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Chapter 15

Announcements

The Bugle Building

Urich rummaged the drawer, furiously tossing items out onto the desktop; pens, notepads, a deck of playing cards. He cursed, having jabbed his finger on a thumbtack. Injured digit in mouth, he began rifling the confused debris littering the surface of his desk. Kenny White, the society page columnist, stopped as he walked past.

"Problems Benjamin?

"Yes," Urich replied, irritated. "Got to be uptown in thirty minutes…and I can't find my damn press pass! Or my recorder."

"Your pass is in your shirt pocket," Kenny said, amused. "And isn't that a cassette recorder?" he said, pointing to a corner of the desk.

"Thanks Kenny," Ben said. He saw the express mail envelope from yesterday, peeking out from under the tape recorder. He snatched both items, and then dashed to the elevator where Ned Leeds was waiting.

Minutes later, the two Bugle reporters were in a cab, heading towards one of the city's most famous landmarks; Avengers Mansion. Ned was anxious about the time.

"We'll be fine," Ben said, checking his watch. "Only a ten minute drive, plenty of time."

"Not in this traffic," Leeds groused.

Ben smiled. Leeds was a good kid, and an even better reporter, but he was on edge today. He'd been going non-stop since the crisis last night, and Ben figured he hadn't slept in over twenty four hours. Ben managed to grab about four hours of shut eye, but he was dragging ass all the same. Chasing stories was a young man's game. It was why he'd all but given up straight reporting and stuck mainly to writing his column. But if he was going to write the definitive article on Captain America, then he had to be there this morning—end of story. Actually, beginning of story was more what Ben was hoping for.

There was joy last night after the Wasp announced Cap was alive, but it was a joy quickly tempered by what she didn't say. She offered no details concerning the events, only stating that Cap was alive and recovering. Then she announced today's press conference, and the story was on once again. It wasn't merely the city, or even the nation, waiting to hear Cap speak this morning; the interest was global.

Urich found himself absently fumbling the envelope in his hand. He looked it over. No return address, just a note reading: Returning your call… please reply ASAP. With his mind more on the coming event, Ben opened the envelope and a small plastic card slipped out into his hand. His eyes grew wide as he read the three embossed words:

His eyes grew wide as he read the three embossed words:

Avengers Visitors Pass

Ben flipped the card over, reading the handwritten message in gob-smacked amazement:

Cheryl tells me you're
quite persistent. Let's talk.
Cap

Leeds looked up from his notes. "What is it? Not bad news, I hope?"

"No," Ben replied, slipping the card into his jacket pocket. "Good news, actually. An old friend."

He was not at all troubled with the lie. He liked Leeds well enough, but business was business. Any reporter worth his salt would gladly sell his grandmother for an opportunity like this; an exclusive interview with Captain America. Ben put on his best poker face, keeping it there until they arrived at their destination:

1963 east Riverside Parkway…Avengers Mansion.

Leeds stepped out of the cab, jaw open and eyes wide. "How many reporters do you think are here?"

"All of them, looks like."

They headed into the thronging crowd. It wasn't just the media; the general public was gathered in the thousands outside the outer gates of the walled compound. The police were keeping a lane open for the media, and Urich and Leeds were soon inside. The mansion had a state-of-the-art media complex, but it was too small to handle today's crowd, so the address was being held on the greens. There were easily a hundred reporters just from the television contingent, and hundreds more from radio, internet and (it warmed Ben's heart) print.

He was part of a vanishing tradition; the daily newspaper, another victim of the digital age. Young people laughed off such concerns, but he felt something vital was being lost. Print was slower, yes, but that slower pace meant deeper deliberation, and greater analysis. Journalism had to be about more than just being fast; it also had to be about context and dialog, and most of all, meaning. Where would that meaning come from in the push-button, fifty-characters-or-less, world of tomorrow? To Ben Urich, the written word was holy. Anything that diminished its power was sacrilege, pure and simple. Trade in his newspaper for a twitter account? Not this newsman.

"There's Parker," Leeds said, nudging Ben's shoulder. "You coming?"

"Go on ahead, I'll catch up."

As Leeds headed off, Ben looked for the weakest spot in the wall of reporters before him. He found it, and with a little nerve and elbow grease, he worked his way forward, coming to a halt some ten feet shy of the podium. He began scoping out the other side of the barrier. Cap had not arrived yet, or any other Avenger; just a dozen or so staffers, sound technicians making last minute checks, security people. Then, he saw the person he was looking for (he hoped). A smartly dressed woman—pretty, thirtyish, dark haired. Ben called out her name.

