This is set the Monday after BJ's passing in chapter 23, placing it out of order with the other Ballast chapters to this point. Sorry about that!

He closed the bedroom door and allowed himself one long moment of longing before he forced himself to walk to the kitchen and fix himself some food. Frustrated by the sling, he tossed it on the counter and ignored the pain in his arm as he used both hands to prepare a huge vegetable and cheese omelet along with some toast. All he wanted to do was throw Megan back in his car and drive them both back to Greg and Kathy's house.

For nearly forty-eight hours, he'd been Steve Rogers, artist, boyfriend and army vet. His life as Captain America had been an afterthought or a footnote. Megan had been the first person in this horrifying new life to see him as a person and he'd latched on to that with the desperation of a drowning victim. It scared him because he knew it wasn't healthy. He didn't want to drag Megan down with him.

And yet….

He sighed to himself as he plated his food and sat down at the bar after putting some music on in the background. It was so nice to have someone else in the apartment. He wasn't used to living alone. He didn't think he would ever be used to it. Just knowing there was another person sleeping in the next room gave him great comfort. He wanted to keep her here. He had no right to want that.

On the other hand, she was strong in her own right. It reminded him of his own mother and Peggy, the way she had a core of steel encased inside layers of compassion and intelligence. Was he really dragging her down if she chose this path freely?

Disgusted with himself for the way he kept thinking in circles, he decided to set aside the thoughts and take action. She needed fresh clothes that were appropriate for work. He's go to her apartment and collect what he thought she'd need.

After he cleaned up the kitchen, he left a note for her on the counter and grabbed the keys to his motorcycle and slipped the keyring from her purse. Maybe a ride would help clear his head.

After he let himself in, Steve looked around Megan apartment, taking it in more than assessing what Megan needed to be comfortable. She was frugal. He loved that about her. She had inquired about his budget before taking him shopping, not because she was judging him, but because she wasn't. She didn't want to assume or push him beyond his comfort zone. Maybe that was the moment he'd first fallen for her, when he realized she didn't assume anything about him.

Her apartment demonstrated the frugal approach to life he admired about her. She wasn't poor. Though small, this apartment had reliable heat and hot water, the windows locked, and nothing was in disrepair. This wasn't a home lived in out of desperation, nor was it extravagant. It was exactly what Megan needed to live comfortably, except for the fold out sofa bed. If there was one thing he'd learned to appreciate about modern life, it was the comfort of a firm, lump-free bed covered with warm blankets. The fold out sofa Megan slept on was neither firm nor lump free.

He walked around the small space, trying to decide where to start, when he spotted a picture of her family. Picking up the frame, he held it with new reverence. It had been taken at Christmas, all of them posed together front of the tree. Andrew was crying and squirming in Stephanie's arms. Greg had his arm around Kathy. Megan was kneeling beside Keith and had him enveloped in a hug. They looked happy… for the most part. He saw the subtle signs of stress on Megan's face as she looked at the camera. Based on the ages of the boys, this had been taken last Christmas, right after Megan had ended her relationship with Randy and charted a new life. He wondered what had driven the two apart. Megan loved with her whole being and wouldn't walk away lightly.

The love they felt for each other in was so palpable in the picture and he missed that feeling so desperately. He managed to put the picture back in place before sinking to the floor and indulging in a good cry.

He was so tired of being alone. He knew it was selfish of him to cling so hard to what Megan and her family were offering, but he wasn't suited to the solitary life. He needed people around him that cared. He had never had a large circle of support, just his mother and Bucky. It wasn't until he'd become invisible to everyone that he realized just how much their steadfast support had meant.

Steve wrapped his arms around his knees as he wept. He envied B.J. in a way that was selfish and twisted. That little boy had both his parents from the day he was born. If Steve were on his deathbed, who would sit at his side?

Eventually, the flood of tears stopped and he stumbled to his feet, clearing his face and blowing his nose with the tissues Megan had on a side table. He had to stop doing this. Bucky and Ma were gone. He just had to accept that and let them go.

His forearm ached. He'd been doing too much with it today. During the war, he'd learned to work through the pain of healing bones and gunshot wounds, though Bucky hovered as bad as he ever did.

Clothing. He needed to focus on packing Megan's clothing, not the memory of the man who was brother in all but blood. Wrenching his thoughts back to his self-assigned mission, he opened her top dresser drawer and started with selecting underwear. Despite what Megan seemed to think, he wasn't bothered by handling undergarments. He had helped his mother with laundry for years. Even on tour, he'd helped plenty of the women with mending clothes, no matter the nature of the apparel. His own had all been newly purchased after his transformation and not yet in need of his skill with a needle.

When he got back to his apartment, Megan was still sleeping. Something settled inside him as he gazed at her supine figure in his bed. The level of trust she gifted him with was humbling. His apartment felt less like barracks and more like a home when she was there. Her purse lay on the table. Her shirts were intermixed with his where she'd laid them across the chair backs to prevent wrinkling. They were small things in the larger scheme, but significant to him. They spoke of caring about waking him and a comfort with being in his space.

Peggy had said she had to respect Bucky's choices. He wanted to do that with Megan, but as tightly as he wanted to cling to her, would she really have that freedom? Or would she stay because she thought it was in his best interests? She saw though his Captain America facade too easily, so there was no hiding his pain from her perceptive gaze.

Worst of all, there was no one he could talk to about this, no friend he could turn to for advice and guidance. He was alone with his demons.

Exhausted and undecided how to handle the situation, he stuffed his feelings down and let himself slide into bed beside her. For whatever time had left with her at his side, he was determined to enjoy it. At least when it was over, he'd have the memories to cling to at night as he lay alone in his bed.