First of all, I would like to state that: No, I am not dead. Secondly, due to my long absence this chapter is horridly long.

Though this probably isn't the story that most of my followers would like to have seen an update on, this particular gem wouldn't get out of my head.

I'm going to warn you, there is most likely some grammar and spelling mistakes that my sleep addled mind didn't pick up on.

I hope that everyone enjoys this.

~ Pixie

It was late one Thursday evening when Steve finally stumbled into the gritty lobby of his building, emotionally worn out. Things had been slow at SHIELD, allowing Steve time to catch up on the mountain of paperwork on his desk; but it also gave Tony time to work on and execute a multitude of pranks, with him being the bored genius' current target. For today's prank Tony had, somehow, managed to change Steve's homepage to and, after three aggravating hours, he finally gave up and called the IT department to come and show him how to change it back. And, of course, they had to send an attractive woman. The entire situation had been degrading and embarrassing; and, honestly, had left him feeling very violated and incompetent.

He stormed passed the elevator, taking the stairs as usual; hoping the five flight climb would calm his frayed nerves and cool his growing anger. It did just the opposite, his blood was boiling by the time he reached his floor, his muscles tight as his hands itched to punch something. Steve nearly pulled his apartment door from its frame when he tore it open, adrenaline pumping so ferociously that he had to make a conscious effort not to break the fragile wood when he shut it behind him. He stalled in the living room, the dark room seemed to shrink, the walls moving to close in around him. He was struck with the sudden, overwhelming need to destroy everything within his sight.

His hands actually clenched at the thought of breaking the furniture he didn't pick out, shredding the unfamiliar books, destroying every piece of mockingly confusing technology. He wanted to ruin, decimate, and ravage until he felt better; until the world made sense again, until he could breathe again. He was overcome with the desire to obliterate this new world, this time that he couldn't quite understand filled with unfamiliar faces and ideals.

He just wanted things to start making sense again.

Instead, Steve marched himself into his bedroom, shoving workout clothes into his gym bag; knowing that a long session at the boxing gym wouldn't solve anything but it would wear him out enough to allow him to regain some form of control over his emotions. He had just shoved his one pair of well-worn tennis shoes into the bag when a knock rang through the silent apartment. A dangerous, annoyed noise was torn from his throat as he stalked towards the offending noise, carelessly throwing his gym bag on the floor next to the door.

He yanked the door open with more force than necessary before snapping, "What?" His anger died instantly as he watch Lark jump slightly, those pretty eyes of hers widening as she took a subconscious step back. "Um, hey," She stammered out, "I was, well, I made way too much spaghetti, like a massive amount of too much spaghetti. Anyways, I was just over to see if you wanted any, and I just now realize how creepy that sounds. But, uh, I clearly interrupted something and I totally didn't mean to, so, I'm just going to head back to my apartment and let you carry on with your night."

Steve fought back the need to curse as he watched her walk away, feeling like a complete and utter ass. She had just been trying to be nice and he snapped at her, granted he hadn't realized that it had been her, but that wasn't an excuse. His mother would have been horrified with him.

"Steve," Lark said, forcing him out of his mental berating. She had stopped just outside her door, looking at him with hesitance, "This is so not any of my business and you can totally tell me to shut up and I won't be the least bit offended. I mean, I'm basically a complete stranger and have no right to ask this, but, are you okay? Like honestly okay? Because you kind of look like you're about to hang yourself in your shower."

That made him laugh, a dark bitter bite of laughter. He leaned against the door jam, running a hand down his face suddenly feeling weary. "Honestly, I just had a rough day at work. I let a coworker get under my skin. I didn't mean to take it out on you, Lark. I'm sorry." She nibbled lightly on her lower lip, glancing at her door before turning back towards him, "You want to come in and talk about it? The kids are working on school work, which means it relatively quiet. Plus I have beer and caramel apples."

"And spaghetti." He reminded her, which she laughed at. "A massive amount of spaghetti," she amended with a wave of her hands.