"Cheryl Hernandez!"

The woman looked about, scanning the crowd. "Mr. Urich," she yelled, "Glad to see you made it. Did you happen to receive a letter recently?"

Ben took the card from his pocket, holding it up.

"Good. After the address, stay right there. I'll send someone over for you."

Ben nodded and settled in, notepad in hand, recorder at the ready. The activity at the podium slowed, the technical engineers standing aside. The crowd quieted, sensing the moment at hand. As the hour turned, the man they had been waiting for walked out from the front entrance of the mansion, into the crisp October sunshine.

A roar rose from the crowd. It crested like a wave, crashed down, and then rose up again, an out-pouring. Cap stepped up to the microphone, and still the cheering went on. Ben couldn't believe the sound of it, the intensity. It took him a moment to realize that he was cheering and applauding as loudly as any there. Tears filling his eyes in the cool autumn air, he cheered on. Cap raised his arm, a gentle motion, and held it there. Slowly, the applause dwindled, and then stopped altogether. Cap leaned to the microphone.

"What can I say, but thank you?"

Again, the crowd erupted. This time, Cap cut it shorter, raising both arms.

"Thank you," he said again, as a signal for quiet. The crowd took the meaning.

"Before I start, I want to thank the police and EMT's of the city of Queens, along with the medical staff of Mercy General Hospital, for their professionalism and skill. We're lucky to have good people like that in our city."

There was another round of applause, gentle and very brief. Cap continued. "As most of you are now aware, I was rushed to the hospital last night, after what appeared to be an injury sustained while battling terrorists. This isn't altogether correct. I was not seriously injured in that fight…but I did require emergency medical aid. I'll explain, and I'll try to be brief.

"Approximately three months ago, my colleague, Dr. Henry Pym, discovered a problem during a routine health examination. This problem turned out to be serious, and Dr. Pym immediately began working to find a cure. Professor Reed Richards of the Fantastic Four, along with doctors and researchers from several leading hospitals, joined Dr. Pym. I have the utmost faith in these brilliant and dedicated people…but as of this time, a cure has not been found. It was this illness, not any injury, which caused me to collapse last night."

The crowd began to murmur, a dark unease settling in over the people, so joyful just moments ago. Ben Urich turned to a fresh page in his notepad, as Cap again asked the crowd for quiet.

"As I said, I remain confident a cure will come. Dr. Pym is the leading bio-physicist in the world today, and Professor Richards is perhaps the greatest scientific mind since Einstein. Not bad odds, having men like that in your corner. But I feel it important to be frank, with you, the American people, to whom I owe so much. This illness is very serious. They don't yet know what it is, but it might be a side-effect of the treatment that gave me my powers. I've been told the next five to six weeks are a critical time.

Again, a murmur washed over the crowd. Cap cut it off, speaking firmly into the mic. "This might be a good time to share some facts with you," he said, picking up a sheet of paper sitting on the podium. "It might help us keep this news in perspective.

"Last night, while I was being treated in the hospital, the following things happened in America: One hundred and nine people lost their lives to gun violence... thirty who were children. Also dead are four hundred and thirty people from traffic accidents involving alcohol. More than nine thousand people died from cancer and heart disease. And it is estimated that at least nineteen thousand people, from last night alone, perished, simply because they lacked access to healthcare which otherwise would have saved their lives."

Cap folded the paper, leaving it on the podium.

"If you want a tragedy, there it is. I am just a man, no more deserving of life than those thousands of people who lost their lives, while I lived. If I were to die tomorrow, no one could say that my life was anything but a fortunate one. I've been moved by the concern shown for me. Avengers Mansion has been flooded with messages from people asking what they can do to help. My answer is this: get involved. Volunteer in your community. Reach out to your neighbors. Help save some of the thousands who will otherwise die needlessly, tonight. This is what I ask you to do for me."

The crowd now was utterly quiet. The whole city seemed to stop. Even the sound of traffic was all but absent. In his fifty-four years, Ben Urich had never heard a hush such as this descend over the city of his birth. The people were hanging on every word as Cap continued.

"The Avengers will issue updates on my condition, giving you the news as soon as there is any to give. I just want to say…"

For the first time this morning, Cap faltered, for a brief moment. He looked out over the sea of people, finding his words again, his voice even and steady.

