh breath, tucking his chin against the top of the agent's head. "You too?"

"Yes," Phil says simply.

"I don't suppose you'd like to talk about it either?"

"Not especially."

Steve accepts that as a valid answer, his hand rubbing small circles in the other man's chest in a comforting gesture. "I'm sorry. I guess tonight's just not our night."

"It doesn't appear that it is," Phil says.

They've both got their fair share of baggage and Steve knows that there are things that neither of them are comfortable saying out loud yet. And that's fine. They're both rather private men so it would stand to reason that, even in their relationship, that's a boundary that needs to be respected. Phil's come a long way in the span of a few months, though. He smiles more often, Steve thinks, and not those famous half-smiles of his either; real, good, true smiles that Steve sees more in his eyes than on his lips.

He's learned to read the agent—is still learning—and how to detect the subtle differences in expression. To others, Phil appears to wear the same disarmingly placid smile in any situation. Steve knows better. He can read worry in the way the agent's eyes harden, giving his blue-gray gaze a decidedly cold edge. He can recount each time he's had to speak before the press, his gaze inevitably finding the apparently ordinary man standing at the back and even from a distance, even under the glare of the lights and the flash of the cameras, he can see the way Phil's eyes crinkle at the edges with affection. He sees the reassurance, the support, the devotion that no one else apparently can. They see a man in a suit (if they see him at all). Steve sees so much more.

Phil has an odd way of grounding him. In moments like these, when he's caught up in all the things he's lost, Phil is a living, breathing reminder of what he's gained. Because the agent currently wrapped in his arms is the exception; of all the things Steve's lost, Phil has been the only one to come back.

"The alarm is set to go off at 5:31 in the morning. You set it that way because you always wake naturally exactly one minute before your alarm and you like to make sure it's on the half-hour exactly. You'll lean over to switch it off before it ever makes a sound, which in turn will wake me up," Steve recites, his hand rubbing his partner's chest. "We'll go for a twenty minute jog. When we get back at 6:10, you'll put the coffee on and I'll take a fifteen minute shower and get ready for the day. At 6:35 you'll shower while I make the eggs. Breakfast at 7:00 sharp. We'll leave at 7:30 so that you're in your office at 8:00 exactly. Agent Sitwell will knock on your door at 8:45 to remind you that you've both got a meeting with Director Fury and Deputy Director Hill at 9:30. You'll have coffee and discuss the files you'll be reviewing until you leave your office at 9:20. You'll pretend not to notice when Jasper double checks that your office door is locked."

Steve feels the line of tension lessening in the agent's shoulders. The man is gradually beginning to relax back into his arms. It might sound like useless rambling to anyone else, but nothing calms Phil like structure and order. Steve's found that quietly reciting the man's schedule is one of the quicker ways to soothe him on nights such as this one. He continues his recitation, feeling Phil grow limp in his arms.

"How likely is it that you can make room in your schedule for dinner with me?" Steve murmurs.

He can practically hear the cogs turning in Phil's head as he calculates.

"I think I can write you in. Time?"

"Say… eight o'clock?"

"Mmm. I can make that work."

"I was thinking of that quiet Japanese place on the other side of town."

"Japanese? Feeling adventurous?"

"Well, you and Pepper seem to like it so much, maybe I want to see what all the fuss is about."

"You're sure you're not going to spit it in your napkin if you don't like it?"

Steve grumbles, leans in and bites the shorter man's earlobe. He grins when this causes Phil to jump and earns him an amused chuckle afterward.

"I'm not five, Phil," he says.

"I'm just surprised you decided to pick something so different," Phil murmurs.

"I figured a change of pace might be a good idea," Steve answers. "It's good to try new things, after all."

"Yes, it is," Phil answers.

Steve can almost feel the weariness in the agent's voice. There's still some tension in him though, a degree of it that won't leave him. Steve knows the feeling; he's steadily drifting towards sleep himself, but there is that need to remain awake, to fight it off. Sleep comes easier, though, with Phil in his arms. The subject of his nightmares suddenly becomes less threatening when the agent is warm and solid and alive, pressed close to him in their bed.

"Think you can go back to sleep?" he asks quietly.

Phil's answer is delayed. Steve feels the man shift in his arms until his hand finds one of Steve's. Only then does he hum in confirmation. Steve tightens his grip around his partner and prays for a few hours of easy sleep.

The day progresses as usual for Steve. Though he and Phil missed out on a few hours of sleep the night before, they managed just fine. Due to the effects of the serum, Steve doesn't usually need much sleep anyway, and Phil's scary competence means he can supplement any missed sleep with caffeine and willpower. Of course, Steve would prefer if it didn't have to come to that, but it's not something that can be helped.

He's pouring himself a cup of coffee at around eleven o'clock when Clint finds him.