Steve was about to agree when something stopped him, a dark, nasty feeling welled up and reminded him that this was no longer the era he knew; people, especially in the city, weren't this open anymore. Everyone was so guarded, like they were just waiting for someone to pop out and hurt them. The gentlemanly part of him balked at the thought of turning down her kind offer, but his suspicion made him ask, "Why are you being so kind? For all you know, I could be a deranged serial killer." He couldn't look at her as he spoke, instantly ashamed at his words. He was angry and bitter at the way his life had turned out; and, because of that, he had just allowed the guarded ideals of this time to become his own.

"Are you?" Lark asked her voice free of its usual lightness. Steve looked at her as she casually leaned against the hallway wall, "What?" She sighed, running a hand through her dark hair, "Look, Steve, I get it; I really do, you and I don't know each other what so ever. We're neighbors and that doesn't mean anything, it doesn't mean that we're friends or anything. But you and I can't become friends if one of us isn't willing to go out on a limb and make the first move."

Lark crossed her arms, "Maybe it's because I was raised in a super small town in Montana or something but I hate the idea of missing out on opportunities because I was so overly cautious about getting hurt. I don't want to live that way and I don't want to raise my kids that way. A little bit of caution is okay, but life is way too short to live playing the 'what if' game constantly. I want to be friends, Steve. Now, granted, it's a wee bit selfish on my part because the entire building hates us and I would like one person to actually be somewhat okay with us living here; however, I would really like to get to know you better. I'm not trying to get you to go out with me or anything, no hidden agendas, just good old fashioned friendship. So, I am asking you, are you a deranged serial killer? Because if that's the case, I'm not going to let you into the apartment. And, fair warning, if you say yes, I'm going to call the police."

This time when he laughed it was free of anything dark, no bitterness, no ager; and he had suddenly feeling like he had just dodged a life changing bullet. "No," he stated, shutting his door and crossing the distance between them, "I'm not a serial killer and I would love some spaghetti." She smiled up at him, opening her door with a flourished gesture but than a panicked look crossed her face and she stepped in front of him just as he was about to enter, "I want to remind you that I have three kids. It's not dirty just lived in and if you comment on the dishes in the sink I will throw you out, without dinner."

Steve promised that all his comments would be positive and she let him pass. He logically knew that the floor plan would be symmetrical to his own, her kitchen off the entryway to the right instead of to the left, a breakfast bar separating the kitchen from the large living room/dining room with a sliding glass door which opened to a small balcony which was only separated from his own by a low brick wall, finally a hallway with a bathroom leading to the two bedrooms; the apartment mirrored his own in every way.

But it was different, it felt so different. It seemed so much brighter, so warm, practically glowing. Farmed pictures and children's art work was expertly spaced along the walls while a row of low bookshelves ran beneath them, filled to the brink with books and neat baskets of toys. Three stools were tucked beneath the bar, a large table pressing against the opposite wall while a lone futon and several bean bags flanked the entertainment stand.

Steve knew that everything in his apartment was far more expensive but that meant nothing, he felt nothing for the items. His apartment wasn't a place of comfort, he returned there simply because he had nowhere else to go. But this, this was a home, a place already filled with warmth and laughter, happiness already filled its walls.

"It's not much," Lark said with a content smile, "But its home." She waved him towards the stools, moving around the kitchen to make him a plate. "How hungry are you?" Lark asked over her shoulder while he continued to look around. "Starving," He admitted and she smiled at him before adding another scoop onto his already heaping plate.

"Are you the photographer?" Steve asked, motioning towards the numerous pictures all around the apartment. Lark nodded, sliding the plate in front of him before handing him a set of silverware, "Yeah, it's a hobby. I usually have a camera on me and the kids have gotten pretty use to being my models. I've always loved the idea of being able to capture a moment in time, even if it's a moment of nothing special; even everyday life should be remembered. What would you like to drink? We've got milk, water, juice, and beer. Everything is organic; I hope that's not a problem. Well, everything but the beer, that's Sam Adams. And, again, just to warn you, everything but the beer is served in whatever plastic glass is currently not in the dishwasher. I'll try to find a cup without a princess or superhero on it but I make no promises."

