Longest chapter so far (almost 10k) and again I'm so sorry that it's so late. I'm already busy at work on chapter seven, so it should be on time.

On a more personal note, I've settled back into the swing of university and hopefully everything should be evening out. I hope.

I'm going to warn you guys before you get started with this chapter, it features into one of Steve's therapy sessions dealing with PTSD and survivor's guilt. I suffer from neither of these things, and while I've been researching everything I could for this chapter I have no experience in psychology or any of its sister-schools. It is not my intention to upset, or misrepresent anything in this chapter (or this story at all) and so if I messed anything up, please let me know and I'll do my best to fix it.

Once again, I love you guys for reading this, I hope you're enjoying the bromance, and thank you so much for all of the favorites/follows.

Adara.

P.S. I don't own any recognizable characters, and this is written purely for fun.

Chapter Six:

1942, Location: Italy

The march back from the HYDRA base was fraught with tension, everyone able to hold a gun was armed and coiled with tension like a rubber band about to snap. They would go all night if they could manage it, and Steve would be more than willing to push them if he could. But the men were exhausted, no matter how tough a front they put up, and there were several injured that needed tended to. Which was how he found himself calling a forced march of over three hundred men, several trucks and even a tank to a halt in the woods of Italy.

As soon as they were all settled, Steve found himself the focal point of just about everyone; they were all waiting on him for further instructions.

This was definitely new.

"Alright…" He couldn't let his nervousness show, any respect he had gained from these men tonight would require a competent hand to keep. "I want the most able of you to get around to setting up a perimeter. Now, we blew up that base, and HYDRA is probably pretty scattered right now, but I don't want them catching us with our pants down."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth the group began murmuring quietly around themselves, surrounding Steve with as much noise as there were people in the chilled woods. Some began breaking off from the main hoard, setting upon themselves the desire to follow his orders and make sure that nothing came during the night to surprise them. After a few moments of deliberation, more followed.

"If there's anyone here with medical training, we need the injured patched up and ready for transport. Anyone who can't walk gets a spot on one of the transports. Everyone else, see what you can do to help out. We've got a long way to go, and I need everyone at their best. We leave at dawn, and as soon as we get enough light I'm gonna need some of you fellas to scout ahead and look for water, roads and any other potential threats." Perhaps for the first time he was a little grateful for his fame; there weren't many soldiers questioning who he was and after he had broken them out of the prison cells most were willing to follow his lead.

After he had given them all something to do, the soldiers broke apart into little groups and set about making their camp as comfortable and safe for one another as physically possible. There were a few who would cut looks at him from the corners of their eyes but for the most part the soldiers were content to fall back into some semblance of routine and leave Steve to his business.

Which actually worked out better for him because it gave the blonde the opportunity to check on Bucky. He'd been fine as they'd left the smoldering remains of the weapons factory, matching Steve's pace and gripping his gun tight to his chest without uttering a single word of complaint. To anyone else it might have seemed that Bucky was right as rain, but during the course of the night he'd gotten quieter and quieter, jaw tense and locked, and he had begun stumbling. About a mile and a half back he'd tripped over some exposed roots and no amount of effort on anyone's behalf could make him get back up.

He was in bad shape by the time they had moved him into the bed of the truck, getting a bit of water down his throat. By the time Steve had navigated himself to the truck where his best friend had been settled in, he wasn't even surprised to see a now familiar crowd waiting outside of it. And they all notice him as well, taking a few steps to the side because somehow the tall, muscular man translated into the scrawny Steve Rogers that their Sarge hadn't shut up about.

Only one person thinks to block his entrance, challenge in every cell of the big man's body. He's got sharp eyes, though most of his face is hidden by a bristling ginger moustache and a bowler hat. Steve felt his own body tense up at that, his hands clenched into fists from where they were shoved into his pockets. The large man didn't seem to notice, and he did a quick scope of Steve before both their attention locked on the truck, and the grunts of pain coming from within them.

"How is he?" Steve asked, forcing an edge of politeness even though he wanted to shove his way inside and damn anyone who got in his way.

