Stark Tower was a huge building that quite literally towered over Midtown. With its reflective glass exterior and the name "Stark" hung across it, it was the perfect place to house a gaggle of huge egos and still have enough space for Tony Stark himself. The penthouse boasted enough guest rooms for each member of the Avengers should they require them and it was beginning to earn itself the reputation of the team's official hangout spot.

So that was where Steve Rogers found himself that evening, sitting on a leather sofa in the main room and slaving over the smartphone Tony gave him. After seventy years on ice, he found himself in an age of innovation. And he thought the forties were full of technological advancement. Suffice to say he was having a hard time adjusting to the new way of life he was thrown into. His teammates were more than happy to help, but he hated asking for help and couldn't help feeling like he bothered them when he didn't grasp the concept right away.

Steve squinted and tried to read the message on the screen. He gave up and discarded the phone on the end table. The only thing he cared to know about the new phone was how to answer a call, he didn't care about social media and texting. Soft footsteps alerted him to a new presence in the room. Wanda Maximoff stood above him, dressed in grey pajamas.

Wanda joined the Avengers after the events of New York. She escaped from a human testing facility during the battle. She had a brother but the two were separated during the commotion. Wanda was a mutant, at least that's what Fury called her. She could sense consciousness, emotions, and move objects with nothing but her powers.

"You feel … conflicted," she stated.

English wasn't Wanda's first language and she hated speaking for too long in it, always self-conscious about her accent. If she had to talk for long, it was always in her native Sokovian. The team made an effort to learn a few words here and there.

"I often feel the same way, but for very different reasons. If you would ever like to talk about it, I am here to listen," Wanda explained as she down next to Steve, her hands smoothing over the leather.

There was silence between the two. It was a comfortable silence shared between friends. Steve liked having Wanda around. He didn't have to explain his feelings and Wanda could just sit there and know how he felt. For the siblingless Rogers, Wanda was a close to a little sister as he could get. But bringing up siblings around Wanda was sensitive. According to Natasha Romanoff, an ex-Russian assassin who spent the most time with Wanda, the young woman talked in her sleep about her brother. From Wanda's late-night mumblings, which were in Sokovian, the Avengers learned her brother's name was Pietro and he was Wanda's greatest protector.

Their silence was interrupted by Clint Barton trotting through the room, "Did you hear about the ambushed agent?"

Steve shook his head.

"Well, we've got a briefing about it in five," Clint called as he headed toward the conference room on the other side of the penthouse.

They were all there in less than two minutes. Tony Stark, the billionaire-playboy-philanthropist and the Iron Man, lounged in one of the swivel chairs that surrounded the long holo table. Thor, Norse god of thunder with a voice to match, sat with his arms crossed and chin inclined. Even though Thor was taller than tall the Avengers, he still kept his king-like posture.

Natasha Romanoff sat next to Clint Barton, the agent and master archer who had yet to miss a shot. The only person not there was Doctor Bruce Banner. After the New York incident, Doctor Banner went back into "retirement" to deal with the stress.

Director Fury stood at the front of the room in his usual all-black attire and eyepatch, commanding demeanor on display.

"As I'm sure Agent Barton has informed you, an agent was attacked an hour ago. He was found at a patrol point unresponsive. When the medics attempted to move him, he started convulsing. Before the attack, he had a clean bill of health. There was no sign of struggle. However upsetting or alarming this attack may be, it's not the first of its kind," Fury began, raising the hand that he had placed on the table.

A picture on a hardwood floor appeared, the eyes closed. A close up of the victim's neck showed a set of unidentifiable marks.

"For the past few years, we've had a little problem with someone murdering field agents. Starting in 1986 with the murder of Agent Pavlov. He was found in his apartment with that set of marks behind his ear. His cause of death appeared to be suffocation with high oxytocin levels."

The picture of Agent Pavlov slid away with a swipe of Fury's hand. A picture of a woman replaced it, accompanied by an inset of a pair of lungs filled with water.

"1990, Agent Fasotti was found in an alley between two housing developments in Mott Haven, drowned. No sign of struggle, not even a drop of water found outside the body. Her blood test showed high levels of oxytocin and the same set of marks," Fury explained.

"What do you mean, 'outside the body'. If she drowned where was the water?" Tony ventured.

Fury looked like a dark cloud over the head of the table. His hands set on the table, shoulders hunching. Fury's stance made him seem like an evil villain getting ready to launch his plan for world domination.