"It's been the honor of my life to serve you as Captain America. I intend to go on serving you. To the people I fought last night…to all those who seek to do evil and enforce their will on others, I say this. My fight goes on. I will oppose you to my last breath. When I fall, others will take my place. The American people will not cower in fear. We will not surrender. We will not stop until victory is ours. These aren't just words. These are my deepest held convictions, because I believe that it is the birthright of all men and women on this earth—not just of one nation—to be free. Free from want. Free from fear. Free from tyranny. This is my hope, my prayer for us all. I thank you. May God bless our nation, and all the people of the world."

Captain America turned and left the podium, and silence held as he walked back to the mansion. Once he stepped inside, the noise came; people were shouting, jostling—a cacophony of voices, hundreds of reporters speaking into television cameras, addressing the millions around the globe who were watching at home. The city was alive again, its vital energy switched back on, but it was an energy tempered by uncertainty. Ben Urich shared that sentiment. Like everyone, he was moved by Cap's eloquent, solemn words. He looked down at his notes.

"…Gettysburg Address - Nothing to Fear but Fear Itself - I Have a Dream… Captain America's Farewell Address?"

Just then, a reporter standing next to him spoke.

"I wonder," the tall man mused, "do the people of this nation realize just how fortunate they've been? To have a great man like him, standing watch all these years. Do you think they know?"

Urich looked at the younger man, an up-and-comer making a name for himself at an out of town paper. "I hope they do, Kent. If not, I'm afraid they may be about to learn."

From his basement gym, Sam Wilson watched Cap's press conference. At its conclusion, he clicked off the television; it was time to get back to work. He faced the large canvas punching bag, taking a stance. Last night, Crossbones used a devastating move on him. By feinting to his left, he got Sam to over-commit, leaving him off balance, his right flank wide open. Bones stepped inside his guard, landing a wicked right hook that damned near took his head off. It wouldn't happen again. Sam began practicing a counter move Steve once showed him. By circling to the right, it would be the attacker who was off balance, exposed. Sam stepped into the void, snapping off elbow strikes, tight and fast. He clinched, firing his knee into the canvas, and finished with a vicious left/right combination…then back to the beginning. Sam pictured Crossbones, and doubled his pace, his fists a blur. The timing was getting better, but he needed more than better. He needed perfect. A voice called out, interrupting his focus.

"Sam," Akiela said, quietly. "You've been down here for two hours. Isn't it time for a break?"

"No," Sam answered, firing off a furious rain of punches. "Got another hour to go. Then I'm meeting Hawkeye, go over some plans."

"I don't understand. I thought you retired from all this."

"Retired?" Sam shouted, turning on his wife with a look of wounded anger. "I'm supposed to let Steve face this alone?"

"But he isn't alone. He has the Avengers—"

"I was his partner, Akiela! For five years! Out there on those streets, taking all the heat they could bring down on us...the drug lords, the gang-bangers, the supervillains. And Steve? He had my back. Always! I can't even count how many times I owe him my life. Now I'm supposed to say 'sorry man, I'm retired?' You really saying that to me?"

"I don't want to lose you! That's what I am saying to you!" She slumped down on the basement steps, tears streaking her face." It's a boy," she said quietly, holding her belly. "I carry your son. What do I say to him, if you should die?"

Sam walked over, kneeling down on the steps. He took his wife's face in his hands, tenderly. "A son?"

Akiela nodded. "A son who needs his father," she whispered. "A wife who needs her husband."

Sam kissed Akiela softly.

"I love you, woman. There's nothing I want more than to be by your side when our son comes into this world. But there's something I have to do first. There are times when a man has to make a stand, no matter the cost... even if it's the things he loves most in this world. Tell our son that's the kind of man his father wants him to be."

Slowly, Akiela stood and walked back upstairs. Sam Wilson stood staring off in the distance for a long while. Then he returned to his workout.

The crowd had barely thinned in the twenty minutes since Cap's speech. Ben Urich continued to mill around, careful not to stray too far from his original spot. He was growing anxious; maybe Cap changed his mind about seeing him today. Just as that possibility began to seem increasingly likely, Ben spotted a familiar face approaching. He smiled and waved.

"Johnny!"

"Good to see you, Ben," John Jameson said, shaking hands with Urich. His smile was there, but it was subdued. John pulled Urich aside, whispering, "He'd like to talk with you."

