Things fell back into some semblance of normality once more for Steve. His routine started a bit earlier, after a fitful night of little sleep. A long morning run probably wasn't the greatest plan with only a couple hours sleep under his belt, but by five in the morning he was restless and Tony had JARVIS monitoring the gyms specifically to inform the inventor whenever Steve went in there. Yes, he tended to forget to periodically look at the clock. Yes, he sometimes forgot to eat if he was focusing too much on hitting things. Yes, he'd spent seven full hours straight in there alternating between sending punching bags flying and chucking his shield at targets. Only the one time.

"If you get to mother me about spending too much time in my workshop, I can do the same with you and the gym." Except Tony had ways to completely lock Steve out of the gym if he so wished. The most Steve could ever do was persuade JARVIS that Tony's health was at risk and ask him to unlock the door so that he could physically drag Tony out to food and a bed. Luckily for Steve, Bruce and Pepper also fussed over Tony holing up in his lair and pulled him out easily enough.

He went to the coffee shop at his usual time, waited for Mel to arrive, and then the two would have their breakfast – or second breakfast as was sometimes Steve's case. Some days Steve went to work with Mel, not necessarily being helpful, but Mel always found something for him to do. Daniels didn't mind his presence, happy to let Captain America trail after Mel around the studio like a puppy (the owner's words, not Steve's).

Clients assumed he was an assistant and no one argued it. Most times he followed Mel to work, it was after he'd spent an hour in terror stricken sleep and the rest of the night stalking around his room failing to distract himself. One night he'd called Mel and talked with her until he drifted off to sleep again, and although it had helped ease his mind, he woke up feeling immensely guilty for keeping her up on a work night. The next day over coffee and bagels, Mel said she'd been up anyway after a long call with one of uncles, which made him slightly less guilty since he hadn't woken her, but still he had taken up four hours of intended sleep time. Steve bought her a second coffee as an apology.

There was no significant news of Bucky – the Winter Soldier he reminded himself – a number of possible sightings, but all leads ended up as dead ends. January bled into February, and SHIELD sent him out often with Natasha to investigate, mostly to get them out of their hair for a day or two; however, with each unsuccessful trip they became increasingly agitated. Natasha was pulled off training the newly recruited agents due to a mishap with a knife and a loudmouthed trainee, which Steve thought was Natasha's intent as now she could take more time pouring over gathered data on the Winter Soldier.

While most were making sure to steer clear of the Black Widow (and those who weren't received glares cold enough to freeze the Human Torch), Steve was among the few who Natasha was at least civil with. The change in her was hardly noticeable, but when he offered to take her to the park a week previous, she finally seemed to relax for the first time since the whole thing started. The trust between them had grown, and while sometimes her behavior startled him, he was learning that that was just Natasha.

"So this is where you go for breakfast," a voice said from behind him. He stood, chair sliding back as he recognized the voice, and greeted his redheaded companion.

"Morning, Nat." Like this they could easily be two regular civilians. He opened his mouth to ask a question but she cut him off before he could make a sound.

"Yes, I followed you here. No, Tony didn't put me up to this. Yes, we're all curious as to where you disappear to every morning."

"Okay then," he replied once he found his tongue. "Want some muffins?" he gestured to the seat that was normally Mel's and they sat down.

"This seems like an excessive amount of muffins," Natasha noted with a raised eyebrow.

"I usually share with someone, but she couldn't make it this morning." Mel had a small wedding to shoot plus a reception, so she'd gone early to scout out the area.

"Girlfriend?"

"No, close friend."

They ate in silence, and Steve found that this silence was not tense, but not quite relaxed. He could practically see the gears turning in the spy's head, observing him as he sat there and drawing careful conclusions.

"She's important to you."

"Very," he replied before consciously thinking it.

No more was said on it and Natasha knew everything she needed.

. . .

The days went by with little to differentiate them from one another. Coffee, work (either in-studio or on-location), go home, edit, sleep, repeat. She had done some interesting shoots and was fairly busy with editing the inflow of photographs. On top of it all she'd seemed to have gained an assistant with how often Steve came to Tintype with her. She didn't mind, knowing that time was passing by monotonously and achingly slow for Steve. He went to SHIELD regularly, sometimes heading out on a mission, but mostly to review old information that had already passed through the hands of multiple analysts.

Now and again but with increasing frequency he would stay the night at her apartment, sitting quietly in the living room during the early hours of the morning with his sketchbook under the soft light of her lamp. By the time the first rays of sun would peak through the curtains, his form slumped lax in sleep and a blanket was placed gently over him, overtiredness and tension were apparent on his face. She'd wake him then and they would make breakfast. Steve avoided sleep like the plague, but with the stress put on his mind and often on his body as well, he eventually succumbed to exhaustion and allowed himself a few brief hours of rest.

His smiles were more subdued and it seemed like a sheet had been placed over him, hiding him away from the world all around and only showing his general outline. Mel worried of course, but knew Steve didn't take well to coddling. He'd come to know her apartment and she was glad to find that he felt comfortable enough to get things on his own; the futon, the quilt, a towel for a shower, and he knew her kitchen back to front as well as she did. Some days she was a little lost upon finding him listening to her iPod on her bed after work, or his sleeping form on the floor in the morning. A call to her dad with the most general description of her situation that didn't give away the fact that Steve was Captain America and that he was from 1945 helped her quite a bit, and reassured her that she wasn't being a bad friend to Steve.

