CHAPTER 1

My Symbol

Another shot of whiskey burned in my mouth; I wished more than anything at that moment that I could get drunk. It had to be around two in the morning, and the S.H.I.E.L.D. ship/plane was purely silent except for the constant purring of the four main engines. I was alone in my 'hotel room', except for flashbacks of war trauma. Bloody, hell-like images filled my scarred eyes, dead men on concrete dyed scarlet. My attention was snapped back to earth when I heard footsteps approaching. Silently, I slid my shield on my arm and stood. Whoever was approaching wasn't being too cautious about the noise he or she was making. I grabbed a pistol from my bedside table and clicked the lock off. My metal door suddenly opened a crack, sending a slim ray of light shining on the titanium flooring.

"Cap'n Rogers? You awake?" Stark's voice whispered, and I could have sworn it had echoed.

"Am now. What do you need?" I answered gruffly, dropping my shield with a clank. He entered, and his eyes darted from the gun in my hand to the half-gone bottle of alcohol.

"Isn't that disobeying orders, soldier?" he questioned.

"Shut up Stark. I can't get drunk. It's part of this damn chemical mixture inside me," I replied lying back onto the cot. The pistol made another click as I locked it again and then I tossed it onto the table. "What do you want, anyways?"

"Someone to talk to," he answered, sitting next to me.

"I thought your brain usually likes to reject the idea of communicating with me," I muttered.

"Why can't you sleep?" he broke the silence a few minutes later.

"None of your business," I snapped as I turned the light on. His black hair was ruffled, though I doubted mine looked any better. He was wearing sweatpants and his favorite brown shirt. I think that shirt and jeans were the only garments I've seen him in when he wasn't suited up.

"Can you please tell me what you want and leave?!" I asked.

"Ummm, Starbucks vanilla latte would be nice."

"I'm not in the mood for your little jokes. I'm actually about to go find a punching bag to beat the crap out of. And if you don't leave, your face is going to become that punching bag."

"Watch it Rogers," he scowled.

He knew he needed his metal dress if he had a chance in beating me in a fight. Thankfully, that same thought ran through his mind and he turned and strided out. Now, I needed a punching bag; my pillow was about to become my victim. I gave it a good bash, curious to see what would happen.

The result: it exploded and feathers attacked me and the air.

When I was pretty sure I had gotten all of the fluff out of my hair and mouth, I exited my metal cage/hotel room. Maybe I should try and find Stark again...see if he'll explode when I hit him...it did sound better then whatever might be on TV during this hour of the morning.

I figured I might as well explore the endless maze of this ship/plane. Right now it was currently in plane mode, but it didn't seem right to call it just that. Maybe I should call it a 'shane'. Nah, I'll call it a 'plip' from now on.

My mind wandered, and I was grateful it didn't go back to the nightmares. I started to not pay attention to wear I was heading. Eventually, I ran into a dead end...literally. I coughed, sincerely hoping that there wasn't security cameras on the plip. But S.H.I.E.L.D. being a secret agency, I'm guessing the guards are going to tease me about 'sleepwalking' tomorrow.

Suddenly, I was aware of where I was-exactly. It was a sort of hallway, with rows of doors. There were no signs, no telling what they were for, or what was inside them. It was rather dark, and I just stood there for about fifteen minutes to let my eyes adjust completely to the lack of light. There had to be some clue, something to show what these were for. Yet there was nothing, absolutely nothing. But something caught me eye as I turned around to leave. Engraved onto the doorknob closest to me was a hammer-Thor's hammer to be exact. I realized that I had my confused face on (which didn't happen often), because I truly was thoroughly puzzled. I stepped to the left and studied another doorknob; this time it was Hawkeye's bow and arrows. Without warning, the feeling of eyes watching me, a sort of presence, intensely washed over me. I turned instinctively to where I thought it was coming from. All that was there was the end of the hallway, another door. Had someone stepped out, then gone back in? I felt naked without my shield, but I knew I was powerful enough to kill a regular sized man easily, if necessary. Cautiously, I edged my way to the door; I walked heel first, as to not make a single sound. I reached it without anything happening, but the imprint on this doorknob surprised me.

Because it was, in fact, a star with four rings rippling out from it. It was my symbol.