All Previous Disclaimers Apply.

A/N: This is not where I intended this to go, but it's where it went. I took liberty with Nightcrawler's background in that I made most of it up. There's a lot of mental anguish in this chapter, but soon we'll get through to a much happier place. I hope it's not too off-putting.

Warnings: There is a semi-graphic description of a mob murdering people and attempting to lynch a mutant in this chapter. It is dark. Please do not read if this is going to trigger something for you.

"Captain Rogers?"

Steve drew in a deep breath and blinked hard at the quiet voice at his side. It felt almost like he was coming awake after a deep sleep. It took him a moment to realize that he'd paused in his task of weeding the flowerbed at the front of the mansion, still on his knees, his arms resting comfortably on his thighs. His mind hadn't been in the flowers and the earth as it usually was when he came to the gardens. He'd been too angry, too hurt, to really focus. And it had only been when he'd realized he was pulling up as many young plants as he was weeds that he'd taken a deep breath, taken his hands out of the soil and sat back on his heels, breathing deeply. He'd taken up meditation with Bruce shortly after their first battle as a team and had found it extremely helpful in settling him and organizing his thoughts, but he hadn't felt the need to do it on a regular basis since he'd finally found a life that he felt he could call his own. He'd forgotten just how easy it could be for him to slip into a full meditative trance, lost to the world and everything in it, focusing inward.

Perhaps he should have been meditating more, he mused, free from anger at the moment. Finding James alive had been the happiest moment of his life as far as he could remember and for a few weeks being together had been blissful, but recently all they seemed to do was fight. Fight over everything. The smallest things seemed to get under Steve's skin and he found himself being cruel for the sake of being cruel, hitting James where he knew it would hurt the worst and he couldn't even say why. Yet another fight, and an unfinished one at that, was why he'd come to the garden in the first place. Gardening was something that he'd found relaxed him and was the closest thing he'd found to meditation without actually meditating. But, he'd been so wound up, unable to come to some sort of resolution with James, positive or negative, because James had been called away on an alert, that it hadn't helped this time. But, obviously the meditation had. And he was glad. His personal problems with James were not something to put on someone else.

He looked up, momentarily blinded by the sun, and shaded his eyes so that he could see who was speaking to him. A small smile curved his lips without him having to think about it to see Kurt Wagner in front of him. He'd become close with Kurt over the time he'd been at the mansion. There was something about the quiet, studious young man that reflected the very nature of Steve's own soul back at him. He was comfortable around Kurt. It didn't matter if they were speaking, in English or in German, or if they were simply sitting in the silence, lost in their own thoughts or their own reading. Steve was still working to catch up on everything he'd missed now that he really had the downtime for it, and Kurt was intellectual by nature, with a constant thirst for knowledge. Steve felt almost how he imagined Bucky had felt about him all of those years ago. Kurt was like a younger brother to him and he was glad that the young man felt comfortable enough to come to him when it was so obvious that he kept himself apart from so many at the mansion. Some of it had to do with his appearance, Steve knew. But, he even kept himself away from Hank whose mutation was the only other so obvious among the residents of the mansion. But, Steve didn't blame him on that level. Hank McCoy was a great man, but he was often so lost in his intellectual pursuits and his thinking was on such a high level that it could be hard to have a conversation with the man on an every day topic.

"Kurt," Steve sat back in the grass and motioned for Kurt to do the same, "I've told you before to call me Steve. I'm not a captain anymore, in the army or otherwise."

"Right," Kurt said quietly, distractedly, as he crouched down. Steve knew it was the most comfortable position for him, due to his unique bone structure and didn't push for him to sit. He raised an eyebrow at the way Kurt's tail was swiping back and forth in agitation.

"What's on your mind, Kurt?"

"I…" Kurt swallowed hard and looked away before beginning again, "Do you think I am a coward?"

"What?" Steve was genuinely surprised by the question, but sorry that he'd been so forceful in the way he said the word when Kurt flinched away and didn't look back at him. He forced himself to gentle his tone, "What would make you think something like that, Kurt?"