Steve smiled, "Water is fine." He watched as she dug around the cupboard before letting out a defeated sigh, "Captain America okay?" She asked holding up the cup for his inspection, "He's a household favorite." He felt his cheeks heat up but he nodded anyways. Lark handed him the glass with an apologetic smile before turning around to clean up. He studied the cartoonish depiction of his helmeted face; shouldn't someone have asked him if it was okay to use his face? What was next? His own cereal?

He was making a mental note to thoroughly check the cereal aisle the next time he went to the supermarket when Lark turned back around several minutes later, drying her hands on a towel. "How's the food?" She inquired as she pulled a beer from the fridge and gracefully lifted herself onto the opposite counter; tucking a leg against her chest, her chin resting on her knee. "Fantastic," He answered honestly, "It better than anything I could have made."

Her smile was bright, her eyes shining, "I'm glad. I have a tendency to make way too much when I cook. All the girls at work get super excited when I bring in leftovers but I'll have to start giving you first dibs. Just don't tell anyone, it'll start a riot and I'll end up feeling really bad."

The conversation continued like that, easy and flowing. Steve found his bad mood disappearing, the stress and degradation of the day bleeding out of him with each passing moment. Lark was open and fun, vibrant, her quirky anecdotes and side comments had him laughing, eagerly listening.

Before he realized it he had finished his third helping of spaghetti and was about to tuck into the large caramel apple she had just slid in front of him. "Seriously, where did you put all of this?" Lark asked as she loaded his plate into the dishwasher, "If I ate like that I could be used in the Macy's Day Parade, it'd go Garfield the cat, Snoopy, and then me. I'm both envious and in awe. I swear, there are times when I look at a Pop-Tart and gain five pounds."

"I seriously doubt that," Steve replied with a laugh, "But if my mother taught me anything it was-"

"Lucan! Shut the door!"

"Jeez, Ronan, what'd you eat? Roadkill?"

"Shut up! Your poop stinks too, ya know!"

Lark blushed darkly, burying her face in her hands with a small groan. She gave him an apologetic look but Steve just laughed, quickly quieting when Lucan's voice rang through the apartment again.

"Nothing this smelly has ever come out my body. You need to go to a doctor or something. That's just not right."

"I'm going kill you!"

"Make sure you wash your hands first."

There were sounds of a scuffle before Lucan came flying into the kitchen, keeping the bar between him and his fuming twin. Lark hopped down from the counter as the boys continued to dash around the furniture. "La-la, Ronan was messing around with toxic gases again. Professor Morris says he can't do that without eye protection."

"I'll show you toxic gases!" Ronan snapped, diving around the bar, trying to grab ahold of his brother who took refuge behind Lark. "You're just mad because the robotics club chose my design over yours."

Lark sighed and bonked both the boys on top their heads, "Okay, that's enough before feelings start really getting hurt. Both your designs were awesome sauce and you both know it. More importantly, is homework and club work done?"

"Mine is," Lucan stated quickly but his brother cut him off, "No, it's not, Lu. We still have to record the flight data, remember? I was going to ask you to help me set up the simulator but-"

Lucan instantly interjected, looking slightly panicked as he draped an arm around Ronan's shoulders, "Stinky butt-bombs aside, you and I are partners, mon frère, and there's no way that I'm going to let you run our simulator without me."

"Away with you then," Lark said, shooing the boys towards the hallway, "If you guys hurry up we can play a game of Mario Party. But I get to be Boo." Ronan pouted up at her, "Why do you always get to be Boo, La-la?"

She grinned down at him, ruffling his black curls, "Because I'm a grown up. So, I get to be the ghost. Now, get your work done or there won't be any game." The boys grumbled but did as they were instructed. Lark turned back towards him with a smile, "I should have had you sign a confidentiality waver," She sat on the stool next to his, "I swear we're normal."

