Captain America: Sentinel of Liberty
Chapter Eight: Spies and Saboteurs
"Wanda." Cap said with perfect understanding.
"How could you do it? How could you betray me!" The Vision said, his monotone devoid of emotion yet loud enough to be considered a shout.
The synthetic man lashed out with one arm, overturning the round assembly table and causing it to roll away until it struck a nearby wall. The table could not have weighed less than a ton, and Cap was fairly sure that it had been bolted to the floor. It was the barest indication of the might that the Vision was capable of. The cracks forming under his feet showed that he was near his maximum density, and that one punch from him would pack a wallop equivalent to what the Thing or Wonder Man was capable of. Cap did not want it to escalate that far.
"Nothing happened between us…" Steve protested.
"I saw it all. I know exactly what did and did not happen." The Vision said in what seemed to be a reasonable tone, but his furious face showed a different story.
"You were spying on her." Cap said without any tone of accusation.
"She is my wife. I simply came to see how she was doing that particular evening, and she was with you."
"She… isn't your wife anymore." Steve forced himself to say.
"Does that make what you did right? Does the fact that I was forcibly reprogrammed and forced to repeat my emotional development mean that all that was between us never happened? Does that absolve you, who I trusted above all humans?"
"Vision… we didn't…"
"I know that by human standards it is easy to say that nothing happened between the two of you. You did not actually exchange bodily fluids. However, lacking fluids of that sort I have been forced to adopt different standards of intimacy. By those standards, you were intimate with Wanda that night. You shared secrets and held one another close. You kissed my wife and shared your innermost feelings. You slept with my wife. Do you deny this?"
Silence reigned as Steve's clear blue eyes met the Vision's cold black orbs.
"No." Steve said as he removed his mask.
The silence was deafening, as if neither of them knew what to say. The Vision's fury seemed to have waned in the face of the Captain's unflinching honesty, and Steve's righteous indignation at the allegations had fled with his realization of the Vision's perspective.
"You are… one of my oldest friends." The Vision finally said, so much more quietly "I have known you, quite literally, all of my life."
"I'm so sorry Vision. I have to apologize for that night. Wanda and I… we had kept our feelings from one another for so long that we did not deal with them… I don't want… damn…" Steve finally gave up. He had given speeches that inspired men in combat and made those in power tremble. He had lectured the empress of the Shi arr empire and addressed a joint session of congress. Right now, at this moment, he could not think of any words to assuage the sense of betrayal that the Vision had every right to feel.
"It is I that should be sorry." The Vision said, looking at the destruction that he had wrought "I planned this… confrontation with the intention of resolving it with violence. Now that I am face to face with you… I cannot bring myself to do that."
"You shouldn't be ashamed. It is normal to feel anger and rage in a situation… like this. It is very human."
"I am not human." The Vision insisted. "I tried to approach this logically, but my emotions overwhelmed my reason. It is inexcusable."
"Have you talked to her about this?" Steve asked.
"No."
"I know that it can't be easy, but if you don't… well… let me just say that I know a little about what happens when you keep your feelings locked up inside."
They both looked at the ruin of the meeting table, knowing that a few poorly chosen words could have resulted in so much more destruction.
"We didn't make love, Vision." Cap reiterated, hoping that the Vision could find some solace in that "We aren't in love. We just have… natural feelings for each other and I am embarrassed by what happened. I think that she is too, but I am just as guilty as you in that I have not talked about it either. I suppose I thought that if we didn't talk about it… then it would go away."
The Vision surprised Cap by uttering a monotonous expletive that inferred that he found that highly unlikely.
"Did you learn that from Hawkeye?" Cap asked, cocking his head to one side.
"The movies." The Vision explained without any of the wry amusement that Cap saw creeping into his face.
"You need to talk to Wanda about this. If you would like, I could speak with her as well…"
"That will not be necessary. Wanda is the love of my life. If I cannot speak with her frankly about this…"
Jarvis interrupted with a clearing of his throat, causing both man and synthetic man to swivel on his in surprise. The open look of puzzlement on the Vision's normally inscrutable face reflected the surprise at seeing the butler. He had implemented several subtle machinations to insure that he and the Captain would be alone in the mansion, one of which was distracting Jarvis was a chore in the surrounding estate that should have taken all day. Evidently, from the look on the butler's face, he had easily seen through the ruse.
"Sir, you have a very important call on the law enforcement channel." Jarvis said directly to Captain America, pointedly ignoring the Vision with body language that was more rigid than normal. Without waiting for a response he flashed a baleful look at the destruction of the meeting table and turned sharply on his heel to leave the room.
"I need to take this, Vision." Cap said softly, tired blue eyes meeting expressionless black pits beneath a lowered brow that showed more contrition than any words could.
"Could… you answer me one question, Captain?" The Vision asked quietly, as if afraid to be overheard.
"Yes, Vision… if it will help."
"She said that she loved you, but you never told her that you loved her."
Cap was silent at the statement, as if awaiting the question that he knew was coming. As if, somehow, he knew exactly what he would ask were he in the Vision's shoes.
"If you were not the chairman of the Avengers… if you did not feel that burden of leadership that you spoke of to Wanda… would you have told her that you love her?"