"Cap," Clint says in greeting.

"Hey, Clint," Steve answers, nodding in greeting before looking back to his coffee, doctoring it to his liking. "How are those new arrows from R&D? Any good?"

"They're showing some promise, might need a bit of tweaking before they're field ready," Clint says. He hovers awkwardly in the doorway. "I need you to not freak out."

That catches Steve's attention. His head shoots up and he stares Clint down. "Why?"

"Before I say anything else, I need you to know that he's okay—"

Steve sets his coffee cup down just before he drops it, spilling half the contents over the counter. He mechanically reaches for a handful of napkins, fumbling to soak up the spill. Clint's beside him now, providing a slightly steadier hand.

"He's okay," Clint repeats. "Bruce and Tony and Sitwell are with him now, he's down in S.H.I.E.L.D. medical. There was a slight malfunction with his heart—"

"Jesus."

Steve abandons his effort to clean up his mess, bracing his hands on the edge of the counter and letting his head hang between his outstretched arms. This is not happening. He barely registers Clint's hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, hey. You're not listening to me. He's fine, Steve," Clint says. "He's a little shaken up, but he's okay."

"Okay," Steve answers, reaching up to scrub a hand across his face. "Right, okay. It's just… I mean he was… he was fine this morning…"

"And he's fine now," Clint repeats for what feels like the hundredth time. "Believe me, I get it. If it was Nat, I don't think I'd be as composed as you are. And while you have every right to freak out, but do you think you can keep it together long enough to go see him?"

Steve straightens up, trying to compartmentalize, to shove all the raw worry and panic and fear into a box deep inside himself, to be unpacked later. Right now, he needs to see Phil. And he can't let Phil see any of that mess.

"Yeah, let's go," he says quickly.

Clint nods, steering him away from the mess left on the counter. On the way to medical, he does his best to school his features into something resembling calm. Phil's okay. That's what's important. That's what he has to focus on. Most of that goes out the window when they round the corner and Steve sees Phil through the glass of the door. The agent is lying back against the pillows wearing an ashen mask of exhaustion, IV lines and wires running to machines hooked up to him, running beneath the sleeves and collar of his hospital gown. Jasper is planted in the seat beside the bed, engaging Phil in conversation.

It's Tony that waves them in, intercepting him before he can get to Phil.

"Tony, what happened?" Steve asks quietly.

Phil catches his eye and offers him a small smile of reassurance. He tries to return it before looking back to the billionaire before him, but is certain he fails miserably.

"There was a bit of a hiccup," Bruce says as he joins them. "SISSAH ceased functioning for approximately thirty seconds at nine o'clock this morning. It's a good thing he was with Agent Sitwell."

Steve turns his head. Jasper can't see him watching, of course, and Steve knows he'll have to take the man aside later to express his gratitude. He knows the bespectacled agent well enough to be confident in assuming he hasn't left Phil's side for a moment. Loyalty has never been something he's needed to question with Jasper.

"What kind of a hiccup are we talking about?" Steve questions, turning his gaze back to the two scientists.

Tony frowns. "Well, as great a prototype as SISSAH is, it's still a prototype. Do you remember a few months ago when he got zapped by that alien disk thing?"

Steve nods, purposely saying nothing about the guilt he sees in Bruce's eyes.

"The shock absorber in place wasn't meant to process that kind of voltage. But aside from that brief stoppage to begin with, there were no other problems. Phil didn't report any to me and neither did his doctors. So I assumed we'd gotten lucky, that SISSAH had been able to take more of punch than I'd hypothesized," Tony says, tapping a pencil against his open palm. He's fidgety. "Which was obviously incorrect."

Bruce takes over when Tony seems to draw into himself, likely thinking of things that Steve wouldn't understand even if Tony explained them.

"We performed a minimally invasive surgery and repaired the malfunctioning piece," Bruce explained. "All that's left now is to let him rest and have a physician watch over him the next few days to make sure the repairs were successful."

"And if they weren't?"

"Then we repair the damage."

"And if this keeps happening?"

"It shouldn't."

"Bruce," Steve says firmly.

Bruce folds his arms over his chest. "If it keeps happening, we're going to have to perform another transplant. Unfortunately, the circumstances of the first transplant mean that his body will no longer accept a natural heart. So it'd have to be another artifial one."

"I'm starting further developing on the working prototype tonight in the event that it comes to that," Tony says at last. "We're hoping it won't, but you know Agent. Always full of surprises."

Steve nods and the three of them stand there in silence for a brief period of time.

"You said he'll need to be watched by a physician?" Steve says questioningly.

"That'll be Bruce and I," Tony says. "He has to stay here tonight, but as long as he's looking okay tomorrow morning, S.H.I.E.L.D. medical's given us the green light to take him back to the Tower."

"Good," Steve says, a little woodenly. "That's good."