"He's better." Dugan admitted with a grimace, "but in case you didn't notice they really worked him over."

The concern surprised Steve, but he had picked up early on that the group of men; Dugan, Falsworth, Dernier, Jones and Morita were friends. And more than that, they considered Bucky one of them. That alone earned them the benefit of the doubt, and so Steve was trying to remain on good terms with them. "What the hell happened to him in there?"

"Same thing that happened to all of us, Cap." Morita—who was at least partly Japanese—shrugged, pulling his hat tighter on his head. "We worked in the factory, until we were too sick or weak to keep going. Then you were taken back to the labs and with the exception of the Sarge, you were never seen or heard from again."

If Steve had any hesitation in trying to stop Schmidt before, it was now gone. He had seen the little dots on Bucky's skin, the bruises and cuts from where they'd experimented on him and it made him see red.

"So you're him, huh? Captain America? Funny thing, Jimmy never mentioned that his brother was famous." Dugan added, his tones sly and with the faintest tones of hostility in them. "I've read the comics, yeah? But that still don't explain much."

The big man didn't trust him, it seemed, and judging by the sheepish glances of the others neither did they. At least, not entirely anyway. "Yeah, I'm him. And Buck didn't mention it because I didn't actually tell him. Look we go way back, alright? He's my best friend and he has been for a long time, so when I heard his unit had been captured, I came to find him. If there's something you wanna know that will make you relax just ask."

As it turned out, there were a lot of things that they wanted to know.

IOI

August 26, 2011, SHIELD base: The Bank, Location: New York

"You look well, like you've been getting more sleep." Laura Cross leaned back in her chair, one leg crossed over the other as she studied the file on her desk—his file. "Have you?"

"I don't know that I'd call it more sleep exactly, but it's been more restful." Steve shrugged, fingers laced together and settled in his lap. Dr. Cross looked at him then, a curious expression on her face.

She clicked open her pen, hand poised over a notepad. "Okay, let's talk about why that is then. What's changed since last week?"

Steve took a deep breath, frowning slightly. He hated this, he really did; he wasn't one who enjoyed openly airing his issues. He preferred to deal with them personally, and not having other around to poke and prod and see just how messed up he really was. He wasn't really given much of an option though, because Fury wouldn't even consider letting him out there to do any real work until he got the all clear from the therapist. And he had tried to lie his way through the woman's questions, had thought he'd actually been succeeding but Dr. Cross had completely blindsided him when she'd admitted she knew what he had been attempting the entire time.

That being said, after he'd agreed to actually try—both at the insistence of Nicole and Cross—he found that the woman was remarkably easy to talk to ever since he had established some ground rules. She was willing to move at the pace he was most comfortable with, but at the same time she had made him well aware of the fact that he wasn't going to get cleared until they'd dealt with a few key points. The main one being Bucky, which he was decidedly close lipped about. It had only been a few months—relatively speaking—and the pain of the loss still cut like a knife and bled like a stab wound. Would he get to a point where he was willing to talk about it? Maybe. It depended on how badly Steve wanted to get back out there.

"Things have been a lot less antagonistic lately, between Nicole and me." He answered finally, staring at his hands. "Which has made things less stressful I suppose. And I've been going out more."

Dr. Cross smiled then, seeming genuinely pleased. "That's good to hear. It's often difficult to relax and open up when you're dealing with stress on different fronts."

Her hazel eyes focused on him, sharp and probing. "Now, as you know Director Fury assigned agent Dugan as your liaison. It was his hope that you'd reach out to her as a friend. Would you feel comfortable discussing how your relationship has changed over these past two months? In your last sessions you've made a few comments about how the dynamic between you two has shifted since your birthday, would you care to elaborate?"

"Well, when we first met, I didn't really think much of her." He admitted, setting his hands on the arms of the chair. "Granted she did lie right to my face. The first week was… not nice. I purposely went looking for arguments and she didn't back down in the slightest from them. After she apologized we sort of started over, and it's been slow going, but I feel like we're getting somewhere. Lately though, I've been thinking that something is wrong."

