On the way down, I saw you and you saved me from myself.

And I won't forget the way you loved me.

On the way down, I almost fell right through, but I held on to you.

I was so afraid of going under

but now, the weight of the world feels like nothing.

Nothing.

- Ryan Cabrera

Steve Rogers enters his apartment after another long night of boxing at the dusty gym around the corner. He doesn't bother turning the lights on. He knows the layout inside and out. And what's there for a super soldier to be afraid of anyway? Certainly not the dark.

"And the war?"

"We won, Captain. You've been asleep for over seventy years," Director Fury explains, fingers steepled and elbows propped on the arm rests of his desk chair.

Steve sits across from him, rippling muscles and all, listening attentively and doing his best to maintain eye contact. Fury is clearly someone of repute. His mere presence demands respect. He has to stay strong. He cannot break, especially not in front of a man like this.

The harrowing sight from earlier that day - dashing out into the street of the now bustling metropolis that is New York - is burned into his memory. The electric signs and flashy stores, soaring buildings, strange clothes, corporate advertisements, enormous billboards… Crowded. Congested. Loud. Cold. Everything stinks of materialism.

Welcome to 2013.

How can such a large man feel so small? Steve thought he was the underdog back in Brooklyn. Now, he knows it.

He feels like he is in a nightmare, like he has been beamed up into an alien world. Some things look the same. Others, like the vehicles and communication devices, he could never have conjured in his wildest dreams. Everything he was, and everyone he knew, is gone. So what is he now? Fury's voice rouses him.

"Your excavation did leak to the press." He holds up a copy of the newspaper, waving it indolently. "Seems someone from the dig team couldn't keep their mouth shut. It won't be long before they'll try to bombard you with phone calls and paparazzi visits. Those vultures will do just about anything to pick at your bones." He drops the paper into the waste basket.

Steve manages to smile. "Good to know some things haven't changed." He swallows thickly, setting his mouth into a less than merry line. He shifts uncomfortably.

Fury pursed his lips, his eyes boring into him. "I presume you're not ready to talk about anything yet."

Memories float up to the surface, dancing behind his eyes. He can still hear the cheering, the guns, and her voice.

You won't be alone.

You won't be alone.

But I am alone, Peg. Everything happened so fast back then. He didn't even have time to grieve the loss of Bucky, let alone her. Peggy was a buoy in an unfamiliar lake. Now, he's stranded in the middle of an ocean and the closest friend in reach is a corpse at the bottom. Steve finally drops his eyes to the floor. "No, sir," he whispers lowly.

Fury nods. "We've taken the liberty of setting you up in an apartment. Rent free, for now. It'll be under twenty four hour surveillance, just to be sure no rats come poking their noses in where they shouldn't. You won't be bothered."

Steve nods. "Thank you, sir."

After a long pause, Fury opens a file cabinet, metal grating against the hinges, and extracts a hefty history textbook from its confines. He drops it into the desk and slides it towards Steve. "Take this with you."

Steve shuffles across the polished wood, past the granite counter tops and stainless steel appliances. He has almost grown accustomed to the feeling of suffocation, being pushed from all sides, beset by burdens too heavy for even him to bear.

Women's rights, presidential scandals, the collapse of American democracy, superstardom, the growing wealth gap, war after war lost, modesty forgotten, God replaced, the sexual revolution… Sweet Jesus, the sexual revolution. How can something so taboo have become so… ordinary? After all he struggled to suppress, and the self-loathing he harbored – a poison to his soul. It still burns. It still aches. Homosexuals go to Hell, his mother told him. Everyone knew that. That was the way of things. Homosexuals were beaten, chastised, and sometimes killed back then.

But now…

Steve had so much on his shoulders when he became Captain America. Instead of a man, he became a symbol. He became a symbol of all that Christian America was supposed to embody. And that certainly wasn't a man interested in other men. Losing Bucky helped, as sick as it makes him feel to admit it. Steve idolized Bucky. Bucky was not only everything he wanted to be, but everything he wanted. If he couldn't have him, he didn't want anyone.

The right partner.

But the right partner couldn't have possibly been another man, could he?

So he settled for Peggy, who in her own way, had a slew of masculine qualities… especially in comparison to the girls he grew up with. There was nothing shy or coy or delicate about her. Heck, she could put a man on the seat of his pants with one punch. Peggy had spirit and grit and moxy. She was as close to a man as he could get. She was very dear to him, if not as a lover then as a friend. Something told him he wouldn't return that day he went to intercept the Hydra airship. And the most intimate goodbye he could give her, he gave. That was his first kiss. His only kiss. Which, these days, is absolutely pathetic as far as society is concerned. Kids are having sex in middle school, for heaven's sake.

He feels so ostracized. Who could look at him and see a man when the definition of a man had changed so drastically?

Steve cards a broad hand through his blond locks, still damp with sweat and uncertainty. He shoulders his gym bag, mentally preparing to wander into his room and pretend to sleep. He turns his head towards the wide window framing the den and stares out at the cityscape beyond. The stars twinkle at him, reflecting in his eyes. If he watches them long enough, he can pretend, even just for a second, that he is in his own time. The stars are constants.

His attention drops to the sofa facing the kitchen and he notices a black shape in the center. And it looks strangely human. Steve's guard is up immediately, internal alarms blaring. Startled, Steve reaches wildly for the kitchen light, flipping the switch clumsily. A man with glossy black hair stares at him, his arms draped over the back of the couch. He is dressed in a business suit and black rimmed glasses. Steve instinctively assumes a defensive pose.

"Who are you?" he demands stridently.

The stranger flashes a badge. "Clark Kent, Daily Planet," the man says in a voice that would have made Steve's legs turn to jelly were he not on the defensive. He flashes him a blinding smile. "I've come to ask you a few questions."

AN: So, as I'm sure you're all aware now, I saw Man of Steel yesterday. And the entire movie, all I could do was ship Superman and Captain America. Just sit there and ship, ship, ship. Guilty as sin am I. And I regret nothing. So this fic will probably be pretty short. I'm bogged down with work at the moment, but it's just something that had to be done. HAD TO.