"Did you ever want to forget anything? Did you ever want to cut away a piece of your memory or blot it out? You can't, you know."

- Al Roberts (Tom McNeal, Detour, 1945)


He's already run through the standard circuit of questions in his head, but has never once felt provoked enough to ask them aloud. This woman, this strange, terrifyingly beautiful woman is more than meets the eye. Temporarily, he toys with the idea of attempting to draw her – but Diana Is both motion and paused time and he has never had much practice drawing juxtapositions with lead and charcoal; so, he puts a halt to the tangent thought and refocuses on the helmet. There is nothing around him except for obnoxiously flashing red and blue lights and faceless bodies in uniform. He readjusts the strap of his helmet again so that it may fit his head. He does this routinely yet never puts it on. Instead, he stows it away in the compartment under the leather seat and kicks up the stand the motorcycle is leaning against. He plugs in his key, turns it, feels the vehicle rev, and exhales. Again, everything melts into one mixture of bright lights, dark buildings, and sticks of people. As he descends into the gaping hole near the Stark building, Steve has to consciously forget the ghost touch of fingers clasped against his abdomen before he gets off his bike. He turns the key but leaves it in as the accented drone of the reinstated JARVIS welcomes him back.

He thanks the AI while mentally initiating the countdown to Tony's arrival. However, when he reaches the top floor with the open kitchen, he does not see the affluent philanthropist nursing a bottle on the countertop. Instead, he sees his partner with a placid smile on her lips and a clear cup of water in hand. He nods at Pepper as he walks past her for the fridge. She stops him by sliding the glass of water towards him.

"Thank you," he nods at Pepper.

The redhead woman is under dressed now, sporting a matching pajama set decorated with spots of cats toying around with some yarn. She waits for him to finish his drink before she takes the glass and puts it in the sink made out of chrome. "I was hoping you would be out longer, but I guess I was expecting too much for the first night, right?"

Steve is smart. He has been through a plethora of difficult and taxing situations – a few of them being similar to the one occurring right now. "Pepper?" One word answers are safe, reflective questions are even better.

"Diana, Steve!" Pepper bursts, a teasing smile at her lips. She crosses her arms and leans forward. "I saw the way she looked at you, and –"

"Pepper –"

"No, Steve," the woman shakes her head. "You stop, but –" she turns on the faucet and starts to clean the cup. "I'll drop it for now. For you. And because of the investigation."

Steve feels himself visibly deflate at the change of subject as he grabs a stool to sit on. He is on the opposite side of the counter, feeling more content with the physical barrier in between then. "They already found something?"

"No," Pepper turns off the water and puts the glassware away to dry. "Our team is running tests as we speak and any data or evidence they find won't come up until tomorrow morning. But beside that, I think we should keep this low right now. I've already gotten the NYPD a cover story to keep the burglary out of Tony's sight, so if you could do the same?"

Ever since the ascent of Loki and the temporary disbanding of their ragtag group, Tony had retreated to his upstairs penthouse without word. Occasionally, he would stop by and participate wordlessly in a workout with him, but even in those sparse moments something would trigger him and he would find words, sharp and true, to throw at Steve. In return, Steve would try his best to shoulder on the insults but his emotions have always been intangible things that were unreceptive to any conditioning that the serum could have provided. JARVIS always ended up being the referee trying to keep them apart with Pepper being the only one who could persuade Tony to finally give up. And even then, Iron Man only surrendered by hiding himself in his laboratory downstairs.

"You have my word, Pepper," Steve assuages. He could do this – for Pepper and for Tony, he would hide things for the both of them. He owes that much to the callous-lipped man and his partner.

"And Diana's number?" Pepper inquires, catching him off guard. She laughs at his shock-induced silence. "She has asked to stay updated on the investigation, you know? And she is such an elusive woman," Pepper mumbles.

Steve refuses to add to the comment. "And did you agree?" he asks, because that is what is important. Pepper's reply. Diana is doubtlessly outstanding and breathtakingly deceiving, but she is still just a civilian.

"Yes," Pepper admits. "But she has limited clearance, don't worry – it's just that, Diana Prince has always been an elusive woman with deep ties to the French aristocracy and art history." Two things which heavily prevailed in Pepper's world – the upper class and its whims for art. And Pepper has made it known that she does appreciate the latter more than the former– has even asked him for a commission or two from time to time. Yet through her flowery words, he knows she is digging for something, but he decides that he will give her this moment for now.

"That's good, that's –"

"Tony will also be moving back to California," she adds quickly. "He's going to be leaving tomorrow morning when it's the least busy. We both think the fresh air will do him good there, and I'll be following his leave next Monday."