"How so?" He frowned into his lap at that, thinking back to the past week. She'd been getting distant, as though her thoughts were a million miles away, and she'd just stare off into space. When he chanced a look over at her during those times he was always surprised by what he saw; she looked small, like a child, lost and terrified. And then she would get this broken expression on her face, as though she'd seen something too horrible to talk about.

"She just… she isn't herself. She's been so sad and quiet lately, and I just feel like there's something bothering her. Something she's not telling me." He answered, fingers drumming against the chair.

"Well, Nicole is a person, and the thing about people that makes them so unique is that they're complex creatures by nature Steve. It's entirely possible that there is something bothering her, but she just doesn't feel at a level where she's ready to talk about it." The psychologist took a second to sip at a glass of water. "For some it takes a lot of time to open up and share secrets, and that doesn't necessarily reflect on how she feels towards you. It could be something that's been bothering her for a long time that she's used to not telling anyone about. Have you expressed your concerns to her?"

"I… seems kind of hypocritical to me; I mean it's not like I'm any more forthcoming." Steve turned to look out the window, watching the clouds roll by from above.

Dr. Cross set her pen down, following his gaze. "I don't think so. You care about her well-being, and consider yourself her friend. Now, granted, I'm not telling you that you should expect her to reveal every deep, dark truth, but there's nothing wrong with telling her that you've noticed she seemed upset. Just let her know that you're concerned and if anything is wrong you're there to listen."

"I just don't get it through; she's usually pretty happy, but sometimes I look over and she's so sad or scared." And then she'd catch him looking and the vulnerable expression would be gone.

"Nicole is certainly an enigma." A strange, thoughtful smile crossed the woman's face then. "You've come to care a lot for her, haven't you?"

"She's my friend, doc, and she's helped me a lot. After losing B—well, after everything that's happened I really didn't think I'd be able to go back to normal, to find any reasons to laugh. And I'm not sure how, but Nicole has definitely proven me wrong." His fingers dug into the leather and padding, making the wooden frame of the chair groan in response as something dark settled over him. "Sometimes it's good, but then I think, why am I happy? What gives me the right? It's not like I deserve it; I shouldn't be alive. If anyone should be here it's Bucky. Why am I given a second chance when I failed to save my best friend?"

She gave him a sympathetic look, sitting forward and steepling her fingers. "Steve, you have what is commonly referred to as survivor's guilt. It's very common in those who went through personal loss and is often considered a symptom of PTSD. You feel that you should have died, but survived instead. And then, when you find yourself happy about the fact that you're alive, when you find reasons to celebrate life, you instantly feel guilty again."

"I'm not anyone special doc. So yeah, maybe I think that there are people who deserved to be here more than me." Like Bucky. If anyone should have survived the war it was him; Bucky had been smart, he'd had things going for him. Howards had been willing to give him a job at Stark Industries, girls had been waiting for him to come home, his ma and sisters… whereas all Steve had really had was Bucky.

"The first thing that you need to understand, and this is usually the hardest for survivor's to come to terms with, is that there is no offense in surviving. You didn't do anything wrong by living through what has happened to you. And there's nothing wrong with cherishing the fact that you're alive either, whether it's by laughing or being happy." She paused to wipe down her glasses, replacing them on her nose.

"Another thing that happens in situations like these is that survivors often find themselves dealing with old issues of self-worth. But there are people who are very glad that you're alive Steve, even if it might not seem that way. You matter to a great many individuals and I think you'll find that there are people who disagree with your previous statement. And I don't just mean as Captain America; yes you've inspired a nation but what about those that care about you?"

She took a breath, jotting down a quick note. "You have a support network, even though you might not realize it. Agent Dugan, if you consider her your friend, is just the tip of the iceberg. You are aware that some of your old companions, the Howling Commandoes are still alive. Have you given any thought to going and seeing them? They're your friends too Steve, they'd be glad to know you're alive."

His features turned into a sour frown at her words, and he glared down at his feet. "I've thought about it, but… they've got their own lives, they've all long since moved on."