He just laughed again, "Believe me, I understand. I was their age once too. My friend, Bucky, and I were just like them, probably worse." Lark rested her chin on hand, looking intently at him, "You know, you're not exactly giving me hope that they'll grow out of it. Are the two of you still as close?"

Steve felt his throat close up. Decades may have had passed but, for him, it felt as if Bucky's death was only days ago. He felt his friend's lost keenly sometimes, brief moments of agonizing pain that came and went, memories brought to the surface by the most random of things. This world would be so much easier to navigate if he had Bucky here with him. He clasped his hands together tightly, his voice thick as he stated, "He died." There was a flash of real pain in Lark's eyes as her hand closed over his, her thumb brushing lightly over the back of one his hands, "I am so sorry, Steve."

"Believe me, there's nothing for you to be sorry about, Lark. He died a long time ago." He replied, leaning back slightly but not pulling away from her. Her hand tightened lightly, "That doesn't mean that you don't still miss him. Loss is a funny thing that way; time doesn't really make anything better it just makes it a little more bearable. I lost my mom when I was eighteen and there are days that I miss her so badly that it physically hurts. And then, there are days that I forget that she's not here. I'll find myself reaching for the phone to call her about something and then I remember that she's not going to answer. A song on the radio will make me think of her, the smell of jasmine, silly little things that make me miss her. I get to say that I'm sorry because I know that you're hurting because at this moment, you're missing him. So, you just shush and let me be all sweet and caring because let me tell you, Mr. Rogers, I'm not actually a nice person so these moments are few and far between."

Steve chuckled, "You're not a nice person?" Her eyes glittered up at him as she fought back a smile, "Nope. I'm a straight up villain, Loki has nothing on me. I'm sure that SHIELD has a file on me and everything." She leaned in close, "This one time, I crossed the street without looking both ways. I've even taken those little bars of soap from hotel rooms before. Straight. Up. Villain."

A booming laugh exploded from Steve before he could catch himself, "You're pure evil, Lark." She just smiled at him, gathering the last of his dishes. He stood and made his way around the bar; taking the plate from her hands, "Let me finish up the dishes. It's the least I can do after such a wonderful meal."

Lark flashed him another smile before lifting herself up onto the bar, "I know I'm supposed to object to this but there is no way I'm turning down free labor. You can just load them in the dishwasher. The joys of modern technology."

"Can I ask where the kids go to school?" Steve asked as he rinsed off his plate. "North Crest Prep." Lark offered, "It's a high end alternative school in Manhattan." He glanced over his shoulder, "I've heard about it. Tony Stark gives lectures there sometimes."

She nodded, "You either have to be very rich to get in or very smart. Luckily, the kids take after me and were able to test in and double luckily we were able to get scholarships. It's actually a pretty neat little school; I would have chewed off my own arm to have been able to go there. All the classes are geared towards the students and they test into certain classes. The students continue at North Crest until they're eighteen and usually have some kind of college degree by the time they leave. The boys are already taking college level math and science classes while little Clara is reading at a senior level. They take normal classes for the first part of the day than after lunch they have specialized classes like robotics, fencing, or architecture. Then there are clubs that the kids can join. The boys are in the advance robotics club and the physics club while Clara is in classic ballet and the architecture club. Lucan takes fencing classes and Ronan is big into archery. It's basically the coolest school ever."

Steve wiped his hands on a towel, turning to face her, "I have to say, I'm impressed. How old are they?" She hopped down from the bar, dumping some soap into the dishwasher before starting it, "Clara is six and the twins are nine."

He paused; studying her as she finished up the little cleaning there was left, running numbers in his head. Unless Lark was far older than she appeared or she got pregnant extremely young, there was no way she could have children that old. "They're not mine." Lark stated as she wrung out the washcloth, glancing at him.

Steve blushed darkly, "Wha-"

"You were doing the math," Lark interrupted, waving away his embarrassed fluster, "Don't worry, everyone does. I really don't care, it doesn't bother me. The kids aren't mine, well, I mean, they are mine but I didn't actually give birth to them. They're my siblings. I got full legal custody of them when I was nineteen."