"Why don't you go talk to him," Bruce suggests. "We'll inform you if there's anything else you need to know."

"Right. Thank you," Steve says, looking over his shoulder to where Jasper is still speaking to Phil with Clint quietly lurking in the corner.

Leaving Tony and Bruce to their discussion, Steve approaches the hospital bed across the room. More than anything, he notes as he draws near, Phil seems just a touch annoyed that he has to be there in the first place. Which means that if Phil visibly comes off as a touch annoyed, then internally he's likely livid. Steve pulls up a seat beside Jasper's, glad for the small, reassuring smile Phil shoots him.

"Hey," Steve says by way of greeting. "I hear there was a bit of a hiccup."

"Nothing major," Phil answers.

"So I've been told," Steve says. "Still, I kind of wish they'd've let me know right away instead of waiting until after."

"Well, I could use a coffee. Barton?" Jasper says, rising from his seat.

"You're buying," Clint says, already moving towards the door.

Steve watches with raised eyebrows as the two agents beat a hasty retreat from the room, arguing as they make their way down the hall. He wonders if it was something he'd said. He looks back to Phil. The man doesn't seem to know either and Steve's about to shrug it off when he catches the barest gleam of something in the agent's eye: guilt. He leans forward in his seat.

"You asked them not to tell me," Steve guesses.

Phil's expression turns somewhat apologetic. "It was something minor and I didn't think it was prudent to worry you."

"Phil," Steve sighs in exasperation, scrubbing a hand over his face.

"Sitwell had already revived me before the medical team even arrived," Phil explains calmly. "Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner explained the situation to me and I elected not to bother you until after the procedure was finished. I was going to be fine and if you'd been alerted to the situation, you would have worried needlessly."

"We've been over this," Steve says, trying not to sound chastising. "You can't just hide these things from me and leave me to find out about them later. I know you don't want to worry me, but that doesn't mean you can just leave me in the dark."

Phil dips his head in a nod. "I understand. I apologize for not letting you know."

Steve shakes his head. He's frustrated by yet another incident of being left out of a decision. He wonders, sometimes, how much Phil really trusts him. But now isn't the time to press the matter.

"Well, never mind that for now," he says, reaching out to lay a hand on the agent's arm. "How are you feeling?"

"Groggy, mostly," Phil replies. "A little sore from where Sitwell tased me."

"Wait, Sitwell tased you?" Steve asks, looking perplexed.

Phil taps the left side of his chest. "Needed a reboot."

"Right," Steve says. He'll have to ask Jasper about that later. "Tony and Bruce said we could take you home tomorrow."

"Yes, I'm to remain here for observation tonight, though," Phil says. Steve almost smiles at the barely disguised contempt in the agent's words. "Looks like we'll have to postpone our dinner date."

"I can wait," Steve assures him.

He knows that Phil is put-off by this incident. The agent has had enough problems accepting the artificial heart, but has done better recently. He's opened up marginally since they'd entered a relationship, allowing himself to share some of his fears and frustrations with Steve. This 'hiccup' just seems an ill-timed bump in the road. It worries Steve. He slides his hand down until he's grasping Phil's.

"Do you want to talk about what happened?" Steve inquires gently.

He sees the muscles in Phil's jaw jump.

"No," Phil says. "I'm fine."

Steve manages to refrain from saying anything. Trying to coax a conversation out of him right now is a bad idea. When Phil wants to be left alone, it's better to just leave him be. They're alike in that regard. But it doesn't stop him from fretting, from worrying that this is could mean a severe backtrack. Phil doesn't like to share his problems and getting him to do so had taken time. They'd both been healthy for each other in that regard; Steve never opened up like he did around Phil. The thought of Phil keeping all of his troubles to himself again was enough to make him feel ill.

He feels Phil's hand squeeze his and looks up.

"I don't want to talk now," Phil tells him. "But we can talk tomorrow. When we're alone."

If Phil sees Steve's shoulders slump with relief, he doesn't comment on it. The soldier offers him a smile, his thumb caressing the knuckles on the agent's hand.

"That I can work with," Steve says. "So for now, how about you get some sleep and later on I'll see about getting a spare cot and something for us to eat for dinner. There's a Hoarders marathon tonight, too."

That earns him a smile.

"I'm not sure if I should be worried that you know there's a Hoarders marathon tonight," Phil says with an honest chuckle.

"Maybe you're just a terrible influence," Steve says with a smile.

"I can live with that," Phil says, working to suppress a yawn.

Steve squeezes his hand once again. "Get some rest. I'll be here when you wake up."

Phil tries his best to stay awake, but it's easy to see he's exhausted by the incident. As he watches the agent slowly fall asleep, Steve hopes that Bruce is right, that this won't happen again. Regardless, Phil won't be alone. That much he's certain of.