Jameson led Ben through the barricades, taking a side path that wound around the south wing of the stately forty-room mansion. It was a beautiful building, a gift from Tony Stark, removed from its original Park Avenue address and then rebuilt, brick by brick, here, on the forty-five acre grounds boarding Manhattan's East River. Rebuilt…with many modifications. The place looked like a dignified mansion from the city's Gilded Age, which it was. It was also a fortress to rival NORAD.

They rounded a final bend in the path, leading them through a grove of towering maples, just now beginning to shed their golden leaves. With the foliage crunching pleasantly under foot, Ben and John Jameson talked.

"I miss seeing you around the office, John. Ought to stop by more often."

Jameson chuckled. "I remember working all those summers, high school, running copy for you and the other guys. A miracle you ever got a paper out I was such a mess."

"You were great. Your dad was sure he was going to make a newsman out of you."

"I think I disappointed him."

"Are you kidding? Decorated Air Force pilot, astronaut, and now this? He's one proud papa, believe me."

Jameson smiled and shrugged. "He thought I should go into politics after NASA. When this came along, I just couldn't say no. Not only do I still get to fly, but… it's important work. I make a difference here."

"You don't have to convince me."

"Maybe I'm trying to convince myself. Today's been a hard one."

Ben stopped and looked at Jameson. "I'm sorry. Do you know him well?"

"I don't make a habit of talking about it, not even with Christy," Jameson said, tracing his thumb over the gold wedding band on his finger, "but yeah, Cap is a friend. It's something I'm very proud of…and very protective of. I wouldn't like to see it in print, like I'm trying to trade on his fame or something."

"Of course. I'll never mention it, print or otherwise."

"Thanks. Cap values his privacy. He gives so much of himself that, well, he guards the little he keeps for himself. To be honest, I'm surprised he's agreed to talk with you."

Urich laughed. "You're surprised?"

John joined in on the laugh. They came upon a side door, discreetly hidden from public view. Jameson swiped his security card through the loc, and the door opened. Ben took a breath, and entered Avengers mansion.

"He's a very real person," John went on. "Not like some of the others, Iron Man, Thor, Vision, the Panther—good people, don't get me wrong. But Cap is more…real, somehow. And bigger, at the same time. You'll see."

John asked Ben to wait. As Jameson walked off, Ben looked around. He was standing in a grand hallway; marble tiled floors, seamlessly frescoed walls, tasteful crown molding. The upper portions of the walls were papered, deep hues of burgundy and green, trimmed with gold filigree. A sedate, elegant mansion, like many such enclaves of wealth and power in this town, Ben thought. Except most didn't have photographs like the one hanging next to him: a photo of Tony Stark, shovel in hand, breaking ground on the construction of this compound some twelve years ago. Beside Stark stood the Mayor and the Governor of New York, and behind them, the Wasp, Ant Man, Thor, and Captain America…not your run-of-the mill millionaire boys club.

The wait stretched into five minutes. Ben began jingling the loose change in his pocket, restless, when he saw Cheryl Hernandez approaching.

"Mr. Urich? If you'll follow me."

She led him up a wide staircase, to the second floor, stopping at a big oaken door. "He's set aside an hour for you," Cheryl said, clearly impressed. She knocked once, and opened the door. Ben wasn't sure what he expected to see; a massive den perhaps, or a high-tech operations room crammed full of gleaming machines and computers, something impressive. Instead, he saw an ordinary room, tastefully appointed, but neither large nor grandiose.

"Cap, Mr. Urich is here."

A tall figure walked around the corner, smiling. Ben was shocked. Cap wasn't wearing his mask. He walked over, offering his hand.

"Ben, good to meet you," Cap said, offering his hand, Ben took it, expecting a grip of steel. Instead, it was a simple handshake, firm but real. Cap wasn't wearing his red gauntlets, Ben noted. He had real flesh and blood hands. He was handsome, looked thirty, maybe thirty one—blond hair and deep blue eyes…a flesh and blood man. Cap turned to Cheryl.

"I could use a little something. Could you have the kitchen send us up some coffee and sandwiches?"

Cheryl nodded, and left the room. Cap led Ben over to the couch. Ben pulled out his recorder, and set it on the coffee table.

"Do you mind, Cap?"

"Not at all, but let's clear something up." He took his mask, which was folded neatly on the table, and held it up. "This is Cap. My name is Steve Rogers."

"I have to ask if this is on the record," Ben said, picking up his notepad.

"It is. On one condition. That you hold off on publishing anything until after my death."