"I…before I came here…my parents did everything they could to shield me from the hatred of mutants for so much of my life. I didn't realize that by never letting me go out, by making my face look more mask-like before every show, they were trying to protect me. If they could make the people who were coming to see the circus believe that it was just a mask, and my act was smoke and mirrors, then no one would question. I…I didn't appreciate that until it was too late." He sniffled and for a moment Steve was reminded just how young Kurt really was. A very young man just out of childhood. He swiped a hand under his nose and Steve offered him the handkerchief he still kept in his pocket. Kurt took it and began to play with it, but didn't use it, looking down at the scrap of cloth in his hands.

"How much do you know about the circumstances the professor found me in?"

"Not much," Steve admitted, "I tend not to ask until someone's ready to share. It's not really my place."

That brought a small smile to Kurt's face, but he still couldn't look at Steve, "I never understood why my parents kept me away from others. They never let me have much technology and constantly travelling…it was not easy to get it. So, the hatred, the vitriol, normal people have for mutants, especially those of us who cannot pass for human…I did not understand it. I just thought they were keeping me hidden away because they wanted to control me when all I wanted to do was see the outside world, wanted to be away from the circus, wanted to go to school with people my own age."

"It's something any young man would want, Kurt," Steve put a hand on his shoulder, already sensing where their conversation was headed.

"Yes…but not any young man would have snuck out that night. I went to a teens dance club. There are many still in Germany. For a time everything was fine. I danced. I was having fun. I thought everyone else was just ignoring me. But, I was wrong. I didn't know that I'd been noticed, didn't see the ugly stares, until someone hit me over the head with a bottle. Severe concussion, I found out later. But in the moment the only thing I could think was that I had to get back to the circus, where I'd always been safe. With my head…I could only teleport a few yards at a time. I led them right to my family. I wasn't aware of much, but…the ringmaster, Duncan, and my parents…they tried to talk them down. But…"

"But, a mob in full force can be dangerous," Steve finished for him.

Kurt nodded again and looked up briefly. Steve could see the tear tracks in his soft fur, "They demanded I be handed over. And when they refused…they shot them. The rest of the cast couldn't protect me. Some of them had children, too. I don't blame them for hiding. I can remember only a little. My mother sobbing as she covered my body with her own after watching my father fall. Duncan…seeing his body jerk as he ran toward them, roaring…so loud…I found out later they'd shot him six times before he went down. They shot my mother as she sought to protect me. The bullet went through her back, through her heart, and into my shoulder. Small favors…it killed her instantly. Me…they…I can remember how rough the rope was around my neck. I can remember the feel of it biting into my flesh and the terror of being lifted from my feet, dangling in the air as they laughed. So much hatred."

He was trembling and Steve couldn't stop himself any longer. He wrapped an arm around Kurt's shoulders and pulled the slight young man into his lap, tucking his head under his chin and wrapping him up in his large arms, as if he could protect him from the memories just by holding him. Kurt was stiff for a moment, but relaxed when he realized Steve's intent. He tucked his arms into his body and pulled his legs in, making himself as small as possible in the embrace.

"I was not awake for this, but I was told later that a priest stopped them. He'd been taking a walk and…I don't know how he did it, but he calmed them, somehow shamed them into letting me down. He and the nuns from the parish he served collected me, brought me in, gave me sanctuary. They nursed me when the hospital would not take me. They buried my parents and Duncan. By the time I was aware of what had happened Professor Xavier had heard of the demon in Germany and realized what I was. I did not take him up on his offer immediately. But, I could see it would only be a matter of time before the people would no longer allow Father and the sisters to keep me as their little pet. To keep them safe I accepted the Professor's offer to come to America. And it has been wonderful to be here at the mansion. There's a cathedral not too far from here. I attend mass, as I did in Germany, in the rafters, of course, the shadows. But, I…" His voice broke and Steve rocked slowly.

"Take your time, Kurt."

It was several long minutes before Kurt spoke again, "The more I study, the more I learn, and the more I see of the world, the more I know that I…I am not capable of hate. I cannot hate those who hurt me. I cannot hate those who keep hurting mutants. I want to forgive them, and the professor supports me, but I see those I love going out when the hatred is spread and they fight it. I…I get in the danger room and I freeze. I cannot…The only thing I can smell is the alcohol from the bottle that broke over me, the blood. I…cannot…"

"Kurt," Steve stopped him when his tone and breathing took on a hysterical edge, "That's not cowardice. It took me a long time to realize it in myself. My best friend growing up, Bucky…"

"The Winter Soldier?"