Steve was silent for a long minute, with his gloved fist over his mouth and his eyes cast down. The Vision wasn't sure if the man didn't know if he knew the answer, but not how to say it, or if he was looking for that answer in his own heart.
"Yes." Steve finally admitted, as if the admission hurt him "I would have."
As Steve limped out of the meeting room the Vision unfolded the sketch of Wanda, his telescopic vision seeing every loving stroke of the pencil and every intentionally smudged shadow. Seeing the love and admiration that this man's hands had poured onto the paper. He knew that, even were he to master the techniques and the composition, he was incapable of creating something like this. Standing there, alone next to the wreckage of the Avenger's meeting table, tears traced their way down the Avenger's red cheeks.
"Jarvis…" Cap called to the butler as he caught up to him.
"No need to worry, sir. I am a man of the utmost discretion and very little goes on in this mansion that I do not know. This situation is a small matter compared to some of the tribulations that have required my attention throughout the years."
Steve didn't know what to say. It took all of his willpower not to blush.
"Madame Wanda and the Vision have had a tumultuous relationship, but I believe that they will see in time that they were meant for one another. If they do not, it will not be your fault. You have your own decisions to make concerning two young ladies."
"Wanda is not an option… my feelings… she is an Avenger." Cap insisted as they walked, as if that explained everything.
"I was not talking about Madame Wanda, sir."
"Sharon? She is out of the picture. We came to an understanding the last time we went our separate ways. Time had just changed us too much…"
"I was not referring to Madame Carter either." Jarvis said stiffly. Cap suspected that Jarvis had long disliked Sharon. Their unspoken animosity had only gotten worse over the years since she seemed to get more rude and insensitive with age.
Cap opened his mouth and then closed it again. He could not imagine who Jarvis was talking about. Other than Bernie there had been no woman of interest in his life since… Hala. The beautiful Hala was in Atlantis, far beyond his reach by his own choosing. He could never know if what they had shared was real or an illusion brought forth by the Interrogator's brainwashing. Jarvis couldn't possibly mean Natasha, could he? Steve had worked very hard to insure that his relationship with The Black Widow was purely professional regardless of her reputation and desire. After a few rebuffs Sersi's flirtations with him had turned to a disingenuous jealousy that drove her to an affair with the Black Knight and an exit from the team. His head was spinning with the women that had made his life… interesting.
He did not give a thought to the one that Jarvis was talking about until he entered the communication's room, because it was one of the first words out of the NYPD representative's mouth.
She had stayed out all night on election night. While Captain America was digging himself out of the rubble of a food court and Bernadette Rosenthal was watching her hope slip away state by state in the convention center, she had decided to have a good time. She had started off slow, a drink here and a drink there. By the time that she was at Coyote Ugly drinking tequila out of another woman's navel her friends started to get worried about her. They had asked her to slow down. She had snapped at them and left in a huff, starting to realize that she was having difficulty walking. She had drank down the equivalent of three fifths of Jack Daniel's by then throughout countless bar drinks ranging from Fuzzy Navels to Open Graves. It was enough to kill a woman of her build, but strangely enough she was not only holding it down but metabolizing it too quickly, getting to the hangover phase far too soon. She started asking for straight shots, but even that wasn't doing the job.
The man that grabbed her and pulled her into the alley thought that he had the perfect victim alone in the dark, drunk and tottering on her feet. He pawed her breast and whispered something threatening into her ear as he pressed the knife into her, but she had his hand in an iron hard grip before he knew what was happening. She smashed his instep with her high heel and took his knife from him. Less than 30 seconds later a bloody mess was staggering down the alley with his hands clutched over his face; sobbing and too shocked to even call out for help. He had lost some of the fingers that had groped her defending himself from her, but she had gotten the blade up his nose nonetheless. She tried not to think of the blood curdling scream that had come from the man. Jack Nicholson hadn't screamed like that in Chinatown.
When she finally got back to her apartment she stripped off her bloody clothes. Hadn't anybody on the street noticed that she looked like she had just worked a 12 hour shift at the slaughterhouse? It was just another example of how invisible - how insignificant - she was. She stripped off the ruined party clothes and threw them in the garbage chute. She stood naked in front of the mirror and looked at a beautiful face and a perfect body, or what others would think were such. Like a woman who would make six figures posing for Playboy's centerfold or a six page spread for Maxim. Her drink-addled mind saw a different picture. A zit faced teenager with the smallest buds of breasts and bruises all over, smiling and happy despite the pain because she was finally in the gang… no matter what it had cost her.
The pain had not gone away in all these years.
There was a time when she had hope that the pain could go away. Her hope was personified by a man, though, and men could not be depended on. She should have known better. Her father left her, her brothers left her, why should he have been any different? He loved a ghost, and had loved her for over half a century. How could she compete with that? How could she compete with the woman who reminded him of that ghost of his past? How could she turn his eye from the beautiful women in tight suits who flocked around him waiting for their chance to crack the padlock that held his drawers up? All that she did, all that she gave up, and all that she professed to him had meant nothing. They had never slept together, had barely kissed, and in the end it had not been him who failed. He had stayed the same, would always be the same. It was she who had failed him, and he didn't look back.