"Lark," He started, "I'm so sorry if I offended you. I feel like a complete and utter putz." Lark just laughed, patting his shoulder as she moved towards the living room, grabbing a thin, white remote and another to turn on the flat screen, "Really, it doesn't bother me. I can tell you the story if you really want but it'll have to wait."

"Why?" Steve asked as he joined her in the living room. She smiled up at him, slapping another white remote into his hand, "Because Mr. Super-Secret SHIELD Man, I am kidnapping you for the rest of your evening and making you play Mario Party with us."

A few hours later Steve was sitting in one of the plastic chairs on Lark's balcony; waiting for her as she finished putting the kids to bed. Despite his humiliating defeat at the game, he had enjoyed himself immensely. The boys had teased him good naturedly while Clara sweetly tried to help as Lark just giggled at his fumbling. After the game had finished, warm mugs of hot chocolate were passed around and he watched as Lark and the kids snuggled up on the futon for a chapter from the Hobbit before teeth were brushed and kids were tucked in.

It wasn't the most eventful or even glamorous night he had since his return but it certainly was the most enjoyable. Lark and her kids were open, warm, and welcoming; treating him as if they had known him their whole lives. It had been a simple kind of chaos, full of laughter and happiness. And Steve had soaked it up, basked in it, he felt himself relaxing for the first time in months. The dark, bitter emptiness that was ever encroaching, ever consuming him, simply vanished. For the first time since the Crash, Steve felt whole.

The sliding door opened and Lark handed him a beer before flopping into the chair next to him, propping her feet against the brick wall across from her with a sigh, "I probably should have asked you this earlier but we didn't keep you from anything important tonight, did we?"

"The only thing you kept me from was a night at the gym and a date with my television." Steve answered honestly, taking a drink from his beer, "I'm pretty sure I can miss a workout and I'm certain there was nothing worth watching anyways."

Lark studied him for a moment, her eyes traveling him up and down before smiling, "I don't know about that, Mr. Rogers, you're looking a little on the flabby side. Maybe you shouldn't have skipping the gym after all."

He flexed an arm, the thick muscles pulling tightly under his simple white shirt, "Yeah, I think you may be right." She smacked the tensed arm with a laugh causing Steve to smile, "But, in all honestly, you keep feeding me like you did tonight and I might actually start having a problem."

"Oh, sure, because I totally held you down and forced that third helping of spaghetti down your throat, and the two caramel apples that followed. It's not my fault you have four stomachs like a cow." Lark teased, those shockingly blue eyes of hers glittering up at him.

A comfortable silence enfolded them as they stared out at the shimmering city. After a few moments Steve asked, "Can I ask you about the kids?" Lark nodded, taking another sip of beer, "Only if you tell me how it's possible for you to suck so much at video games."

"I never played them growing up," Steve said with a shrug, "I was pretty sick and scrawny as a kid. When I wasn't stuck inside because of some illness I was outside playing with Bucky. Besides, it was just my mom and I until she died, we didn't have the money for something like that."

Lark glanced at him, "How old were you when she died?" Steve shifted slightly, "Not much older than you when you lost yours. My dad had died not long after I was born, so it was just her and I for so long. After I lost her the only person I had left was Bucky but then-" He trailed off, his chest tightening up. He had lost so many people over the long years of his life. First his mom, then Bucky; after waking up from the crash one of the first things he checked on was how many of the Commandos were still alive. Devastatingly only Peggy was left, and tragically, she wasn't long for this world.

Her hand closed over his again, a soft gentle weight that brought him out of the bleak thoughts in his head, centering him again in the present; reminding him that, at this moment, he wasn't alone. "Please, don't look so sad," Lark implored softly. Steve hesitated for a brief moment before slowly turning his hand, enlacing their fingers, his thumb skimming gently along her hand. It was a bold move for him but he needed that anchor to hold him here, plus, she didn't seem to mind.

