I spent the day resting, catching up on the sleep I had been deprived of on the Bus, and was awoken later that afternoon by my brother, who was on his way downtown. I jolted awake, almost punching Steve in the nose as he shook me gently, trying to wake me up. I relaxed when I saw it was him, falling back into the pillows.

"Steve," I breathed, holding a hand to my chest. "Don't do that."

"Sorry," he smiled sheepishly. "But there's someone I want you to meet."

"Who?" I asked, puzzled. I sat up, stretching, and Steve took a step back.

"A friend of mine," he clarified slightly. "First, though, Natasha sent you this." He held out a piece of paper to me, and I took it, scanning the Russian quickly. She wanted me to dye my hair, worried that someone might recognize me. She may not have known that Shield—Hydra—was after me, but she knew that someone was, and she was trying to hide me. She had included a bottle of dye, which Steve helped apply to my hair. It took almost an hour to do, since we had no idea what we were doing, and in the end, my hair was a mess of tangled brown curls. Steve ruffled my hair as we walked out the door, grinning.

"You know," he began, smiling. "This is what you looked like when Bruce found you."

I blinked. I hadn't realized that. Back then, I used to dye my hair whenever I left to go to town, trying to keep people off my tail. At the time, I didn't even know who was on my tail. When I left to go save Tony, I hadn't bothered dyeing it, so it looked messy and outgrown, but dark. I had fixed it as soon as I realized my brother was alive, trying to jog his memory… looks like we had come full circle. Now I was dyeing it to hide from Hydra. Again.

I just nodded, offering him a smile as we walked out the front of the building, just barely catching how his mouth as turned down at the corners as he stared at the ground, deep in thought, before he looked back at me and smiled.

I rode on the back of his motorcycle downtown, clinging to him as he wove through traffic. He listened when I yelled at him to slow down—I wasn't great at riding on fast-moving metal machines—and we made it to the VA without major incident.

A pretty young woman with dark skin and tight ringlet curls was sitting at the front desk, speaking on the phone. She smiled at the pair of us, holding up a finger to motion for us to wait as she spoke. "Yes, sir—No, sir—Yes, Mr. Wilson is available on Wednesdays from eleven to—No, sir, he does not make house calls—Yes, I understand, but—"

"So how'd your meeting go?" I asked Steve as I waited, crossing my arms over my chest as I leaned against the counter. My ribs were still tender, but mostly healed, and I could breathe without too much issue now. By tomorrow morning I should be right as rain. One good thing about the Angel was that she hated being hurt, and she sped up my healing a lot.

Steve's expression tightened, and he clenched his fists, shaking his head. "Shield is building a trio of Helicarriers that will 'guard the planet,'" he told me bitterly, lowering his voice and missing how the color drained from my face. "'Neutralize a lot of threats before they even happen,'" he growled in a good imitation of the director's voice. "They're equipped with guns that can take out a thousand people a minute, and they can stay in the air indefinitely…" Steve trailed off, frowning at me. I had frozen, and my horror must have shown on my face, because my brother stiffened and looked around. "What's wrong?"

So much. So much was wrong. Hydra was almost ready.

"Thank you so much for waiting," the young woman had hung up the phone and was now smiling brightly at the two of us, giving us—Steve—her undivided attention. I swallowed and schooled my features back into what I hoped was a neutral expression as she spoke. "What can I do for you?"

"Yes, ma'am, we're here to see Sam Wilson," my brother smiled back kindly, and the woman beamed. I couldn't help but wonder how oblivious my brother was to the attention he received, or whether he still thought about Peggy. Or was there someone else he was interested in?

"Just down the hall, take a right, and it's the third door on the left," she instructed. The phone started ringing again, and her lips pursed slightly as she sent an annoyed look in its direction. "Sam's in the middle of a session, but he should be done in the next twenty minutes."

Steve thanked her and led me down the hall. Most of the doors were closed, but a few were open, revealing empty rooms. Mr. Wilson's room was the only full one at the moment, as far as I could tell, and it was right where the secretary had indicated. I peered inside to see a young man standing at the front of the room, listening to a woman in his audience talk.

The woman was probably in her mid thirties, and she had her arms crossed in front of her. I could see a few lines of scar tissue running down the length of her arm. "The thing is… I think it's getting worse. A cop pulled me over last week, he thought I was drunk." She laughed humorlessly. "I swerved to miss a plastic bag." Her voice grew quieter. "I thought it was an IED."

Mr. Wilson nodded in understanding, and I glanced over at my brother, who was watching the man speak with rapt intensity. I sometimes felt that Steve needed to be in these meetings—he had a lot he needed to get off his chest. "Some stuff you leave there, other stuff you bring back. It's our job to figure out how to carry it. Is it gonna be in a big suitcase?… or in a little man-purse?" He smiled and shrugged. "It's up to you."