"Her lungs were so full of water that when the coroner cut into them, it spewed out like a Venetian fountain show," Fury answered, a slight venom tinging his voice.

"Oo, I love a good fountain show," Tony stated.

Steve rolled his eyes. Typical Tony, he couldn't take a situation seriously to save his life. Not even when the world was at stake. Then again, Tony laughed in the face of death more than once.

"1996, Agent Jackson, triple stab wound, no sign of struggle, high oxytocin levels, and the same set of marks. 2001, Agent Fosley, single golden arrow to the heart, no sign of struggle, high oxytocin levels, and the same set of marks. And now, Agent Stone," Fury finished.

The holo in front of him switched back to the rotating Avengers logo, which spun like a very slow top. It flashed the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo at certain points. Tony hadn't been a fan of that intrusion. But the government financed the Avengers so far, so he simply grumbled about it from time to time.

"The murder from 1996 is the best lead we have. Animations of the would show resemblance to a trident."

Murmurs rose from the table. Who used tridents as weapons? They were too bulky and unbalanced.

"I have reason to believe that it may be one of your cousins, Thor," announced Fury.

"We Asgardians haven't spoken to our Olympian relatives in centuries, but I shall see what I can find." Thor's loud voice boomed in the small room.

He always had trouble with the concept of an 'inside voice'. Steve assumed that Asgard was a naturally loud place.

"As for the rest of you, we're leaving for Greece for research. Be ready to leave first thing in the morning," Fury ordered before leaving.

An awkward silence hovered over the conference room. There were more questions, but Director Fury hadn't stayed behind to let the Avengers ask them.

"Doesn't he have some lower-level agents that can do this research for him? We're the Avengers, Shield points, we shoot," Tony complained.

"At least it's something to do," Nat stated, "We haven't had a good mission since Bora Bora."

She spoke directly to Clint, nudging him with her elbow and smiling. Steve knew that there was something between the pair, it was only slightly obvious. The way that they always sat near each other, the way Clint looked at Natasha when she wasn't looking. Steve wished he could have a connection like that. He'd gotten close with Peggy Carter until his duty to the world became greater than Steve's sense of self.

The conversation continued around Steve, it sounded like a hum in the background of his thoughts.

"Steve?" Tony asked, his eyebrows raised in question.

"Huh?"

"Italian, for dinner?"

"Sounds great," Steve answered, "Actually, I think I'll head out. See you all tomorrow."

He muttered a quick excuse before leaving the room.

"What's gotten into him," Steve heard Tony mutter.

Before he could reach the door, Wanda stopped him.

"Are you okay?"

"I think we both know the answer to that."

She tucked her dark hair behind an ear and her arms over her chest, "How can we help?"

"We?"

"We all care for you, Steve. Whatever it is, you can tell us."

"I'm sorry Wanda, but I think this is something I'd rather keep to myself."

She nodded, "When you're ready, we'll talk, right?"

Steve nodded in response and she stepped out of the way, retreating to the room full of super-egos.

He appreciated that they all cared for him and were trying to be supportive of him in such a trying time. But there was no way any of them could understand missing seventy years of your life. There was nobody in the world with that problem.

What Steve needed most was fresh air. He donned the usual baseball cap before he left the tower to circle the block a couple of times, keeping his head down. Despite his attempt at a disguise, Steve felt like someone would realize that one of Earth's mightiest heroes circled the block about twenty times.

New York sure had modernized. Steve couldn't remember the buildings on that block being so monolithic. He was about to circle again, but a shiver down his spine awoke the instinct that someone was following him. And Steve always trusted his intuition.

He crossed the busy Park Avenue and walked a few more feet, but he still couldn't shake the feeling. He took a deep breath, readying himself for whatever awaited him, and turned into an alley. It was dark and smelled of garbage. Whatever happened in the alley would likely go unnoticed by the hordes of people strolling by.

Steve heard footsteps, accented by sharp clicks. Women's heels? He turned to face his assailant. A woman draped in white fabric greeted him, a set of scales dangling from one of her hands. Before Steve could react, she gripped his bicep and stared into his eyes. Her glare was so intense he felt petrified by it. Golden light radiated from them and surrounded her body. With a flash, she was gone.

And so was the alley.

Through the darkness, strains of a brass band floated. Whispering in his ears like memories lost long ago. A set of lights turned on, then another, and another, until the darkness faded away and gave way to a hazy dance hall. Decorations of red, white, and blue hung around him. People stood around, wearing sport jackets and military uniforms. Their conversations mingled with the big band to create an overwhelming symphony.