"Kicking me out, Pepper?" Steve jokes as he crosses his arms.

Her cheeks flush as she shakes her head. "No, never, Steve. You're welcome to stay, JARVIS will be here to let you in and out. I'm just letting you know, and anyway, with this burglary going on I was actually hoping you wouldn't mind being here to oversee its progress."

"I will," he agrees. "Stay here and look after it. Don't worry, Pepper. You go take care of Tony, he needs you." Steve knows the man will never admit it, but he knows the cycle that Tony is falling into and knows that no man deserves kind of aftermath.

Pepper softly smiles as both she and Steve stand up to their full height. "Thank you, Steve. Thank you."

He lets her walk toward the elevator first and stops just beyond its doors. "Aren't you going to bed yet?" she asks.

Through the elongated, clear windows, he can feel the noises of New York City drumming against his back; he can feel its husky, wintry breeze stroking his cheeks, and its beaming lights grinning tauntingly at his tired eyes. "No, not yet," he steps back. "Goodnight, Pepper."

The redhead mimics him and takes a step back as well. She is golden under the fluorescent lights of the elevator. "Goodnight, Steve."

When the metal doors close, Steve lets out sigh. His shoulders wither, his eyelids droop, and he signs at JARVIS thankfully at the dimming lights. He turns around and saunters towards the large windows of the room and crosses his arms. New York City is still abundant with life despite the recent chaos, and he has to give it to the city and its people for its obstinacy.

" - than meets the eye, Steve Rogers."

Diana Prince. She is not a ghost, but her being haunts him like one. She is at the crevices of his mind, pushing nostalgia in his limbs and the sight of familiar red lips to the forefront of his thoughts. She knew him, recognized him from his staring at the museum, and had doubtlessly researched him thereafter. He could not fault her for that wary precaution and decides the next time someone catches his eye, he should just ignore his gut instinct and look away and walk on. Even if it meant ignoring fires that were strong enough to burn whiskey dreams and trembling hands.

Steve steps away from the cityscape as his chest constricts with an all too-familiar pain. It takes much self-control from him to keep from reaching for his phone, dialing the numbers, and directing the ever-pleasant voice of the nightshift nurse to check up on Peggy. Strong, astute, Peggy; where he has missed decades, she holds the universe in her hands. He holds onto the vision of her smile that beckoned home and sanctuary and goes to sleep with it in his head.

When the next morning arises, her smile has melted into elusive gold and his first encounter is with an invisible voice informing him that Tony Stark has left for California and that Pepper Potts has left to take care of her list of meetings for the day. No one else is in the residential half of the building, but Pepper has instructed him to prepare the breakfast she had left behind in the kitchen and thus, he is welcomed to proceed there.

Steve puts on a new clean shirt and shoves on a pair of persistent blue jeans as he adheres to the routine placed before him. When he sees the fruit shake and toast waiting for him in the empty white room, he almost coils against the sight. But he doesn't. He reaches for one of the top cabinets and procures a disposable cup. He pours the shake inside and balances the toast between his front teeth as he reaches for his motorcycle keys left on the countertop from last night. He bids JARVIS farewell for the day and takes the elevator to the garage. Hopping onto his bike, he easily speeds through the traffic of New York City and finds himself in front of a retro-styled boxing gym.

He doesn't know if he should be surprised by the lithe woman delivering a quick procession of punches at a dark bag, but he does know that there is a clock ticking and he only has a handful of seconds to dive between her and the wall before bricks and debris fly at the both of them.

There is minimum screaming and a force pushing against his chest. Steve instinctually rolls over to allow the woman beneath him some space. She rises quickly, assesses his clenched eyes, and looks over the damage done. The gym had been mostly vacant given the hour and thankfully, no one but them had been in the vicinity of the blast.

"Are you okay?" Steve rumbles, as he too, rises up and takes a quick sweep of the situation. The rest of the civilians are shaken, some displaying varying levels of shock and anger, but for the most part, he too, comes to the conclusion that no harm was really done.

"No thanks to you," Diana nods at him. Mindlessly, her fingers dance across his shoulders to pick at the debris and dust settling over his jacket, stilling Steve's thoughts for a cool, winter moment.

"I didn't take you for a boxer," Steve gives as she moves away to examine the origin of the blast site. He notes the various cellphones out and starts the timer for his departure. He lets Diana pick around as he steps through the hole in the wall. There is no one in the alleyway, no abandoned clues. Just more red bricks, large piles of black garbage bags, and the passing eyes of morning commuters peeping through the opening. He really can't declare a chase on the site, time has evaded them, and based off the small black pieces he had spotted on the ground – the bomb could have been there hours or even days before the blast time.