The pills that she pulled from her cabinet were not illegal. She had gotten them by insisting that she had problems sleeping, and that was true. She took them all and chased them down with a tall glass of Southern Comfort. With any luck, she would never have any problem sleeping again. As the drowsiness settled down on her, she threw the glass into the bathtub and winced as it shattered loudly. She drank down the rest of the Southern Comfort directly from the bottle. Slouched onto the bathroom floor, with the entire world blurring, she wondered what he would feel when they found the note. Too late she realized that she didn't want to cause him that pain. Too late she realized how rash she had been to write it. She clawed her way across the carpet, reaching for the note on the coffee table so that she could tear it up.
She never made it.
Steve showed to the hospital in civilian clothes, but it hardly mattered. Some asshole had leaked the contents of the suicide note to the press, and the sharks were circling. The reporters saw him and their eyes spread to the size of saucers. He was reminded of pictures he had seen of former Lions halfback Barry Sanders looking for a running lane. He had to wade through a battalion of microphones and flashing cameras to get to the door of the emergency room, where he was nearly blockaded out until one of the security guards recognized him and pulled him through the doors.
"Thanks." He told the boy in blue with a smile.
"Anytime, Cap." The rent a cop laughed "Could I get an autograph?"
Steve rolled his eyes.
"Just kidding, sir." The man said with a wink.
The guard escorted him to the duty nurse who was still talking to the NYPD Detective who had called him in the first place. Steve didn't know what to say to them, and saw by their expressions that they felt the exact same way.
"How is she?" Steve finally asked the nurse.
"She is stable, but she hasn't regained consciousness yet. I think that is a good thing, because she might be angry when she finds out that we pumped her stomach. A lot of suicide attempts are cries for help and desperate grasps for attention, but in this case I don't know about that. We don't know how she will feel about being alive. With her physical strength it may be difficult, if not impossible, for us to prevent another attempt." The nurse was young and lovely for a woman of her responsibility, but she had that careworn look that reminded him of his mother.
"Can I see her?" Steve asked.
"I was hoping that you would. Maybe your presence can help diffuse…"
"Don't worry about her yet, mister. You've got bigger fish to fry. We need to talk about…" Detective Sanchez began, but stopped when Cap flashed him an icy stare that made the man's testicles retract into his body.
Sanchez was a 15 year veteran of the NYPD and had pulled a two year stint in the US Army as an Infantryman in the 1980's. He had faced many of the individuals that he called "Super Creeps" before. He had been webbed to a wall by Spider-Man when he was a rookie. His first patrol car had been thrown through a ninth story window by the Hulk. He had arrested Kyle Richmond, the crusader known as Nighthawk, when he had been nailed for tax evasion. He had questioned Dr. Stephen Strange as a "person of interest" in an occult murder investigation as soon as he made Detective. For some reason, people in the department came to him with this kind of thing. He had never met Captain America, though. The Avenger was not known for brushes with the law, even though his partner insisted that the urban myth about Cap going on a Crystal Meth induced rampage was absolute truth. The look in the man's intense blue eyes reminded him of his hard-eyed Drill Sergeants, all of whom had earned their stripes as teenagers in a place called Vietnam. Badge or no badge, he instantly knew that he could not bulldog this particular man.
Steve Rogers walked right by him.
"Wait… er… sir." Sanchez stumbled weakly, thrown way off of his game "We need to talk about the note."
"I'll answer a question if you answer a question." Steve whirled on him with a tone of steel "Otherwise, I'm going to see Rachel."
"What question?" Sanchez shrugged, doing his best Colombo impression.
"Do they send homicide Detectives to every routine overdose?"
Sanchez grimaced in consternation.
"I didn't think so." Steve said as he turned around, heading for the room that the duty nurse was indicating. As they walked together she turned around and mouthed a silent apology to the Detective.
Go ahead. Sanchez snarled inwardly You don't have to cooperate, mister big shot. The note gave me all I need on her. All I wanted was your own explanation. You can swing with her for all I care.
Dear Steve,
I am sorry to be writing this to you but I can't think of anyone else that would possibly understand. If you are reading this than I am gone. I know that you will be upset by this, because even though it has been so long since we have seen each other I know that you are the kindest hearted man that I have ever met and that you have compassion for even your greatest enemies. I just cannot go on knowing that you were the only man that I could ever love and that we will never be together. Your life as Captain America and my life as Diamondback were not compatible, but I can't help but wonder what could have been between a guy named Steve and a gal named Rachel. I loved you so much, and for a time I thought that you did too. Our affair was like a whirlwind and we didn't have time to breathe. From that first fight at the AIM hideout to the hunt for the Bloodstone at least we knew that we were enemies. Being friends was so much harder when we both knew that wasn't what we wanted. When we finally were about to take the leap, when I finally decided to go straight, it was one drama and trauma after another. Late at night I can still remember the scent of your aftershave and the feel of your lips against mine.