"Steve's going through some bad stuff, ma belle, and if he has a friend like you to help him along, it makes everything easier. Just be there."

Her father's confidence in her was a comfort, but it did nothing to keep her from worrying.

. . .

A gentle voice roused him from sleep, the sound faint and muffled through a wall of morning haziness. A moment passed when he couldn't tell where he was. Couldn't tell why he was sleeping on the floor with an unknown blanket over him or why–

Oh. He was at Mel's again.

Which meant that again Mel had seen through the mask he'd carefully kept in place in front of everyone. And had extended a hand, and again he had taken it. He was glad for that hand that so often reached out to him, pulled him from whatever place he'd wandered to and brought him… He wasn't always sure how to describe where was pulled to. Warmth and belonging, peace and safety were how best he could describe it.

She was a safety line and a comfort blanket, but so much more than that.

"Rame, rame, rame donc

Le tour du monde nous ferons. »

He heard the words more clearly as he made his way toward the kitchen; their meaning lost to him but nevertheless the familiar voice a welcome one. Even from his position in the doorway, her singing was more of a whisper, a lullaby sung to soothe a colicky babe. She sounded like his mother.

"On est parti tôt ce matin

Le vent du large caressait nos mains

Plus de soucis loin des rivages

Il n'y a que rêves et lendemains."

Thinking about it, the occurrence was rather odd. That Mel would choose to fill the silence with her own voice rather than music of an iPod or the chatter of a radio. Time and again she joked about her less than fantastic song voice. Listening to it now, Steve found that Mel had been exaggerating. Sure, she was no Vera Lynn, but her voice and tone suited her song fine. If it sounded a little off or a couple notes shaky and cracked, well, that was neither here nor there. She glided from counter to stove, stirring whatever was in the pan and then swinging back to the ingredients spread out over the wooden surface.

"Rame, rame, rame donc

Le tour du monde, le tour du–"

Turning, probably to look at the clock near where he stood, Mel froze as her sight fell on him, her eyes like saucers and cheeks steadily turning as red as her hat.

"Morning…"

"What are you making?" He decided that ignoring her embarrassment would make her mortification go away. He made a mental note to ask her what the song meant, but that would wait until later.

"Eggs and toast… How long were you standing there?"

"Not long. Do you have any strawberry jam left?"

"Yeah, cupboard over the toaster."

"Not the fridge?"

"It's a new jar, not open yet, so it's good on the shelf. But put it in the fridge when you're done."

Like so many of their mornings had developed, neither spoke much as they went about breakfast and the ensuing cleanup. Mel, of her quiet nature, told him enough through movements of her visage that her mind wasn't quite in the room. Steve didn't bring it up though, letting her think through whatever she needed for now. She thought a lot lately; pensive and not always there. Steve had a good idea what was on her mind.

"Are you okay?"

He blinked, eyes shifting from his plate to Mel. Her mouth tipped into a frown, eyes looked on him gently. Why hadn't he noticed the shadows under her eyes, or the welling concern under her not very carefully placed expression? He tried smiling to reassure her. "For the most part. A little worn out I suppose."

She nodded, and he could tell she wasn't entirely convinced. "And what about you?"

"Me?" Her surprise was genuine. "Yeah. Jack's keeping me busy and the work's interesting, so that's nice."

Steve nodded, but he wasn't satisfied with the almost absentminded response. Before he could prod further, Mel spoke up once more.

"Newest assignment from Jack is as the photographer for this private school's ski trip. It's essentially four days of hanging around teenagers and trying to snap photos of them and teenagers often don't like having random people taking photos of them." The short woman fiddled with the wooden spoon in the pot, and Steve understood her request without a single utterance from her.

"I could come keep you company, if you'd like," he paused before adding, "And if Jack's okay with it. And the school too."

"I'd love that," Mel said with a smile, and Steve felt his own lips curving upward.

Perhaps this would help him clear his head a bit. Steve was very conscious of being bogged down by thoughts of Bucky and the Winter Soldier, unable to keep it out of his mind nor for very long. He knew Mel was worrying about him, and Steve hadn't been the best at easing those worries. He could recognize the times he'd started to draw into himself or keep his brooding quiet, but he seemed to have trouble confronting these matters and changing them.

Steve hoped that away from the city, he would gain the headspace to properly sort through the jumble of thoughts and feelings that were crammed into his skull.

He hoped to get Mel back into her usual spirits as well. She was feeling down, and Steve couldn't help but feel responsible. He'd been coming to her for help, and in exchange he'd only brought her down into his current murk.

"You think too much," Mel said, before dragging him over by the sleeve to tend the stove.

For the rest of the morning Steve did his best to focus on the food and the soft humming of his small friend.

A/N: I'm out of practice. It's 2AM. I have class later. Sleepy time, yes. Excuse all errors in above text.