Ben blanched. "So it really is that serious? I thought they were working on a cure, Cap…I mean Steve. Do you want me to call you Steve?" Ben asked, flustered. "I could call you Mr. Rogers, but well, that's a little odd."

Cap laughed. "I could go put on my sneakers and a sweater, if you'd like. Call me Cap or Steve, either is fine. Just wanted to let you know you were talking to a man here. People tend to see the uniform and nothing else."

"Maybe I'll just stick with Cap. Till I get more comfortable with things."

"That's fine," Cap said. "And to answer your question, yes, it is that serious. They are working on a cure, and I hope very much that they find one. If they do, then you and I will sit down and figure out what to do about this interview."

"I understand," Ben offered. "If they find the cure…when they do, I should say…then I'll do whatever you want with this material. Sit on it, destroy it, turn it over to you, whatever. It will never see print, you have my word."

"That's not what I mean. I want to go ahead with this interview, regardless. It's something I've intended to do for a long time now, since before I got sick. It's time I go on record, and share my story with the public."

"There's plenty of interest," Urich said. "For such a public figure, there are a lot of unknowns about you."

"That's something I want to change. In the event that I get well, we'll figure out how to proceed. If I don't make it, the story is yours. Okay?"

Ben nodded. The matter-of-fact way Cap spoke about his mortality was a little jarring. Of course, this news wasn't new to him—he'd been living with it for six months now. But it was more than that, Ben noted. Cap was a warrior, a man of action. It probably wasn't possible to be a fighting man for as long as Cap and still retain many illusions about the fragility of life, or the inevitably of death. Cap's attitude was the healthy one, Urich thought. It's the rest of us who have the problem.

The refreshments arrived and for the next fifty minutes, they talked. Ben asked questions and Cap answered them, directly and honestly. If Ben asked for details, Cap expanded on his words, holding nothing back, until his personal life came up.

"I don't see a wedding ring," Ben noted. "Is there anybody special in your life?"

Cap tensed. "I'm not prepared to discuss that. There are privacy issues, other people. I'm not sure they want their names to be part of the public record."

"But you are single?"

Cap laughed. "Yes. Next question, please."

"Let's talk about how Captain America came to be."

Steve told him the story, and Ben listened in fascination. There was a general mythology about the 'origin' of Captain America that most people knew…but it turned out that much of it was wrong—either a little of the mark, or just flat out bogus. Ben discovered that there were many misconceptions about Cap. This came into sharp relief when the discussion veered into politics.

"Do you consider yourself a Democrat, or a Republican?"

"Neither. That's a conscious choice. I don't want Captain America to be seen favoring any political party."

"Okay. Cap is politically neutral. What about Steve Rogers?"

Cap smiled. "Let me put it this way. I grew up in the twenties and thirties. Do you know much about that time?"

"A little," Ben said. "Flappers, Prohibition, flag-pole sitters. Scott Fitzgerald and Hemingway. A lot going on."

Cap nodded. "I always hear the sixties described as this time of 'unprecedented change' for America. It was a tea party compared to my day. The roaring twenties? Gangsters, jazz and Prohibition? The Dust Bowl, the Great Depression, World War II? No, there's never been a time like it, before or since. It changed everything, including a skinny little kid born in a rough Brooklyn neighborhood. I was a New Deal man, cast my first presidential vote for FDR in thirty six. By today's standards I'd probably be branded a real Leftie."

Urich shook his head, writing furiously in his notepad. "Captain America, a flaming liberal. Unbelievable."

"Well, that was a while ago. Like most people, my views have tempered as I've grown. I do believe in a strong national defense, and I lean a little to the conservative side on fiscal matters, more or less. But a lot of what passes for conservative politics in today's culture? I just can't relate to it."

"Do you believe in God?"

"I do."

"What are your views on abortion?"

"I think the only thing worse than abortion is taking away the right of a woman to chose."

Ben looked up from his notes. "Where do you stand on the view that America is a Christian nation, and that our laws should reflect that heritage?"

"Congress shall make no law respecting the establishment of religion. That's what I believe."

"What are your views on LGBTQ rights? You grew up in a different era, after all."

"That's true," Cap said, sighing. "Attitudes were different then, I suppose even mine. But times change. Among the people currently serving on the Avengers we have gay people, straight people, a trans woman, mutants, aliens, an inter-dimensional god, an android… and Hawkeye. We're still looking into his story. Some people are uncomfortable with things they don't understand. Me, I've learned to roll with it. I support the right of people to be who they are, and I really have no concern with the relative comfort of bigots. Does that answer your question?"