"Another thing I've noticed; you view yourself as rather unimportant." She noted, "Give them the option to make that decision for themselves."

"Look," the blonde growled in sudden annoyance, "why am I still even here? I don't need you psychoanalyzing my every thought. Whether I have low self-esteem or whatever has no impact on my ability to do my job or follow orders. So why don't we skip all of this crap and you just let me go back to work?"

The woman watched as he sprang to his feet, leaning back in her chair to get a better look at him. She was perfectly calm, unflappable as he began to pace back and forth. Steve was getting really tired of these sessions, of people telling him how to feel or process his emotions. He knew damn well what he was feeling, and whether or not he was fit for duty.

"Steve." Dr. Cross called softly, her voice never raising more than half a pitch. "I'll tell you why you still have to come to these sessions; it's not just me trying to make you relive every horrible memory or emotion you've ever experienced. But the thing you have to come to terms with is the fact that you did go through something very bad. And you might not realize it but things over in our areas of conflict over seas aren't that much better. Director Fury wants to make sure you are at your very best before you go back to active duty and that means talking to me."

Her expression softened slightly at that, and she began flipping through his file. "Though, I was going to save this for the end of our session, I may as well tell you now. You've made some great progress with me these past weeks, though you might not realize it. So, here's what I'm thinking; if you try—and I mean genuinely try—to reach out to your old friends, I'll reduce your meetings to twice a month. And I'll clear you for some light duty."

He froze at that, pinning the woman with an almost disbelieving look. "Just like that? Really?"

"Not quite 'just like that', no. We'll discuss what happened in our meeting, and if I think you're ready—barring any severe negative responses—then we'll see." She corrected him somberly, meeting his gaze unflinchingly.

There were stipulations, there was always a catch, but… it was something. Better than nothing at the very least. Steve watched the woman with a guarded expression, becoming potently aware of the fact that he was now standing after what was essentially a temper tantrum. Embarrassment made his face hot, and he shoved his hands in his pockets as he tried to inconspicuously check his watch. It still felt uncomfortable on his wrist, two days wasn't quite enough time to break it in it seemed. Right now, as he realized that there were still twenty minutes left, the watch felt heavy like a shackle.

"So, has anything new happened recently? Anything you feel like sharing?" She kept the phrase worded neutrally, tapping her pen on the edge of her desk.

"I'm going down to pick up some of my things, the stuff I had during the crash was shipped over from DC. We're supposed to go get it after this." He informed her, walking around the office. Books lined the shelves on the walls, clean and dust free as well as more than a small numbers of little decorations; a plant here, a statuette there… the wall space behind the desk housed the woman's degrees, all rather impressive truth be told, and the recessed lighting in the ceiling gave the room a bright, open feel to it. It was nice, and well enough put together.

Steve had long since routed out the best escape route, and all viable alternatives.

Dr. Cross arched an eyebrow, not commenting on the fact that he was still pacing around her office. In truth it wasn't the first time that Steve had done something like this, occasionally he was unable to force himself to sit still. Instead she waited patiently; he would elaborate on that statement, or he wouldn't. But one thing was for certain, the saying you can lead a horse to water but you can't make him drink was never more applicable to anyone than it was to Steve Rogers.

They chatted for the remainder of the time, the topics staying very light. He told her about the things they were going over with the historians and how he didn't quite understand all of the nuances of the rise of 90's boy bands, and the psychologist offered some helpful explanations. Once his time was up, he was actually in a surprisingly good mood.

The Bank was a flurry of activity as people went through the halls, some dressed in white collar business attire and others wearing the black tactical gear-or some modification of it-that he had seen Nicole in that first day. A few people nodded in greeting, he recognized Erin from accounting who had helped him get his bank accounts set up, and Dr. Hastings, who was working with Director Fury about when to share the knowledge that he was alive with the rest of the world. They had consulted him on the matter several times, but no official decision had been made yet. At the moment they were trying to keep news of him quiet, that way he could adjust peacefully.