"Yeah. But, not always. Before he was The Winter Soldier he was just Bucky. My best friend, my brother, the only person who'd always had my back, even before the serum. He became The Winter Soldier because I wasn't strong enough, wasn't fast enough, to save him. And I thought he died. There are still times when the wind blows just right or I'm standing a certain way when the only thing I can see is Bucky falling from that train. And it brings me to my knees. I understand not being able to fight, Kurt, because I can't bring myself to do it anymore, either."

"What?" Kurt pulled away from the embrace slightly and Steve looked right into his eyes, letting Kurt see the truth in his.

"I fought it for three years, tried to pretend. In the war I did what I had to do, but I came back broken, Kurt, and I can't bear to be used as a weapon any longer. The professor understands it. He's helping me work through the flashbacks, the guilt. Medication helps, too. You can't be afraid to ask Charles for help. He knows I'll never be a member of the X-Men. He accepts it. He doesn't think any less of me. He wouldn't think any less of you. Who made you feel like you had to fight?"

Kurt shook his head and buried it against Steve's chest again and Steve had a feeling he knew who had made Kurt feel the way he did and it made him so angry he could barely see straight but his anger wasn't what mattered at the moment. Kurt's comfort was what mattered.

"You don't have to fight, Kurt. It doesn't mean you don't care about our friends. It doesn't mean you don't care about mutants. There are plenty of people in history who have changed the world by refusing fight."

Kurt nodded and shivered against him and Steve held him closer, knowing Kurt was listening and hearing him, "But that doesn't mean we shouldn't be prepared. We live dangerous lives in our association with the X-Men. I know there are a lot of the kids, and some of the other adults who don't intend to fight, but maybe we…would you like to help me teach a defensive fighting course for those of us who won't train, won't be X-Men? We all still need to know how to protect ourselves and the children if the worst should happen."

"I think…I think if it was to protect the children…if I could tell myself that is why I am training…I think I could do that." Kurt whispered. Steve pressed a kiss to his hair, feeling every inch the older brother Kurt had taken him on as.

"We'll take it slow," he promised.

Steve breathed deep as he rocked Kurt gently, the young man exhausted from his emotional sharing. He thought back to the fight he'd had with James before Kurt had come to him. He'd been so angry this morning when James had left with the other X-Men. So angry that the man he loved was going to keep fighting. They'd had so many dreams when they were young, they'd whispered together of the day the war ended when they'd get themselves a plot of land in the Canadian wilderness near where James had been born, build their own house, take care of themselves and maybe a couple of horses, just allow themselves to be normal…no more fighting, no more causes. He didn't know why he'd thought that those dreams could still come true. He knew it wasn't realistic any longer. James was too involved with the X-Men. They needed him and he needed them. He would never admit it out loud, but Charles' dream of a better world where humans and mutants lived peacefully had become his. He was fighting for that dream as much as he was fighting for his friends. But, the thought that the cause and the lives of his friends were more important to him than a seventy year old dream with Steve had made him irrationally angry and they'd fought. Steve was ashamed now. He couldn't say that Kurt, and himself, weren't cowards for not wanting to fight if he told James that he was selfish for needing to. The regret for the harsh words, the accusations, he'd thrown at James before he left and put himself in danger yet again to protect people he cared about, was overwhelming. He swallowed hard and allowed a couple of his own tears to fall.

He'd been angry so often lately and taking out all of it on James, even though most of the anger had nothing to do with James. It was everything he'd suppressed over three years that had manifested itself in a black depression. Now that he was more balanced it was manifesting itself as something new. Anger, an anger so great it threatened to overtake him, and resentment. And he was directing it all at the person he loved the most in the world. He could admit it now, even if just to himself. The medication and talking to the professor, working through his war experiences, weren't enough. He was pushing away the best thing that had ever happened to him. And it he allowed himself to continue as he was he was going to lose James. Even the thought of it stabbed into his heart and made him feel as if he were going to gag. He took in a shaky breath and let it out. He needed to change. And he needed help to do it.