I looked down at my feet. Maybe I needed to sit in on some of these meetings too. Steve stepped to one side as the veterans began filing out of the room, letting them talk quietly amongst themselves without interrupting. Finally Sam Wilson exited, speaking to the woman who had spoken.

"I'll see you next week," she told him, offering him a weary sort of smile.

He smiled at her. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." She left, heading towards the double doors at the end of the hallway.

Mr. Wilson glanced up at my brother and grinned as he organized several stacks of books. "Look who it is. The running man."

I lifted an eyebrow and glanced at my brother, who shrugged sheepishly. So there was some story there, then. I couldn't wait to hear it. Steve gestured to me, catching Mr. Wilson's attention. "Sam, this is my sister, Katherine."

Sam arched an eyebrow, looking pleasantly surprised. At first I didn't see what the big deal was, but then realized that Sam likely knew who exactly my brother was, which meant he knew how old he was as well. Most hundred-year-old men didn't have teenage siblings. "Your sister?" he asked as he shook my hand. "Does immortality run in the family?"

I laughed softly, liking him already. "Something like that," I shrugged good-naturedly. "It's Katie, actually. Nice to meet you, Sam."

"Pleasure's all mine," Sam reassured me, squeezing my hand before letting it go.

"Caught the last few minutes," my brother stated casually, tucking his hands into his pockets and trying not to look like he was in desperate need of therapy. Sam glanced over at him as he finished straightening his books. "It's pretty intense."

The other man nodded, smiling, and picked up a stack of them before thinking better of it and setting them back on the table. "Yeah, brother, we all got the same problems. Guilt, regret."

I caught the note of pain in the man's voice, and my lips parted in a small 'o' as understanding struck. Steve must have been on the same wavelength, because his expression changed, sorrow flickering across his face for a moment before he could hide it. "You lose someone?"

Sam nodded, crossing his arms across his chest. The humor had gone from his face, replaced by resignation. His voice was heavy with grief and bitterness, and the lines around his eyes and mouth tightened. "My wingman, Riley. Flying a night mission. A standard PJ rescue op, nothing we hadn't done a thousand times before, till an RPG knock Riley's dumb ass out of the sky." He looked down, reliving the memory, took a deep breath, and then looked away from the pair of us. "Nothing I could do. It's like I was up there just to watch."

"Hang on!"

"Get her!"

"Grab my hand!"

"No!"

"James!"

I shuddered, tucking my hands into the pocket of my sweatshirt. I didn't want to think about that, not now. Not here. I'd drive myself crazy if I thought about it for too long.

A glance in my brother's direction showed me that he was thinking about the same thing I was. I could see his jaw tighten as he fought back all the emotions washing over him, and I felt a jolt of panic when I realized that he didn't know that James was still alive. "I'm sorry."

Sam nodded, glancing back at the ground. "After that, I had really hard time finding a reason for being over there, you know?"

Steve nodded in agreement, understanding completely. I knew very well that the only reason Steve had stuck around was to try and completely destroy Hydra after James's death… I winced against when I realized that Hydra's reappearance meant that Steve had sacrificed himself for nothing. "But you're happy now, back in the world?"

The veteran chuckled, and the shadow that had hovered over him vanished. "Hey, the number of people giving me orders is down to about… zero? So, hell, yeah." He glanced between the two of us. "You thinking about getting out?"

"No." Steve paused and shrugged, grinning sheepishly. I knew him well enough to see the pain and confusion he was hiding beneath his mask, and it broke my heart. "I don't know. To be honest, I don't know what I would do with myself if I did."

"Ultimate fighting?"

Steve laughed, and I snorted, covering it up with a coughing fit. The tension that had filled the air dissipated. Sam laughed jovially, flashing a bright grin.

"Just a great idea off the top of my head. But seriously, you could do whatever you want to do." He paused. "What makes you happy?"

Steve's brow furrowed as he looked at the ground, a funny little smile on his face. He looked up, shrugging, deep in thought. "I don't know."

"Well, when you figure it out, let me know," Sam offered, holding out a hand for Steve to take, which he did. Sam then shook my hand. "It's nice to meet you, Katie. Go race your brother sometime," he added. "Let me know if you can beat him." I nodded, somewhat confused, and Sam gave me a crooked smile. "See you around," he waved and headed off, probably heading home to rest.

"What did you do?" I asked Steve as we headed back outside.

The sun was getting lower in the sky as we walked, and the streets were quickly becoming congested with traffic. Steve shrugged as he climbed onto the back of his motorcycle, foregoing his helmet. Well, he didn't actually own one, so he wasn't actually foregoing anything, it just meant that I didn't have one either.

"I beat him in a race," he stated simply as I climbed on behind him.