I did my best to forget about you. I went back to doing what I always did best, which was operating outside of the law. I think that I did some good even though what I was doing was illegal. I knew that there was no hope, though, when I saw you again. At the bar that used to have no name, before you were hurt, I saw you and I knew that there was no hope of ever forgetting you. There was no hope of ever finding someone to replace you. When you were hurt I held onto you like I once held onto my own life, as if losing you would be like losing myself. That terrified me, and I don't want to feel like that anymore. I don't want to feel like I'm not good enough for you anymore. I'm so sorry that I killed Porcupine, MODOK, and Snapdragon. I'm so sorry that I didn't kill Crossbones. Most of all I'm so sorry that I ever fell for you, because I couldn't ever possibly measure up to the woman that you deserve. I don't think that you realized that you were talking to me in the hospital when you told me about Sara, but that is when I realized that I could never compete with that.
Don't think that any of this is your fault, Steve. Every mistake In my life was my decision. Just like you made the decision to try and save Sara I made the decision to try and join Bing's Gang. I didn't know that once you were in the gang, you can never get out. I was young and didn't know that there was no way out. In a way, I guess that we are both trapped by destiny. There was no way that I could know that I would ever meet you. When I was a little girl you were supposed to be dead. You were like a bedtime story or a fairy tale that parents told their children. I regret falling for you but I never regretted that you came into my life, because you showed me the person that I wanted to be. The person I could have been. I am only sorry that I failed, and could not be that person for you. I'm going to go out, have some fun with Asp and Mamba, and then when I get back I'm going to end it all. I'm so sorry, Steve. I just want you to know that even now I love you so much it hurts. I just need to make the pain go away.
Forgive me,
Rachel
Steve looked down at the note that she had written him and fought the tears. It was a winning battle only because he was a born fighter. He had no idea that she had felt this strongly about him. He knew exactly how he had felt about her, but he had not trusted himself. He had not trusted his own judgment. She had misunderstood, and took his ambivalence to mean that he didn't trust her. Maybe it had been like that in the beginning, but she had proven herself. She earned the chance that Hawkeye, Black Widow, Scarlet Witch, and Quicksilver had gotten. The only reason he had not given it to her was because he had been too worried about what other people would think. Been too worried that the Avengers would consider his romance with her the only reason that he was accepting her reformation. This was the result of that attitude. Rachel Leighton was in a coma, and they had no idea when she would wake up. She had a hearty constitution as a result of her exposure to his Super Soldier-enhanced blood. It was a weaker strain, though, and not nearly what his was. She had been thorough with her chemical assault on her body, and had lain on the brink of death for most of a day before she had been discovered by one of her friends.
His Avengers ID card was broken. He had crushed it in his palm after an argument with Hawkeye. The Bowman had called him almost immediately as soon as the news hit, scrambling to justify Falcon's decision to keep Rachel's role in his recovery from him. Trying to cover his ass. He had needed to leave the ICU to scream at him, people looking at the man yelling at an ID card as if he were a total nutcase. Sam had wanted to talk to him next, and maybe his old friend could have calmed him down. By then it was too late, because the Avengers ID was crushed in the palm of the Super Soldier's hand. It was a very expensive moment of anger, but he was sure that it could be replaced. Rachel couldn't be replaced.
Rachel looked so very small. So much more vulnerable than he had ever seen her. She had always been an enigma to him. The first time he met her she had wrapped her legs around his neck, and had the chance to kill him. She had gotten another chance on another occasion, but once again spared his life. He had returned the favor countless times, but never felt that the scales were balanced. Looking at her now, he knew that he had loved her… but had never found the courage to tell her so. He closed the door behind him, a nod from the sad eyed nurse telling him that it was all right. He pulled up and chair next to her, just as she had sat next to him when he had been in this state. He took her soft hand in his rough, calloused palm and gave it a firm squeeze. Then the dam burst. He found himself telling her all the things that he wished that he could have told her before. His thoughts, his feelings, his hopes, but most of all his fears. We will not be privy to these words, good reader, for there are some words that are meant to be only between two people. These words were for Steve Rogers and Rachel Leighton alone.
If only she could hear them.
March 1941
Sometimes it is tough to be the new kid on the block.
These were different times, and people had a different view of the hero that now sat beside the sickbed of a super villain. In his first year as Captain America, Steve Rogers had struck major blows against the fifth columnists. He had been breaking up spy rings all over the eastern seaboard, from Brighton Beach to Newport News. He was being discussed in hushed whispers by the German high command. For all that, he still was the new kid on the block. He found very little cooperation or respect from his contemporaries. Guys like the Avenging Angel had been gunning down gangsters for years, and publicly criticized his policy of non-lethal apprehension. It had made him a media darling, but had some well known (and much more media savvy) mystery men dismissing him as a cream puff. Someone who was incapable of doing what was necessary to protect the streets of America.
Then again, they had never been slugged by a man who could bench press a Buick.
Ironically enough, Cap found that he had two allies from his past who had no idea that they were helping out an old friend. A great deal of his popular support was due to the popular Captain America comic book that was based (loosely) on the government reports of his missions. The writer and the artist insisted on calling them "adventures" but in all reality they were just missions. He would work by day in the General's office as Captain Rogers, sometime in the afternoon he would get an operational order, and by evening he would be deploying based on the intelligence he was given. Perhaps it was this professional approach to crime fighting that so completely separated him from more footloose thrill seekers as Captain Terror. More likely it was the lively interpretations that Joe and Jack attributed to him in the course of that monthly comic. Most of those comics were only read once and thrown away, for collecting them had not been a mania of the forties, yet they would be seated in the imagination of a generation.