Hours later, after he'd made sure Kurt had eaten something and put the exhausted young man to bed, he sat in the dark, a tumbler of clear liquor in his hand, and couldn't look up at James when he came into their shared room.

"Steve," James growled, already on the defensive, as he began to remove his gloves, "Don't know why you bother. Unless something's changed you haven't told me about you can't get drunk, bub."

"It's Asgardian liquor," Steve said quietly, "It was a gift from Thor when I left. I needed it. I…James…" He looked up and winced at the expression on James' face. He wasn't angry. He was resigned. And Steve realized just how often he'd started fights since they'd come back together. And how deeply it was wounding James.

"James," he repeated, "I'm sorry."

"What?" James' face was unreadable, no expression now to give away what he was thinking.

"I'm sorry. I…can't…I haven't been very good at this. Being back together with you. You're the only thing I've wanted since I woke up and I think I've been resenting the fact that you're not the same person you were when I went into the ice. So, I've been punishing you."

"I can't be that man anymore, Steve," James sat on their bed and dropped his face into his hands, "I know it was an instant for you, but I had to take the long road. So much has happened."

"I know," Steve nodded, "And I think I resented you for that, too."

"Steve, if you're going to resent the fact that I didn't go into the ice with you our entire lives than this isn't going to work! You didn't give me a chance to go into the ice with you, damn it! You made damn well sure that I wasn't on that plane with you!" For a moment Steve saw a hint of the wildman James had been when they first met as James looked up at him and bared his teeth.

"I know," he said quietly, and put a hand on James' knee, "I realized that today. Kurt…he told me about what happened to his parents, how he lost everyone and everything he knew in an instant. And he…He's so young, James, but he is so much wiser than I feel like I'll ever be. He doesn't even resent the castmates who hid while his parents were killed and an angry mob tried to lynch him. He doesn't even resent the mob. And I realized, if we're ever going to make this work than I have to stop expecting you to be someone you can't be any longer and love you for who you are now. Because I do. I do love you." Steve slid out of his chair and to his knees, setting aside his glass in favor of covering both of James' knees with his hands.

"I love you, too," James said quietly, covering Steve's hands with his own, "And I…I need to let go of the anger. I can't resent you for choices you made. They're over."

"I need help, James. More than I've been letting the professor give me. I'm so…my head is mess." The words were hard to force out, but Steve could see how much of a burden they lifted from James' shoulders. He sat straighter for a moment as if Steve pretending he was so much better than he was had been a physical burden on him that was finally being relieved. It gave Steve hope that he hadn't ruined things beyond fixing just yet.

"No more than mine," James slid onto his knees and wrapped his arms around Steve.

"I wouldn't blame you if you thought it wasn't worth it. It's going to be hard and I'm going to screw up and, despite my best intentions right now, I know that there are going to be times when I'm going to fight you and resent you and hurt you just because I can."

"It's no worse than I've done," James stroked a hand through his hair, "We're both going to screw this up, Steve, but I…it's worth it to me. We'll find a healthy place together. You're worth the time, and the pain. You always have been. Hate to break it to you, bub, but you've always been messed up. It wasn't seventy years in the ice and then three years of suicidal thoughts that did this to you."

Steve snorted, though it ended on a sob, and clutched James to him, "You're one to talk, Mr. My mind blocks everything that makes me vaguely uncomfortable. You're just as big a mess as me."

James chuckled darkly and kissed Steve's hair, "You're right."

The held each other silently for what could have been moments or an hour before Steve spoke again.

"James…I…I can't be an X-Man. I'm not…I'm not strong enough."

"Steve, you're one of the strongest men I know, "James said quietly," But I get it. You never intended to fight as long as you did. And there's no shame in that. You fought your fight. Be the peacetime man we always talked about. Be a teacher. Be my…my husband."

"Marriage isn't going to fix us," Steve said pulling back slightly so that he could look into James' eyes.

"You're right," James smiled, not with his mouth as much as with his eyes. "So, not yet. But, promise me when we both feel ready, you'll say yes."

Steve laid his head back against his lover's chest and closed his eyes, letting the heartbeat under his ear reassure him that someday everything might be all right.

"Someday," He promised.

"Someday," James echoed.