"You don't understand. I coulda had class. I coulda been a contender. I could've been somebody..."

- Terry Malloy, On the Waterfront (1954)


"You would let the world burn if it meant saving only a few?"

When he is finally cleared by a medic, Steve is halted by the young girl's tiny voice. He gives her what he hopes is not a bleak smile and saunters over to her bedside. The tenants they did save were all amassed into the nearest hospital – some were faring better than others, and Rose was fortunate to have only made out with a few scratches and mild burns.

"Where's Diana?" she asks.

Steve recalls dark locks, vivid eyes, and the force of weighted words and shakes his head. "She needs time to rest too," he lies for her. He also recalls the golden lasso but the past weeks have been a waterfall of new information and he is more bothered by her words than the possibility of her having powers. The twenty-first century, it seems, has more than a handful of heroes these days. But hero? Can she really be called one?

"She saved you, didn't she?" he grins at the little child. He palms her messy auburn locks to stave off her other questions and pretends to forget about some pressing appointment. "You stay out of trouble now, you hear?" he tells her.

"Will I see you again, Mr. Captain America?" Steve rises from his crouched position just as a nurse dressed in blue scrubs walks past the periwinkle veneer.

"Well if New York City is expecting a few more calamities, you bet your sweet heart you will," she checks off Rose's vitals and fixes the flustered hero with a blank stare. "You've been discharged, haven't you, Mr. Rogers? Do us all a favor and stay indoors for a while, will you?" Her words are biting too. "Every time you come out from wherever it is you stay, trouble follows."

Steve doesn't encourage her line of thought for further elaboration and merely flashes Rose one last smile. "I'll see you, Rose." Even as a figurehead, his disposition as Captain America had always been subject to criticism and thrown rotten edibles. So, he shouldn't be so hurt by the nurse's quiet jabs, but still – he shakes his head and veers off toward one of few payphones in the waiting room.

"Hello?"

The voice chalks up against his throat momentarily. "Hi, Pepper –"

"Ohmygod, Steve!" He hasn't known the woman for long, but he can already imagine her deserting her position for a corner of some room or the silence of some corporate hallway; her worry is large enough to fill an ocean – and for a few seconds he ponders how she could still be so patient with Stark with all his trouble and discrepancies. "I saw the news! I saw you –"

"Yes, Pepper –"

"And Diana! Diana, Steve! Is she with you? Is she alright? She looked like she came from the fire too?" Her sentence ends in a question; hoping, pleading him to correct her words. But false safety is all his presence can demand and he knows Pepper deserves better than that.

"No – ye - about her," he pauses, to allow her time to cut in once more, but no words sprout forth from the other end and he sighs. "Diana, is she – you know?" he fumbles for the right terminology. The golden lasso is still very much prevalent in his thoughts, despite all his attempts to compartmentalize it into a corner of his brain for another time. "One of us? Like me?"

"Like you?" Pepper repeats, tone colored by confusion. "You mean, a super-soldier? Enhanced? Not that I know of – no – why - what makes you ask that? Steve, what happened? Where is Diana?"

There are too many leery eyes pressing into his back, forcing Steve to hunch his shoulders against their inquisitive gaze. "I can't say –"

"Or you won't say?"

"Can't," he gives, because he truly does not know the answer to that question. She had marched off after their talk towards a direction which he knew not. "What time will you be back? I'll run through all your questions then."

"Can't say," he almost grins at the lilting tone of her voice. "But I'll try to be home before 12 – I'll have JARVIS inform you."

"That's all I need. Thank you, Pepper. I'll see you tonight," Steve doesn't wait for her reply before he puts the phone back. Rising back to his full height, the realization that he has to leave this temporary sanctuary freezes him. For a moment, he hesitates between the exit and the waiting room. The glass doors of the hospital open and close automatically, and bring forth the heavy air of New York streets into the main waiting room. The previous taunts of the nurse still haunt his head, but he can't stay in the limbo of the hospital. He knows trouble follows him – that conflict and war are his new parents in this life, but he doesn't want to acknowledge it any further than he has to. He is tired; he wants his Brooklyn bricks and the tiny kitchen table piled with bills again. They were so much better than what he has now.

However, his decisions have already been made – with or without his consent, and he knows he has to go. But luck is merciful and he is halted by the shout of stumbling footsteps. "Wait! Captain America, sir!" He turns around to see the caller of his name and finds Billy, the lanky boy from the fire. "Wait, please, sir," his breath is labored, and he leans over his knees to buy his lungs some semblance of rest. "My mom, she's awake," he tells him. His eyes are dark compared to his bright blue. "She wants to talk to you."

