It seemed only fitting that it was raining.

His morning run wasn't as fun in the first place, as Sam was away for god-knows-what kind of mission ("It's just surveillance," Natasha had quipped, turning her head before Steve could read her expression), but on top of that, it just had to be pouring buckets.

The weatherman had said the previous night that it wouldn't rain for weeks, so of course Steve was wearing a thin white t-shirt and sweatpants. The shirt was already soaked through, looking more like a tight, sheen undershirt than it should have, and it was only a matter of time before his sweats joined suit. Suddenly aware of the other runners—namely women in their mid-twenties—Steve decided to deviate from his usual route onto a mostly deserted street lined with shops.

He was thinking hard amid the dense torrents of icy water, balancing thoughts of the day's activities with worried wondering about Sam while blinking rainwater out of his eyes. It seemed unlike Sam to go on any kind of mission, surveillance or otherwise, without telling Steve. In fact, it was strange that no one else had mentioned anything about it to Steve, seeing as the former members of SHIELD had banded together in a vaguely united rogue club. Was Sam really on a mission, or—? But Natasha had mentioned the mission, so it wasn't a trap—unless Natasha was being fooled as well, which was unlikely. So why wouldn't she have told Steve?

There was only one logical explanation that lurked unarticulated in the back of Steve's mind as he ran, but he refused to clearly form it. Despite his determination, he could feel the thought pushing past the recesses of his mind, daring to be heard, forcing itself in front of every distraction Steve thrust in its way. No one told you because they didn't want you to help them look for—

"Okay," Steve said aloud suddenly, stopping and admitting defeat—against the rain, his mind, his sweatpants, everything. "Bus stop."

He glanced around to find one nearby, hoping the closest one might be refuge from the rain. His phone, he knew, was waterproof and very usable, but for some reason he couldn't bring himself to call even Natasha. There seemed to be no bus stops near enough to justify a walk through the freezing rain. He briefly wondered if he could figure out the subway system fast enough to get back to his apartment, but the challenge of New York subway signs was daunting enough that he resolved to walk back. He glanced at his watch—worn out brown leather and a slightly rusted face—and looked up to see which direction the sun was moving.

He was standing in a soaked t-shirt in the middle of the sidewalk, squinting up at the skyline with his hand on his hip, which jutted out slightly. He was breathing heavily in a satisfactory way while scratching his rough cheek. He knew he should shave—Nat reminded him every day—but for once decided to try something new, mostly just to spite her mothering habits. It had been roughly three days unshaven and he already hated it, but he couldn't prove Natasha right so quickly.

Glancing once more at his watch and turning to face the direction he came, Steve took one distracted step forward—and collided with another person.

An unopened umbrella, an opened purse, and several folders full of loose-leaf paper burst onto the sidewalk and into the street. The soaking wet girl who had been holding them collapsed onto the ground to pick her things up with a shocked cry, and Steve followed her example with a torrent of apologies.

"…wasn't looking where I was going, and again I'm so sorry about this…"

"…no, no, no, it's fine, it's fine, accidents happen, it's not your fault…"

Steve was holding several sheets of what looked like a research paper, along with some headphones, a wallet, and a few tampons. Before looking up to see the victim of his thoughtlessness, Steve caught the words "Eliot," "post-Impressionism," and "Debussy" on one of the pieces of paper.

"Isn't Debussy a piano player?" Steve said, glancing up to the owner of the paper.

"What?" the girl asked, thrown off guard by the out-of-place question.

"This—or, I guess your paper—it's talking about Impressionism," Steve explained haltingly, still with a quizzical expression, "but I thought Debussy was a piano player." The girl looked at Steve with a searching expression.

"Sorry, I don't mean to snoop, I just—," Steve started apologetically, beginning to stand.

"No, it's fine," she said as if coming to her senses. She sat up and spoke. "Debussy was a pianist, but the Impressionist movement revolved around music as well as visual art." She paused, looking now at another paper. "Debussy was actually the leader of Impressionism in music, and his strives toward a new style helped bring jazz and even blues to pop culture." All of this she stated with a confused tone, as though still shaken by Steve's question.

The two paused, Steve impressed, the girl embarrassed. Steve glanced at her surprisingly defined features. She had a square face, a distinct jawline, and large, intelligent eyes. She had thick eyebrows, pink lips, and damp dark hair that clung to her forehead. "It's just my term paper," she muttered, looking back down at her work.

After a few seconds, Steve tentatively extended his hand. "I'm Steve, by the way."

She took it uncertainly. "I'm Alex."

There was a pause as Steve tried to think of something to say. Embarrassed slightly, he pointed to the sky and squinted casually. "You know, the weatherman said it would be sunny this morning, but clearly…that's not," he cleared his throat, feeling extremely stupid, "the case." He finished speaking as the feeling of delicate awkwardness shifted to full-scale discomfort and humiliation.

Fortunately, Alex took it in stride. "Yeah, I was lucky to have my umbrella with me, even though I didn't use it." She sadly gazed at her pathetic broken umbrella with its wiry skeleton poking out from under the black fabric. "Oh well."

"Again, I'm so sorry about that—I'll buy you a new one or pay for a cab if you need it." Even as he spoke, Steve had his wallet in his hand and was looking expectantly at Alex. "I could at least buy you a coffee or something?" There was nothing suggestive in Steve's tone; he spoke with genuine concern and regret.

"No, don't worry about it. I needed a new one anyways," she reassured him with a hesitant smile. There was a pause as Alex's brow suddenly furrowed. "Actually, have we met? You look really familiar."

"Oh, um, I'm on the news sometimes," Steve said vaguely. "A correspondent. For CNN."

Alex nodded slowly. "Yeah. That must be it. Huh. It's just—I don't know, it's just weird? You know? You look really familiar. But that must be it."

Steve nodded, anxiety increasing, suddenly feeling like maybe he would be better to call Natasha after all. He glanced again at his watch and raised his head to give another apology and a final farewell. "I have to go." He realized she was still sitting on the sidewalk, so Steve reached out to help her up. As he helped her stand, he continued, "I was actually on my morning run to avoid a friend of mine."

Why am I still talking? Steve wondered silently.

"Oh, wow," Alex said, now standing awkwardly in front of him. She was quite short. "That sounds heavy."

"Yeah," Steve said uncertainly. What the hell did that mean? He was mostly caught up on slang just from listening to people talk, but this term must have been outdated or something. "It is."

Alex turned away, looking back and waving. "See you around, Steve."

"Yeah, see you around."

As he turned and started to walk back in the direction he came, Steve was glad Natasha hadn't been there. First of all, she would have pressured him into getting her number, or some other awful thing, and secondly, he probably would have collapsed into himself like a dying star.

Still, despite his anxiety and embarrassment, he was glad for the distraction. He had enough happening in his immediate sphere of reality that he was able to push his suspicions aside. It was 8 am and he was thoroughly exhausted, so he decided to just sit on a nearby bench and call Natasha. Unopened texts aside, he had enough to be dealing with for one morning.

A/N: Cool! The first part of what should hopefully be a really fun project. By fun, I of course mean painful. This is gonna be a really angsty story, guys. Like really, ridiculously, crazy amounts of angst. Maybe a little too angsty. Anyways. I hope you guys liked this beginning, because getting into Steve's head was really interesting and fun to write. I consider this a huge step up from my older stories. Thanks as always for reading, and don't forget to review!