"Do you come here often?" Diana's voice rings clear in the alley. She has donned a black track jacket to cover her.

"Sometimes, not enough," Steve answers. Not enough to endanger the gym and its members.

"But good enough for them," Diana starts walking towards one opening. "Are you coming, Captain?"

Steve steps over a few more rubble before he is by her side. "Where are we going?"

Diana scans the street, and Steve quickly picks out her intentions and beckons for her to follow him back to his bike. "Well, breakfast first," Diana supplies. "And then, back to the museum."

"You think they found something already? Stark's –"

Diana shakes her head as she takes the helmet from his hand. "They are looking at the wrong thing, history is the lesson all humans fail to learn from."

"And of the bomb? You think it's all connected?" Steve starts the engine, and this time, he is less surprised by her encircling arms. He feels the helmet nod against his back as he pulls off onto the road.

"What's for breakfast?" He does not know where this woman is going. He can't follow her head, but his routine has been broken, and movement prevents thoughts.

"My hotel, I will guide you." Diana directs him for a few miles until they are in the valet of a large, black glass building. Steve passes his keys over the attendant as Diana swipes them into the lobby's awaiting elevator.

"Security here is –"

"Good," Diana agrees. They quickly ascend through fifteen floors of hotel rooms before they are let into a winding hallway with only four doors. Diana touches her keycard to one of the dark boxes adjacent to one of the doors and with a resonating beep, it sweeps backward giving way to a decent-sized living room and mini-kitchen. "Croque monsieur ou croque madame?"

"Is there a difference?" Steve halts from inspecting the magazines on the glass coffee table. He watches as Diana takes out eggs, ham, and cheese from the slender fridge. "Can I help?"

"Not much," Diana levels him an assessing look. "I think croque madame for the both of us," she decides. "You can help make the sauce?" Steve joins her in the tight kitchen and she slides the chopping board towards him. Together, they make quick work of soaking and grilling the bread slices.

Steve takes the job of washing the dishes as Diana prepares the water for their tea and coffee respectively. No words transpire between them, but there is an easiness to their actions that Steve takes solace in. Nothing but the steady stream of water and aroma of their food dictate his thoughts and actions. And he is all but taken away at suddenly finding himself seated at the table with a stranger of a woman serving him his coffee.

"Thank you," he stumbles out. He looks at the woman in front of them carefully cutting her sandwich apart to allow for the heat of the melted cheese inside to steam out.

"Repayment," she offers. "For saving me this morning."

"Well, it's the job description, ma'am." Steve welcomes the burn of the coffee against his esophagus.

Diana laughs. "Job description, huh? Of being a hero? Is that what you are, Steve Rogers?"

Steve knows she is cajoling him, but the words hit deeper than they should. "No," he quietly says. "Not a hero. Just one of the good guys."

"Good, hm?" Diana echoes, but does not follow up with another question. They finish both their meals quietly and easily. "Is not everyone good, then?" She does not wait for his answer as she rises up and checks the clock. "The museum should be open soon, would you mind – ?"

"I'll wash, it's fine. Go get ready," Steve begins to collect the plates and cups as she brushes past him.

When she next emerges, she is donned in jeans and leather, and has a tablet in her hands. She looks up at him and appraises his job with a grateful nod. "The Starks team has found no outlier DNA evidence – just Rourke's and Dr. Javier's."

"Not even ours?" Steve asks.

Diana gives a slow smile, but otherwise, does not look up from her device. "No, and I suppose it is because we did not stay there for too long. It is strange, however, that only Sterns' and Dr. Rourke's DNA came up. They could not have been the only ones to work in that laboratory." She puts the tablet down.

"It's possible," Steve shrugs. "Tony doesn't let us in his lab sometimes when he gets caught up his work."

"But that is his lab, this was the museum's – they did not own the room, and they could not have been so careful with the glass work," Diana argues.

"Unless it was intentionally done," Steve drawls out. He reaches for his discarded jacket and quickly walks toward the door. "What if someone at the museum was responsible for it? Can you pull up the gathered data again?"

Diana easily maintains the same pace as him as she takes out her phone and opens up the report again. "Aside from a seventy-year-old janitor, it's still just Rourke's and Sterns' DNA coming up," she stops as they enter the elevator and fixes him with an incredulous look. "Are you saying that it could have been one of them?"

"Who else could have done the work if Stark's team only came up with those three results? It explains why everything was mostly clean. The glass was just –"

"Intentional. To throw us off," Diana finishes. She returns to her phone. "Dr. Javier Rourke lives not too far from here, and Everett Sterns is closer to the city center."

"Then we visit Dr. Rourke first."