Steve sizes him up as they ascend towards his mom's room: Billy. About seventeen or eighteen years-old, has a body riddled with unmediated illnesses and the under-eye bags of an amnesiac. He is just an inch shy of his shoulder and his eyes are perpetually glued to the floor; hands curiously tapping against his thigh with every door they pass. Steve has seen this trick, has seen it performed by his comrades every time they were graced with an abandoned inn to refuge in during the war. Heck, he's seen Barton do this. Not as conspicuously as Billy, but he has seen the archer count exits, memorize landmarks, and acknowledge escape routes first over guests and newcomers; his field of work has trained the practice into his brain. But Billy? Steve remembers fighting for a world that wouldn't imprint that kind of paranoia into young kids' minds.

"She's in here," Billy disrupts Steve's thoughts as he steers them into a room. The sterility of the hospital has never beckoned kind feelings from him, and he suspects that it doesn't cajole any warmer thoughts in his company's head.

"Captain America." Four quick strides cover the distance between the door and the bed. He keeps a proper gap between him and Billy's mother as her eyes flutter open. Gently, he tells her there is no need to strain herself to speak to him. This elicits a crude laugh from the woman.

"And not see the man who saved me in all his glory?" she croons, before giving way to a short chorus of coughing.

"Mom," Billy's cheeks are colored, but he makes no move to do anything else but remain seated on the other side of her bed.

"Oh shush, Billy! It's been years since I had a man –"

"Mom!" This time, Billy is on his feet, looking torn between escorting Steve or himself out of the room.

"Ma'am," Steve can't control the easy smile that parts his lips, despite his own cheeks flushing at the doubtlessly crude comment she was about to make. "Billy said you wanted to talk to me?"

Her eyes creak open, a tepid green amid the pain medicated she is being treated with. "Yes," she answers, suddenly somber. "I wanted to both thank you and ask you, what took you so long to visit me?!" she cackles at the end and her son groans again.

"Ma'am?" Steve is more wary than wondering now as he throws her words around his head again.

"You didn't come to the fire because your senses were tingling, right Captain? You came because you were looking for something? Or –" she cracks one eye open again. "Did you really come over to see me?"

Inquisitive. He will give her that. "You're right, I was hoping to visit Mr. Sterns –"

"And is it because of Everett that there have been police outside our building?" Billy's mom is quick, and knows his target. Despite this, Steve doesn't answer, but he learns he doesn't have to as her eyelids squeeze together tightly. "That man, I should have reported him weeks ago."

"Ma'am?" "Mom?"

Unfortunately, before she can elaborate any further, her body is overwhelmed by fit of furious coughs which quickly escalate her blood pressure. This automatically draws out a nurse from the confines of her station to check up on her. Upon sighting the two men in the room, she frowns and silently ushers them out as she heads for her patient; Steve and Billy stand out in the hallway, both their heads rampant with even more questions than before.

"I'm – I'll call you?" the boy finally draws out. He looks up at Steve; six feet tall, possibly more, and with lines creasing on his forehead – he seems to be tearing through every word that his mom had spoken. He recalls the scientist's name that was mentioned, and tries to identify within himself anything intrinsically incriminating during his past encounters with the recluse of a man. "When she's better, I'll find out and let you know what she was trying to say."

Steve nods appreciatively as he guides them over to the nurses' station. It's vacant, and he doesn't think they will mind his pilfering of one sticky note as he reaches over the desk and scribbles one of Stark Tower's private lines onto the pale-yellow paper; he stifles a small grin at the pen he is using - a bobbling doctor's head with a thickly drawn mustache covering its top lip.

"Thank you," he hands over the piece of paper as he slides the decorated pen back into the mug. "I appreciate the help, Billy," he says. "But please don't press her on my behalf – only when she's well." The fact that she had been able to make connections as is, and direct more suspicion onto Sterns, is enough. Or, he hopes it is enough. He figures that sans Stark's brash intellect demanding the majority of JARVIS' time at the tower, he can utilize some part of its brain to research more on Sterns. He nods at Billy as they exchange farewells; slightly lanky, but there is a gleam in his eye and he waves goodbye at the boy. Steve can easily recognize kindling and the boy deserved better than another fire in his life. He makes a note to himself to have JARVIS redirect Billy's call.

When Steve returns to the Tower after a ponderous walk, the first task that motivates him to leave his thoughts is researching on Everett Sterns. JARVIS is a disembodied voice, he knows, but Steve only addresses it once he reaches the top floor. Among all the levels of the tower, this one is the most special to him – the one that calls his name and reminds him of what had been just a few weeks ago. And what a mess that was. New York City had all but crumbled before his eyes, the tower's glass walls all but broken snowflakes beneath his feet; to this day, he can still recall the distinct crunching noise of glass beneath his feet, the adrenaline deafening his ears, and the defeated, self-proclaimed god outlined on the upper level of the floor. But that was two weeks ago, and New York is a fast city. Its scars and war wounds are still scattered, but its people are robust - persistent. As for the tower, Tony Stark only believes in one kind of ghost, and shook off the damage on his building as a minor inconvenience. He had everything fixed in four days; the remaining money he could spare went to the relief effort occurring down below. This, Pepper, Natasha, and he recognized with only a brief glance at the innovative man.

