A/n: Hello thereee! I haven't written in awhile. I actually had this sitting around for awhile and it was always one of my favorite unfinished stories so I decided to finally go ahead and finish it. This site has changed so much since I last used it, I don't even know what I'm doing anymore. Anyway, the title is taken from a Coldplay song titled 'Fix You.' Enjoy! Also, feedback is always great!

Lights Will Guide You Home

Steve Rogers didn't have a place in this world, or rather this world didn't have a place for him.

He didn't belong here and it didn't take a genius like Tony Stark to figure that out for him. He knew it and each passing day wanted to reinforce the notion, shove it down his throat. He waited for someone to say cut the guy some slack, give him a break, but no one ever did so he spent his days listening to Tony's snide remarks as he tried to work a microwave and find it in his heart to appreciate the Beatles.

He was drowning.

He was drowning in a sea of lights, and sounds. He woke up to the crusade of New Yorkers and slept to the invasive lights coming from his windows. There were more lights and sounds than he'd ever known. There was never darkness. There was never silence. The noise, a cacophonous symphony of honking and shouting combined with the lights burning, scorching through his skin as he tried to sleep at night were all crude reminders that he would never get home.

That's assuming he had a home in the first place.

He was suffocating.

It was a humid night in Manhattan and he was lying with one arm tucked under his head staring out the open window into the city that never sleeps. He tossed and turned, trying to escape from, well, escape from himself. He wanted to break free of his own skin, free of this feeling of being an outsider. Always an outsider. With a huff he rolled over, his back facing the window. He could feel his white t-shirt clinging to his muscles in the humidity. He waits for a gentle breeze to send a chill up his damp back, but it never comes.

He's tired of waiting.

He'd get the hang of it, everyone keeps saying, but when? Every time he got close to mastering one new technological toy, Tony would thrust another one into his hands.

He didn't belong here. He repeated it like a mantra and buried his head on the cold side of the pillow, trying to mute the sound of the world he was forced into, but it would not leave him alone. The worst part was that he couldn't run. He could reach the corners of the Earth, of the universe, and he would still be trapped in this fucking nightmare. It's a shame he can't just disappear.

Steve grew angrier with each breath of air until his knuckles were white from clutching the sheets. Adrenaline coursed through his body and he knew that sleep would never come. Throwing the covers off himself in one swift motion, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. His aching body protested, and he curled his toes around the fuzzy carpet in his room before heading to the door. He slips into the living room quietly, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, just in time to hear the elevator 'ding' and the doors slide shut.

Natasha is sitting on the couch with her knees pulled up to her chest in an black oversized jacket that's definitely not hers. Agent Barton's probably, the Captain thinks. He coughs to announce his presence, something that Natasha is grateful for. She smiles at him weakly and he walks over to her. He can see the circles under her eyes and the red of her hair looks more faded than usual, washed out.

"Hey," she greets, shifting to face him. "Couldn't sleep?" Steve shakes his head.

"Who was that? In the elevator I mean," Steve asks, gesturing toward the elevator and taking a seat on the other end of the couch. Natasha sets the folder she's holding down to look at him.

"Clint. He went out to pick up food." She smiled slightly and studied him curiously.

"Couldn't sleep either?" She simply shook her head sympathetically. She was still trying to read him. Her piercing eyes were searching for something in his baby blues and he didn't know whether to feel scared or uncomfortable. He tore his eyes away and stared out at the towering two story window proudly presenting New York City at night. The lights blended in amongst the stars and airplanes in the sky and if he hadn't been so lost, so alone he might have thought it was rather pretty – almost surreal. Instead he held his breath, trying to rationalize the irrational bout of anger threatening to take over his usual calm demeanor.

"You'll get used to it," she said after a lengthy silence. Steve furrowed his brow and turned to look at her, blinking away the white dots dancing in his vision.

"Sorry?"

"All of this. You get used to it." Steve chuckled softly without the slightest hint of amusement and closed his eyes. How many times had he heard that before? The white lights that were dancing in his vision moved faster, colliding with one another behind his closed eyelids until all he could see was white. He felt a hand on his shoulder and the flares scattered in all directions. He was left staring out the window again. He felt Natasha's long, slender fingers retreat one by one from his shoulder as she broke the silence and said, "actually, you probably won't."

"Thanks?" And he was a little bit thankful, for the truth at least. He stared down at his hands folded in his lap and the next words tumbled out before he could reach out and grab them by the last syllables and he found that he had surprised himself. "How do you do it?"

"Do what?" Natasha asks, not a hint of confusion showing on her features.

"This, all of this." She laughs a little bit. "Come on, it can't be easy. This isn't your job."

"Adaptability." She replied, but her voice was laced with playfulness and Steve tried to formulate an appropriate response. "To an extent, anyway, it's about adaptability. But no, you're right. It's not." The Captain nodded.

"I'm...un-adaptable."

"There's a word for that. They call it 'stubborn.'" Natasha smiled warmly at him. Steve looked away from her. His ears were ringing and he wasn't sure if it was in his head or it was from outside. "You have to learn to trust someone; someone who's gonna keep you grounded to this sometimes fucking awful reality." she pauses, and the ringing in his ear fades as he becomes distracted by her low, almost whispering, voice. His body leans closer to hers without him even noticing as her piercing eyes meet his lost ones and she says, "because...'cause that's the person who's going to make this bullshit world we live in, okay...and maybe even good sometimes."

Steve leaned back away from her and into the couch. He suddenly felt extremely lonely. He was always good at being alone without being lonely, but now, even with Natasha sitting quietly by his side staring out the window deep in thought, he felt more lonely than he'd ever felt before. He wanted to trust someone, but as he looked outside at the city overpopulated with people he knew that he there wasn't a single person out there that he could trust like Romanov trusted Barton.

His heart pounded faster, hammering against his chest. He felt his face grow flush and the focus on his vision began to falter. Looking out that window became like looking through a dirty windshield on a rainy day or a foggy night – all the reds from tail lights, the yellows from headlights, the blues, whites, greens from traffic lights, all melded together like someone had run their hand across a not-yet-dried oil painting.

The elevator "dinged" again, the city lights that had all blurred together in Steve's vision reached a point of clarity again and stilled; Clint stepped out carrying a bag full of take-out boxes. Natasha rose silently to join him, Steve had forgotten she was there. She turned around before she disappeared into the long stretch of hallway to give him a small quirk of the lips and mouthed "good-night." He was all alone again. His ears were ringing again. As hard as he tried he couldn't pull his tired eyes away from all the colorful bright lights outside the window, he couldn't.

Steve sat in the silence for a few minutes feeling like a lone sailor at sea, wooden boat and all, ebbing in the water.

"Hey." He looked up at the window and saw the reflection of a blue circle of light behind him.

"Hey, Tony," he said and smiled. Suddenly the light wan't such a bad thing after all.