"My story is a little on the long side, you up for that?" Lark asked. She continued when he nodded, "Genius is in my blood. Don't smile at me like that, I'm totally serious. My grandfather was part of the Strategic Scientific Reserve back during World War Two. He helped Howard Stark and Peggy Carter start up SHIELD before retiring. He was even assisted Doctor Erskine and was there when Captain America received the serum. My dad followed in his footsteps, he was an amazing scientist. He and my mom met in some lab and fell in love, or so I'm told. I was also told that I was not planned on. I was the surprise that forced them into a quick court house marriage, but, my parents were happy. Growing up, I spent more time at with my grandparents than my actual parents. It wasn't until I was thirteen and the twins were born that my mom quit her job and decided to stay home with us kids. I never really saw my dad; he just popped in occasionally than disappeared back to whatever lab he was working in at the time.

"A year later I graduated, filed for emancipation, and entered med school. A few years after that right before I graduated from med school, mom had Clara. And then, not long after, she got sick. I moved out of my apartment and back home to help her out when I could, my grandparents stepping in when I couldn't. But my mom just couldn't shake it and she died a few months after my eighteenth birthday. My dad, well, he kind of checked out. He was still gone most of the time, buried in his work; when he was home he wasn't really there. My grandparents were raising the kids and I just couldn't take it anymore. I quit year into my residency and filed for custody of the kids. My dad was all too happy to sign over his parental rights to me and once everything was legal and finished, I took a nursing position here in New York. The twins got into North Crest right away and luckily enough the school had a daycare with an opening for Clara.

"The hospital offered to let me finish my residency through them but I just couldn't. Being a doctor would mean being away from home way more than I am now, I couldn't do it. Don't get me wrong, I've dreamt of being a doctor since I was Clara's age but things are different now. My kids need me more than I need to be a doctor. They're way more important than anything else." She leaned back, taking a long drink from her beer, "So, that's it, that's the whole story."

Steve gave her hand a gentle squeeze, "Do you still talk to your dad?" Lark shrugged lightly, "I call him occasionally, send him school pictures and stuff but he's really not involved. I'm close with my grandparents though. But they're getting up there in years, they're both in their nineties now, not that you'd really be able to tell by looking at them though. I take the kids out to Montana every summer for about a week sometime in July."

"You're an amazing person, Lark." He offered sincerely. She laughed lightly, bumping her shoulder against his, "Not really, I'm a villain, remember? Actually, I'm the worse kind of villain because I'm raising three evil geniuses. We're like a super villainous family."

Steve laughed, shaking his head at her silliness, "You do realize I'm going to have to report your nefarious claims to my boss tomorrow?" Lark seemed to ponder that for a moment, before nodding to herself, "Yep, I'm going to have to bribe you."

"Cookies?" He prompted hopefully.

"Cookies."

"How easily my silence can be bought." Steve said as he stood, he used their still clasped hands to tug her onto her feet. They gathered their empty bottles and walked hand in hand into the apartment. Steve regretfully let her go so she could throw the bottles away as he walked towards the door. "I can't thank you enough for tonight, Lark." He stated as he stepped out into the hallway.

She smiled up at him, "Think nothing of it. We loved having you. In fact, while I was tucking Clara in she made me promise to invite you to family day on Sunday. We're going to the zoo this time. And the boys wanted to stomp you at another round of Mario Party. You, Mr. Rogers, are now officially part of our family. Which means you are welcome here anytime you want."

"You may come to regret that offer," Steve teased. Lark smiled before going up on her tip toes to press a lingering kiss against his cheek, "Not a chance. I'll see you tomorrow, Steve."

He waited until he heard her turn the lock before making his way back to his apartment. Steve quickly showered, pulling on a pair of flannel pants and crawled into bed. He thought about his usual nightly workout routine, about the physical torment he put himself through so he was mentally numb enough to sleep. The wild, chaotic, driving need he normally felt wasn't itching under his skin. Instead all he felt was comfortable peace. Steve let out a sigh, leaning back against his pillows, his eyes closed as he quickly fell asleep.