"JARVIS?" The debris is gone, but Steve's feet still habitually evade the area where Loki had lain.

"Yes, Captain Rogers?"

He stands before the newly installed glass and overlooks the city, feeling smaller rather than bigger. He doesn't think he will ever be able to understand the desire to claim power over all. How could people ever entertain the idea of controlling others? He has more ghosts than he can handle, and undertaking the apparitions of others is just incomprehensible. Then again, he realizes that for that reason, it must be why some dictators are driven to eradicate rather than to understand and save. "Can you track the locations that Everett Sterns frequently visited please?" He doesn't bother to ask for the man's location. If Sterns has been able to orchestrate this much already, then it is safe to conclude that the man has already taken precautions to hide his current coordinates.

"On it. Will that be all Captain Rogers?"

"For now, JARVIS, yes," his shoulders deflate. "Thank you."

"As you wish, sir. I will send the data that I have accumulated to the home drive. You may access it from the bar's console by the sink. Miss Potts also would like to regretfully inform you that she is needed at the office longer than she expected. She will be unable to arrive at her allotted hour of 2300, but would like you to let her know if you will still be present by tomorrow morning at 0500."

Steve saunters over to the bar and easily detects the imbedded console by the sink. He touches a green button and nods to himself, knowing that the AI didn't need his mobile response as much as his vocal one. In a flash, a holographic screen is projected in front of him, and with experience he recognizes it as one of the interactive ones that Stark favors.

"Tell her I'll be here," he replies distractedly. JARVIS has programmed for the info to automatically project, and thus far, Steve has categorized Everett to be a highly unsociable man. He tracks his monetary and digital footprints before he narrows down to one particular location – the public library.

"-thing else?"

He closes out of the hologram and heads toward the elevator again. "No, JARVIS. That will be all." Knowledge. Everett Sterns is a doctoral student who has completely eradicated all his history on the internet. However, he is also a traditional man. And while Steve usually finds his older characteristics ridiculed, he finds the time to finally appreciate its appeal to those of this generation; the library. He almost chuckles to himself as he departs the tower. Everett can destroy all his digital history, but the library still practices in paper and based off his routines, Sterns frequented the library as much as he frequented the lab.

In his epiphany, he almost reaches for his phone to dial Diana. But his fingers instantly recoil from the device as he recalls her departure and the lack of contact information. He briefly wonders if she will return and rejoin him on the case. Pepper had described her as an extremely elusive woman, and that her origins lay in Europe and not America, so he doesn't place much hope on the thought. Before coming to New York, Diana probably dined in the finest of their socialite groups and disappeared in museums and monuments; blending in with the art and only standing out when she so desired. What reason did she have to stay and stave off trouble with him?

Women like her didn't spend time with men like him. That had been the truth back then, and even with augmentations done to him, the fact still stood. Yes, more have thrown their attention at his new build – but Steve is more than a figurehead. He is still a person – a boy with asthma ghosting each stolen breath he dare take, and hesitation infringing upon each action his enhanced muscles made. If anything, Steve is still hesitation and futile bravado masquerading under the shell of Dr. Erskine's work.

Yet Peggy saw that.

She saw it, and paid the price for it. Paid the price of liking a coward using chemicals and science, (which he didn't even understand), to become someone more. Better. Faster. Stronger – but still so weak in many other ways.

"Sulking again, flag boy?" His eyes rise up. He's made it to the library steps amidst his cankerous thoughts without him noticing. He falters for a second, but then remembers Peggy and his failure.

He grins and the action sends a bitter taste down his mouth. "It's what happens when I don't travel with my bike," he easily works with what the woman is giving him. "The wind usually drowns out all my problems."

Natasha Romanoff has stayed off the grid since Thor's and Loki's departure. Yet she stands in front of him, undetected; unawed by bystanders.

She rolls her eyes but otherwise, smiles back at him. "So I've noticed," she cajoles. "Now mind telling me what trouble you managed to dredge up?"


A/N: Rough. Chapter was rough - but thank god Steve's character finally took over towards the end. Anyway, I really can't wait for you guys to read the next chapter. I have some Steve/Natasha banter that just started pouring out during my outlining and it's a nice break from all the doom and gloom. Don't forget to comment! Please let me know if there are any big issues you guys would like me to address or any parts you want more of. Aside from grammar/structuring I want to improve! Of course, I also do plan to revise as best I can and go over once more when the story is finished.

But also, Question: do you guys think this is a Steve/Diana pairing story?