That first comic book, with its striking image of Captain America punching Adolph Hitler in the face, has been based in fact. In his first few months as Captain America he had gone rogue. He had been sick of always running interference against spies and saboteurs on the home front. He had wanted to badly to take the fight to the man who had started it all. So he had gone AWOL, stowed away on a liberty ship, and when that ship had been intercepted by a German patrol he had commandeered that vessel. He had been lucky that the Germans hadn't just torpedoed the thing. He had been lucky that the captain of the ship was a coward that blanched at the thought of combat against someone with the capability of fighting back. Once on land he was lucky that he looked so damn German. All that he had needed to do was punch out one SS trooper and take his uniform. By the time the tied-up crew had been discovered he was already rampaging through the German high command, coming face to face with the man himself, and punching uncle Adolph right in the kisser.
His only regret was that he hadn't been able to do more before half the Wermarcht was chasing him through the French countryside. If it hadn't been for a fortunate encounter with the French resistance the legend of Captain America might have ended in 1941 instead of beginning there. That was when he encountered the expatriate American Peggy Carter, who like himself refused to stand by while the country did nothing. Unlike Steve, she did not have government gifted strength and stamina, but she fought anyway. Even years later, while she was working for Jarvis as the Avengers' support staff communications officer, he marveled at her courage. She would be his link to the resistance throughout the war.
"Can't you tell me your name?" She asked him as the disgruntled British intelligence officers were smuggling him aboard a boat.
"I'm afraid I can't." Cap had told her "It's a state secret."
"Then I will simply call you amour." She said with a smile, although they were not yet lovers.
"Whatever you wish, mademoiselle." He said as he got on the ship.
Somehow, even then he knew that they would meet again.
"I'm going to wring your neck!" General Phillips yelled when he finally got Captain Rogers in his office. One of his eyes was twitching and his entire face looked like a boiled sugar beet ready to burst. "Who do you think you are! You hot headed jerk! I thought that you had screwed up every way a man could possibly screw up before this one!"
"Sir…"
"Don't sir me, Rogers! You went AWOL, invaded a sovereign nation, and caused an international incident! The German consulate has accused you of assault, vandalism, piracy, espionage, and… attempted assassination. You should hear the things that they accused you of that they CAN'T prove!"
"I just wanted to take it to the enemy, sir!" Steve growled "All that I do is chase after spies and saboteurs when we know who is really behind all the attacks!"
"Do you think that there aren't a million soldiers marching around the parade grounds every day that want to take it to those kraut bastards! But they don't because they follow ORDERS, Rogers! We barely pulled your carcass out of there alive, and we almost didn't do that because you were reported dead twice!"
"What?" Steve said breathlessly.
"The British reported you lost at sea after the incident on the liberty ship! The Germans reported you dead again after the assault on the headquarters, probably just as a propaganda tactic."
"Yes. Do you realize how hard it was for me to tell your mother?"
"You told my mother that I was…"
"What did you expect me to do!" The General seemed to be on the defensive "You were my soldier and you died under my command, if not following my damn commands!"
"Sir, you've got to let me call her…"
"I don't think that is a good idea Rogers…" The General said more softly.
"Sir? What happened?" Steve said, worry creeping into his brave voice.
"The worst, Rogers." The General sighed "The worst thing that could happen."
The last time that he had been in this graveyard had been a horrible day, and this one was no exception. The only difference was that that day he had Sara to comfort him. This day, he had no one. He stood in his Class A dress uniform covered with a brown trench coat against the pouring rain. He stood alone. He had even missed the funeral, and he wondered how Frank had felt about that. He had been reported dead on a Tuesday, and his mother had cut her wrists in the bathtub on Thursday. His identity as Captain America had not been revealed, only that he was in commission of a secret mission. She had not been prepared for the news, thinking that he was safe in a Adjutant General headquarters company.
He wondered what Frank thought of him now. He was the only family that he had left in the world, sailing with the pacific fleet. He had not answered any of his letters, but that was not unusual. What Steve wondered was if he would ever answer them again. He blamed himself for what happened. It had been his foolish pride, his fervor to act in the absence of all orders and reason, that had lead to this. The issue of Captain America Comics that had his likeness punching Hitler in the mouth was clutched in his left hand, the colors starting to run. He knew why he had come here, and he knew what he had to say.
"Nothing I can say… nothing I can do… can make this right. Nothing will bring you back." Steve told the pair of inexpensive tombstones that marked the gravesites of his parents. "All that I can promise is that I will go on. I promise that one day you can look down and be proud of what your son has done."
Steve left the comic book between the graves, hating the image even as he looked at it.
Anyone who had ever looked down the barrel of a gun knows that it is like a black eye, drawing you in.
Steve had no idea how it had gotten to this point, but he found himself looking down the barrel of his service revolver and shuddering, knowing what he had to do and feeling like a coward for not doing it.
Those damned words were still going though his head.
That man was a coward.