A few women flirted with the men, wearing their dancing shoes and nice dresses. Steve's eyes scanned the room, looking for the one dame he wished would be there. He couldn't find her. As usual, it seemed she escaped his grasp.

A commotion at the other end of the room caught his attention. A group of men parted and gave way to a beautiful vision. Curve hugging red dress, elbow-length white gloves, chestnut curls, and beautiful brown eyes. A mysterious smirk outlined in red. The one and only, vicious and vivacious, Peggy Carter.

He uttered her name as though he was seeing God with his own two eyes.

"Steve," she stated, her accent giving her words an air of righteousness.

She presented her arm, wrist dead. She looked from her outstretched arm to Steve, arching a brow.

"Well, aren't you going to ask me to dance?"

Steve looked around. Couples materialized on the dance floor with them. The band was starting up a song, something slow. He took Peggy's hand. This was the chance. Time to claim the dance he promised Peggy before he crashed Red Skull's plane into the ice.

Steve's head was clouded, the haze in the room not helping. He glanced around as he held Peggy close.

"Is everything alright?"

Steve looked at the gorgeous woman wrapped in his arms. Nothing could be wrong with her so near. He missed her so much. The way she laughed and smiled and said his name, he missed it all. As the song faded out, Steve realized he was going to miss his second chance to do something he never got to do.

He leaned in close, tilting Peggy's chin up and looking deep into her eyes.

But a dull ache in Steve's stomach stopped him from getting what he wanted. Another ache brought intense pressure in his chest. He found himself short of breath and pushed Peggy away. It burned worse than being shot and he could feel his body fighting to heal it. But it wasn't working.

The pain brought back memories of the day of his transformation. The agony was so great, a little part of him wanted to stop. The horrible process wasn't worth what he'd become. But he knew he needed to carry on. He wanted to fight and if surviving a German scientist's crazy experiment was the only way to do it, he was going to persevere, damnit.

Applying that logic was harder than it seemed when Steve was so disoriented he had no clue where he was. Or what was causing the hallucination.

"Steve? Are you okay?" Peggy asked again.

Is this what death feels like? Am I going to die?

"My God, Steve, you're bleeding!"

He pulled his hand away from his abdomen. His palm was red, coated in his blood. The hazy scene around him disappeared, casting him in the darkness again. But Peggy remained, at least, the shape of her did.

Her frame was draped in pure white instead of her brash red dress. A set of golden scales dangled from her hand. And her face was different.

The softness was gone, replaced by hard, judging angles. Her tamed chestnut curls were darker, wilder. Her warm, brown eyes turned grey and cold. She was intimidating, yet alluring.

"Your heart beats strong but your soul weighs heavy with all that you've lost. Your war comrades, your mother and father, the only woman you ever loved, the only family you ever had."

Images, glowing like projections on an old movie screen, drifted past. The Howling Commandos. His mother. Peggy. Bucky …

"You don't belong here. You're a relic from a bygone era."

Steve's pain grew more intense. He groaned and gasped. He couldn't hold himself up and writhed in the cold, damp ground.

"You ended your life so theirs could continue. So, why are you here?"

"I don't know."

Steve stumbled away from the apparition, "I don't know."

The woman leered at him. With nowhere to go, Steve shrunk away from her terrifying gaze. Something changed in her eyes. Recognition? No, realization. And terror. What did this woman want with him?

"You serve a greater purpose."

"What?"

Images flew before Steve's eyes, changing so fast he wasn't sure he could make out what they were. A jungle, a field of dead soldiers, a man in golden armor. He didn't know what they meant, nor was he sure he would remember them.

I'm dreaming. He had to be. There was no explanation for it. He was worried about his place in the modern world and so his subconscious was taking it out in odd hallucinations. He pressed his hand to the wound on his chest, trying to use the pain to bring him back to reality. Then he could find help.

"Your fate was written in the stars long before you were born. You fight for those who can't, you stand up for the values that you were built upon. Freedom. Justice. There will come a great war and you are the key to winning. You will save the world. No, you will save the universe."

The scales in her hand tipped back and forth wildly, so fast Steve had no idea how she kept them in her hand. A wind whipped around them, from where Steve couldn't tell.

She knelt and brought her face impossibly close to his, "I've helped you find your purpose. Don't lose sight of it."

She disappeared like dust in the wild wind she conjured. Leaving Steve to succumb to his wounds in the darkness.