"A race?" I repeated. "Did he know you were racing?"

"After the third lap, he did."

"Steve!"

"What?" Steve laughed, ducking as I play-hit his arm. "I didn't mean any harm by it. By the way, there's something I've been meaning to show you. Hold on."

He gave me about three seconds before he gunned the engine, shooting forward. I clung to the back of his leather jacked tightly, pressing my cheek against his back and closing my eyes tightly.

"I don't like this… I really don't like this," I muttered, wincing as Steve slowed down abruptly before speeding on again. I felt him laugh, and I wrapped my arms around him, clutching my left wrist with my right hand.

After an eternity, we slowed to a stop. I opened my eyes. The sun was setting, and the sky was on fire. Steve had parked in front of an old-timer diner. the lights were on inside, blazing merrily, and a few people were seated at booths or perched on stools at the bar, drinking malts or watching the baseball game showing on TV.

Steve led the way, and the elderly woman behind the counter smiled kindly. "Grant, how nice to see you!" She bustled over to the counter, holding a notepad in her hand. "And who's this?"

"Maggie, this is my sister. Sarah, this is Maggie." Steve introduced me by my middle name, and I noticed that he used his middle name as well. I supposed that it was just as well—most people thought that Steve Rogers had died in 1945. They weren't expecting him to be haunting the streets of DC in the 2000s, much less by a different name. They wouldn't think anything of a Grant and Sarah Rogers stopping by for dinner.

"Pleasure to meet you," I smiled and shook her hand, and she beamed at me.

"So polite," she gushed. "Just like your brother; such a gentleman!"

I smiled and nodded in agreement before searching for a booth. Neither of us felt comfortable with our backs to the entrance, and neither would concede the seat, and so we picked a booth near the back where we could both watch the door. I ordered a burger, fries, and a shake, and Steve ordered the same.

"I found this place a few weeks ago," Steve explained. "I come here when I can. It feels… normal."

I nodded in agreement. "I understand." I waited for a few minutes before speaking, listening to the jukebox in the corner. "Steve," I said suddenly, tugging at the edge of my jacket nervously. "There's something I need to tell you. It's about—" I took a shuddering breath. "It's about James."

Steve's expression fell, and he nodded his head sadly. "I thought you might," he murmured. "Considering what day it is." Seeing my puzzled look, he shrugged, looking over my shoulder at the calendar. I glanced back, my heart sinking when I saw the date. March tenth. It was his birthday.

"Oh," I breathed, looking down and staring at my folded hands as tears stung at my eyes. There wasn't anything more I could say.

"I thought maybe you'd forgotten…" he stared morosely at his water, tracing the condensation droplets with the tip of his thumb. "I'm sorry I brought it up."

"No." I shook my head, taking a deep breath. I'm going to save him. He's not spending another birthday in that hell, not so long as I have anything to say about it. "It's not your fault." Should I tell him about James? Steve seemed devastated by the reminder of his best friend's birthday—and death—so wouldn't it be better if I revealed that he was alive?

Or would it make it worse, knowing that James had been alive all these years, knowing that he hadn't looked for him, that he had left James to suffer at the hands of Hydra? Speaking of which…

"Steve, I have to tell you something—"

"Here you are, dears," Maggie beamed, setting our plates of steaming fried goodness down in front of us. She set our malts down as well, sticking striped straws into both. "Enjoy."

"Thank you." Steve smiled warmly at the woman, who grinned, patted his shoulder, and bustled away. He blessed the food quickly and dug in, noticing quickly that I hadn't touched my food. "What's wrong?"

I stared down into my lap. "Steve, I don't…" my voice hitched, and I looked away. How could I tell him that he died for nothing? That what he had fought for his whole life—freedom, justice—and what he was fighting for now was a farce, that SHIELD was in reality Hydra, that he was serving the people he'd died to stop?

He reached across the table and squeezed my hand. "Hey." I didn't look up. "Hey," he said, more forcefully this time. A tear welled up in the corner of my eye, and when I blinked, I watched it fall and land on the corner of my plate, soaking into the pointed end of a fry. "He wouldn't want you to cry."

Steve was right, he wouldn't. I hadn't ever found the letter James had written to me the week before he fell from the train, but I knew it had something to do with the horrible feeling we'd both had, the feeling we'd both ignored.

The feeling was back.

I lifted my head and looked around the cafe warily, suddenly on high alert. A couple policemen had just entered the building.

"I'm not feeling great, Steve," I murmured, shaking my head. "I'm sorry, I know you wanted to have dinner, but—"

"Hey, no, it's fine." Steve wiped his hands and stood, offering me a hand up from my seat. He paid for the meal, tipping generously, and a few minutes later we were on the back of the motorcycle again, speeding towards his apartment. I didn't see any policemen on the ride home.