It didn't matter. None of it mattered. Dressing up like a clown and chasing after mobsters and small fry spies didn't matter. They had reported Steve Rogers dead and that hadn't mattered either. It had cost his mother her life, but otherwise the world had still gone on without him. The politicians still played their games. The businessmen still made money selling to the German and Japanese, and America still prospered without him while the rest of the world burned. Life had suddenly become more of a burden than even a super soldier could lift, and the weight of despair drove him down to that black eye at the end of the gun barrel. All he had to do was pull the trigger. All that he had to do was apply less than a foot pound of force with his index finger. Then it was all over. Then he could see them all again. The sweat poured down his face.
Stick it in your mouth. The dark voice said pull the trigger and splatter your super soldier brains all over the wall. You won't feel a thing. You won't even hear it go off. Just one little trigger pull and a nose dive into the darkness. We're all waiting for you down here… come on in…
"Steve!" The voice shook him out of his fatally locked gaze with the barrel.
Standing in the doorway, his mouth working like a fish out of water, was James Buchanan Barnes. The camp mascot, too young to have gotten into the army but big enough for his age to have fooled the induction officers. All of the soldiers around him called him squirt, but he had his own nickname for him, which he only used when they were alone.
"Bucky…" Steve said, and only then realize that he was wearing his full Captain America uniform… except for the mask.
"So you see, Rachel?" Steve asked quietly "Nobody is perfect. Nobody is too good for someone else. Nobody can get through without a little help from their friends. Life is too hard for that."
She didn't respond.
Captain America got up and walked to the window, looking out to the New York night. He looked back to the woman laying comatose and looked back to the lights that still burned at this late hour. He had failed to help Rachel. He had failed to even recognize that there was a problem. There were so many lights out there. How many out there couldn't sleep, tormented by the demons of their lives? How many saw the ghosts of those they loved whenever they closed their eyes? How many felt that all hope in their life had fled? How many felt that there was nothing left to live for? How many, this night, would he fail to help?
The night provided no answers.
She hated the media.
On the heels of the election scandal Captain America is accused…
She hated the hypocrites.
…the suicide note was found by investigators…
She hated the lies.
…confessing to more than three murders in high profile unsolved cases…
She hated the sensationalism.
…the nature of their sexual relationship remains undisclosed…
She hated the rationalization.
…is not known how a persona imbued with such a degree of public trust could engage in a clandestine sexual relationship with a well known costumed criminal that has been linked with the Serpent Society and the terrorist murderer known as Crossbones…
She hated the arrogance.
The American public deserves an explanation from this man who would wear our flag and represent us on the world stage…
She hated the cowardice.
Captain America was sighted entering the emergency room but had no comment for…
Most of all, Bernie Rosenthal hated Rachel Leighton. She had thought that the worst night of her life could not possibly be followed by the worst day of her life, but she was mistaken. She had thought that something good had come out of it. She had dared to hope that her reconciliation with Steve had finally begun. That eggplant-haired whore had managed to ruin that. She had tried the most desperate of ploys to take Steve away from her, and she had somehow succeeded in smearing his reputation even more. She hated the bitch with a passion that frightened her, and she felt like she wanted to kill her with her bare hands. That was, of course, if her suicide attempt had not done the job first.
She threw on her clothes and grabbed her briefcase. She had to go to the office sometime, and this was as good a time as any.
Cap stood on the roof of the hospital and looked out over the legion of TV vans waiting to pounce the moment that he came out of the hospital. There had been no improvement in Rachel's condition as the sun retreated below the horizon, and there was no guarantee that she would make it through the night. The doctors had said the same thing about him, but he had a suspicious feeling that there would be no Angel winging in to rescue her from certain death. Rachel was on her own, and whether she lived or died was up to her. He had talked to her for most of the evening, but had no idea if she could hear him. He didn't even know if it would make any difference if she had. In the end, everything he said to her were just words. He had every opportunity to let her know how he felt though his actions. It was there that he had failed. Failed again just like he had failed Sara. Losing sight of what was important, and for what? For a sick need to be a hero?
"No man looks down for that long without thinking about jumping." The gruff Hell's Kitchen accent came from behind him, and for a moment he thought that it was Nick.
Steve instantly whirled on his heel, though, and saw that it was the last person that he had expected. It was a good thing, because if it had been Nick Fury the old warhorse had a kick in the face coming to him. That would have to wait for another day. Instead of one blind eye, two stared blindly at him. He should have known that there was only one man who could sneak up on him, no matter how distracted he was. His own face stared back at him from a pair of mirrored shades worn by a red haired Irishman with a white cane, smiling at him wryly in that superior smirk that they must teach at Columbia law school. A combination of cocky overconfidence and charismatic self-effacing humor. The kind of toothless smile that could melt a jury's heart.
"Murdock." Cap said.
"Rogers." Matt said with a little nod.
"I was just scouting out the enemy… I mean the reporters."
"I think you had it right the first time."
"I thought that you decided that it would be best if we didn't meet in public, counselor." Steve said.
"I'd been meaning to talk to you about that. I was… too absorbed in my own problems then. I've accepted things a little more since that day. Took my problems head on rather than ignoring them and hoping that they would just go away." The blind man said.