Ben laughed. "You answered it perfectly, Steve." It was the first time he used his real name. There was a knock at the door, and Cheryl Hernandez poked her head in.

"It's been sixty minutes, Cap."

Ben started gathering his things. Cap motioned him to wait.

"We're going to go a little longer. Would you let Hank know I'll be a few minutes late for my appointment?"

"Certainly Cap."

Cheryl closed the door. Ben smiled, tremendously pleased with his good fortune, and more than a little proud. Cap must think things were going well. In his thirty-year career, Ben had interviewed Presidents, Prime Ministers and all manner of world leaders—including two Pope's and one Ayatollah. Bigger than any of that, he once scored an interview with his idol, Frank Sinatra. Nothing, Ben thought at the time, could ever match that thrill. Right now he wouldn't notice Sinatra if he came barreling through the room turning cartwheels.

"Thank you, Cap," Ben said. "You're being very generous with your time."

"Hmm. Probably the one thing I can least afford these days." Cap saw the discomfort on Ben's face. "Sorry, I was trying to be clever. Actually, just the opposite is true, I'm really enjoying this. Being ill clears away all of the b.s. That's what you have no time for, the nonsense."

"Good. I'd hate to think I was wasting your time."

"If I'd known it would be this much fun, I'd have done it years ago. Come on," Cap said, rising. "Walk with me."

Ben followed him around the corner, to an adjoining room. It was a bedroom, and Ben realized they had been in Cap's personal quarters. In the corner of the room was his shield, propped up against the wall. Cap knelt, opening an old army trunk.

"I want you to have these," Cap said. The trunk was full of notebooks, binders and pads, along with stacks of letters, all neatly piled and tied up with string. "My diaries and journals, some personal papers. I'll have them sent to your home."

Ben leafed through the pages, yellowed with age, noticing the dates: 1935, 36, 37…1940—the year he became Captain America. There were letters from a number of people whose names were unknown to Ben, but one immediately caught his eye. A thank you note from Winston Churchill.

"Cap…I don't know what to say. This will be invaluable for writing my article. Thank you."

"Actually, I was thinking of more. Would you be interested in writing my biography?"

Urich was dumbfounded. "I should jump at the chance, I know, but are you sure? I'm just an old news hound. You could have your pick of writers. Historians, Nobel laureates."

"You've won a Pulitzer."

"Two."

Cap laughed. "See, that's why I picked you, for your modesty. Look, I've been reading your stuff for years. I like the way you write, it's direct, it's honest. You have a point of view, but you don't let it get in the way of telling the truth. I want you—provided we can strike a deal."

"Anything, name it."

"I don't know how these things usually shake out, but whatever my share of the proceeds amount to, I want it to go to this organization."

Cap took a card from his pocket and handed it to Ben, who read it aloud.

"The Committee to Elect Sam Wilson to the United States Senate."

"Well?" Cap said, offering his right hand. "Do we have a deal?"

Urich took his hand, shaking vigorously. "We do. Now if you don't mind, I'd like to go home and get my heart attack out of the way. Got a lot of work ahead of me."

Cheryl came a second time, and the meeting ended, asking her to escort Ben to the underground tram. "It'll take you to the far end of the compound—no one even knows that area is connected with the mansion. There's a taxi waiting, you'll be able to leave with no fuss. Thanks again, Ben."

After Ben left, Cap tidied up the dishes, leaving everything on the tray for housekeeping. His mind had been set at ease. He'd already known Urich was a good writer, but now he knew he was a good man, as well. That was important.

Grabbing his shield and mask, Cap headed to his appointment with Hank. Later, he needed to check with the authorities for any info they had on the Hydra attack. Then he would dig into Sir Richard's book, though just what it was he was looking for, he didn't know. And there was his call to Jackie. This was going to be a busy day.

Halfway downstairs, he began to slow. He missed a step, and stumbled, and had to grab the railing to steady himself. He stood there for several seconds, grimacing as he tried to will the pain away. It felt like his muscles were in a vice, and that his nerve endings had been dipped in acid. The pain eased, slowly, but did not retreat in full. He was no stranger to pain. He could stand it.

"Hold on," he said aloud. Two words, spoken with simple determination. He took a step. Then another. "Hold on," he repeated, straightening himself to his full height. Slowly, Captain America made his way to the lab.