"I hate to break it to you, councilor, but Hell's Kitchen is that way." Steve insisted with at jerk of his thumb. "What brings the Man Without Fear this far from his territory?"
"You know that they call it Clinton these days…" Matt Murdock said with that same smirk that said everything and nothing.
"It will always be the Kitchen to me." Steve said softly, again aware of how out of touch he was with the modern times he found himself in.
"Believe it or not, I am here on the behalf of a professional colleague." Matt Murdock said after a slight clearing of his throat. "I'm here to help."
"You have enough problems of your own, counselor. Your help is not needed here." Steve said firmly, but trying not to sound as harsh as the words had to be. Matt Murdock was a good man, but he was not and would never be an Avenger. This was a family matter, and he didn't know if he could trust his family.
"I know that after my identity was… outed… you didn't understand why I didn't come to you for help. When we met in the park and when you asked me why I didn't give you a satisfactory answer. Let's just say that I had my reasons."
"Just like I have my reasons now." Cap said, turning his back on the blind man and walking back toward the roof's exit.
"Bernie doesn't agree with your reasons." Matt said, stopping Steve dead in his tracks.
The living legend turned back to the vigilante lawyer known as Daredevil, knowing that he could probably tell how angry that comment had just made him even though he was unable to see the fury in his eyes. Bernie was a part of Steve Roger's life. Daredevil was part of Captain America's life. He did not want them in any way associated with each other, because that was when disaster struck. Just when he had felt Steve finally coming out, Captain America pulled him back in.
"She is worried about you. They all are worried about you, to tell the truth, but at least she knows what to do about it."
"What would that be?" Cap asked, feeling the anger rise in his chest.
"I thought that would be obvious to you." Matt said. "We fight back."
"Why are you using the royal WE, counselor?"
"I'm not. I'm using the literal we. You tried to tell me months ago that the two of us were in the same boat, but I didn't listen. We are in this together, but I didn't realize it until just the other night."
"What are you talking about?" Steve asked.
"Do you think that it is a coincidence that you and I have both been having such difficulties? Our identities come out at around the same time, the media keeps getting fed more information to smear us with. Our enemies seem to know what we are doing before we do. We receive high profile defeat after high profile defeat…"
"It is a coincidence…"
"I don't believe in coincidences." Daredevil said without reservation. "This is a private war. A war against you and me. We've been losing."
"How did you come to this ridiculous conclusion?" Cap huffed.
"I didn't. Bernadette Rosenthal did, and I agreed with her because my sources on the street are saying the same thing. When I took down the Kingpin of crime it left a vacuum of power, but it didn't waste any time getting filled. There is a new kingpin on the streets, and those in the know call him the Crimson Cowl. He has made it his mission in life to make sure our lives are as miserable as possible, and it is remarkable how much he has succeeded in this."
"I already know about the Cowl. I met him face to face."
"He prefers to fight his war on us from afar. Face to face isn't the way he plays it, so you must have gotten really close to his operation that time. Did something that he didn't expect."
"That isn't anything that you have to worry about. The Avengers will handle the Crimson Cowl. Its what we do."
"That's the problem… one of the Avengers is a spy." Matt said without any doubt.
Steve almost growled.
"How else do you think the Syndicate has been keeping one step ahead of you? Slipping out of your grasp again and again? The same thing has been happening to me in Hell's Kitchen, and every damn time the media is there off of an anonymous tip. No one outside of the Avengers is privy to your operations, so one of them is the one that is feeding the Cowl his information. I know that you don't want to believe it, and that Bernie didn't want to tell you, but someone is out to discredit and destroy you. They are using the Avengers as the weapon to do that just as much as they are using the Syndicate."
"Who?" Was all Steve asked "Who is the traitor?"
"I don't know." Daredevil said awkwardly "I could find out in a minute if I could question them, but I know that none of the Avengers will stand for that. Even if they don't know what I am doing. Even worse, it could tip off the Cowl that we are on to him."
"How could that be worse?"
"He could decide that a better way to strike at you would be though the ones you love." Matt said earnestly "I know that from experience."
"What about the ones you love?"
"You know what they say: A man without love is a man without fear." Matt said, somewhat sadly. He had isolated himself from everyone that he had ever cared for, and now lived in a bubble of his own making. Refusing human contact. Refusing human comfort. Captain America would have understood perfectly. "He would try to have me killed. With the power at his fingertips, he might succeed."
"This is crazy." Steve muttered.
"That doesn't mean that it isn't true." Matt countered "I'm not going to press you on it. I've let you know what you need to know. I'm the only one that you can trust. When you are ready to work with me, you know where to find me." Matt said, walking toward the exit with a tap tapping of his cane. Steve wondered if he really had to do it or if it was simply force of habit.
He stopped, though, and turned.
"I tried to help you once before, you know. After we fought Hydra together. I noticed that you were acting strangely, and when I tried to help you I got my ass kicked for the trouble. I tried to help you and you beat me like a drum. They told me afterward that you were under the influence of drugs. It didn't make it all right to me. I've taken some beatings in my life. They come with the territory, but none of them were as… embarrassing. That's why I didn't come to ask for your help when I needed it. That little sting of pride."
Matt Murdock left Steve Rogers alone on the roof, feeling that little sting of pride.
Steve Rogers slipped out of the hospital under the cover of night, and somehow slipped though the net of the ambushing reporters. The interest in his story seemed to have waned in the face of endless Monday morning quarterbacking of the election. Still, there were still a few reporters waiting to pounce if he got careless. They did not seem to understand that they were dealing with a man who had slipped through German lines in France during the winter of 1943. He walked down the street with a horde of New Yorkers in a city that never slept. They paid so little attention that Tom Cruise or George W Bush could have been walking with him and nobody would have noticed. It was one of the things that he had always loved about New York. He walked for a very long time that night, just as he did the night he broke up from Sara. He walked with the same limp, and he felt the same chill in the air. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same.
Everybody in the world seemed to have spent the last 60 years thinking that Captain America could do no wrong, and the last 60 days thinking that he could do nothing right. Neither supposition was correct, but how could he tell somebody that? He had made so many mistakes over the years, and the way that he had treated Rachel was just one example of that. His failure to realize that something was amiss in the situation between the Avengers and the Syndicate was another. Finally, the way that he had been behaving to all those he cared about. He had been self absorbed, obsessed with the pain that was digging its way out of his buried past. He was not paying enough attention to the present, and things were falling apart all around him. The strife of the election was no excuse. His turbulent relationship with Bernie was no excuse. What had happened on 9/11 2001 was no excuse.
There was no excuse.
He took a deep breath as he stood in front of the brownstone, looking the past right in the face. This was where it had all started for him and Bernie. First as neighbors, then as friends, and finally as lovers. There was another reason that he was here. A reason that he had never told anyone. This brownstone in this respectable neighborhood had been built on the ruins of another building, and that tenement was where Steve Rogers had grown up. How could he have lived here for so long and not acknowledged that? How could he have lived and loved with Bernie without ever letting her know that important part of who Steve Rogers was? How could he have lived there so long, in so much contentment, when even now he could close his eyes and hear the ghosts. Hear the crack of a stick against leather. Hear his mother humming a George Archibald tune while she washed the dishes. Hear the clack of a typewriter in the study. This had been a part of him that he threw dirt on and hoped would suffocate.
The past had a way of digging itself out of the graves we dug for it.
Seeing Steve Rogers through the peephole made Bernie breathe a sigh of relief. He was the only human being in the world that she wanted to see. She almost tore open the door and threw herself at him. She hugged him with all of her might, buried her face in his chest, tried to think of something to say. She had not believed that he would come back, especially after hearing what had happened in the news. When his arms wrapped about her she realized that she didn't need to say anything. That there was plenty of time later for words. This was a time for something else. This was a time to pick up where they left off. She pulled him into the room and slammed the door behind her. She tore into him, and he only said one word before her lips silenced him..
"Bernie…"
"Shut up." She muffled before she bit his lower lip.
She wouldn't hear any of it, she wouldn't give him any time to second guess it. They had done this a hundred times, and even though it had been years since those times nothing had been forgotten. She was not a strong woman, but she was strong enough to break his buttons as she pulled his shirt open. She was not a tall woman, but she was tall enough to reach those soft lips surrounded by a rough beard. She pushed his much larger body back, and he was chop blocked by the sofa; tumbling back over it like a clumsy schoolboy. His laughter rang as his feet kicked in the air. Bernie ripped open her own shirt and threw it before she dove over the sofa, hoping that he would not notice the years of gravity had forced her to give up the braless look and instead opt for the industrial strength under wire Brassiere.
In the hours that passed it was like it had never ended at all. It was as if they still wore those engagement rings on their fingers. As if they were still arguing over the color of the wedding dress. As if those invitations were just waiting for a date. In and out. Up and down. Kissing lips. Moist breath. Caressing tongues dancing around each other, around other regions. Two shadows blocking the light from the window, casting a single writhing silhouette against the white stucco wall like a movie screen. Perfume and aftershave running together in the droplets of sweat running down their necks. Their chests were pressed together so tightly that her breasts hurt from the pressure, sensitive nipples like bullets against his muscles. She could feel their heartbeats thudding a beat together like the 1812 overture. Her fingernails left seven red lines across his back like the American flag.
He picked up her naked, panting form, carrying her to bed if only for the sense of propriety. Steve had always been so phenomenal at this, so unyielding and yet so uncontrolled once she punched through that wall of old fashioned reserve and dignity. His hands were so strong and they clutched hers and pushed them down into the mattress, and she let herself be conquered. Just as she had conquered him. They had conquered each other. Barriers that they had spent years building between them falling like the walls of Jericho. Passion, respect, love, heat, admiration, lust, and pride all spilling like a river of salt water through a valley of parched chaparral. There was no trouble, no pain, nothing that they felt that they couldn't overcome. At that singular moment at time they had each other. They were each other, and no one else mattered.
Next: Live in Infamy
Can Cap and Daredevil hope to stand against the forces arrayed against them? Who is the traitor within the Avengers, and can Cap trust any of them? What is the secret of the day that changed Captain America's life forever? Tune in next week, True Believers!