The one person he didn't see was Nicole, who had told him that she would be waiting in the lobby once he got done. But a quick look around confirmed the lack of purple hair anywhere nearby, and Steve felt a sour frown twisting his features. The woman was supposed to meet him and they would go down to the basement together, where SHIELD kept most of the things they had in on-site inventory. He would consider going alone, but two things stopped him. One, Steve wasn't entirely sure where in the basement the inventory was or whether or not he would be allowed access without a full time SHIELD employee and two… well, he had asked her to come with him for moral support. Not that he had actively admitted it to her, Nicole would have gotten that stupid grin on her face and probably never let him live it down. But still, he had to admit it was nice having her around to talk to.

Just not when she was God knew where and they had an appointment to keep.

So he wandered the halls, looking for a familiar face while checking the locations he thought she was most likely to turn up at. After asking around the cafeteria, the training grounds and the rec rooms as well as receiving more than a small amount of looks, Steve was ready to call it quits and pull out his phone to call her. His hesitation to use the piece of machinery didn't come from any lack of skill with it; he was a quick learner and had long since mastered the basic functions of the cell phone, but… he was just so unused to it that he often forgot about the thing.

As soon as he pulled it out of his pocket, rounding the corner on the third floor, he saw her. Nicole was leaning up against the wall, looking out of place wearing a pair of jean shorts and a bright orange tank top with a book clutched close to her chest and deep in conversation with a tall man who… had he met before?

He wasn't close enough to hear what they were talking about, but whatever it was the discussion was very animated. The two were clearly very familiar with one another, an observation made all the more obvious as Nicole started laughing and shoved at the man gently. He barely moved, but it wasn't long until both of them were laughing. It was, perhaps, the first time it really occurred to Steve that Nicole had a life outside of what he saw at the apartment. And it really shouldn't surprise him, in all of the years of her life she was bound to have friends and experiences that he didn't know about, but watching the two joking about something drove home the point that Steve didn't know as much about his housemate—his friend—as he should.

He knew a little, how she got started in SHIELD, when her birthday was, but for the most part Nicole's past was an unknown and the basis of his knowledge regarding the woman was the observations he had made in the past couple of months. A thoughtful frown curved his features as that knowledge settled in, and Steve found himself thinking about Dr. Cross' words earlier. Right about now, just looking at her, it would be easy to assume that Nicole didn't have a single care in the world. But Steve remembered the expression on her face just before they'd gotten lunch on Wednesday. Complete and total abject terror.

"The Russians were after us like crazy, so John and I just ran into the first building we could find." The man was telling her, laughter barely contained in his voice. "Turns out we were interrupting the weekly poker game of an opposing gang. The guys chasing us came barging in after and everyone sort of froze with us trapped in the middle."

Nicole listened with wide eyes, a disbelieving smile on her face as she covered her mouth with one hand. "Oh no. Trip, no."

"Oh yeah. John just looks at me, shrugs, and then flips the poker table. There were cards and chips flying everywhere. It was like a spark in a powder keg and everything blew up. We managed to escape out the back, and then Fury was just pleased we managed to make it look like SHIELD wasn't involved at all." Nicole dissolved into laughter again as he finished his story, trying to muffle the sound with her hand. He approached the pair almost warily, being noticed as soon as he entered within normal hearing range.

Nicole struggled to regain herself, straightening from her almost hunched position as she smiled apologetically. "Oh, crap, I'm sorry Steve. I was waiting for you, but then I got sidetracked by Agent Coulson who had a few questions, and I was on my way back down when I ran into Trip. He's a field agent like me, and he just got back from Moscow."

"Antoine Triplett." Steve looked at the man curiously, accepting the outstretched hand. He hadn't heard the name before, but he wondered if they'd seen each other in passing at the Bank.

"Steve Rogers." It was a firm handshake, and Trip gave him a sort of awed, dazed smile.

"I know who you are. No way could I have grown up without knowing who you are." His attention then swung over to Nicole who was studying the book in her hand with a very intent look.

She looked up sheepishly, wrinkling her nose and chewing on her lower lip. Steve threw her a confused look while her friend pinned her with a mildly betrayed, questioning one. "Ah. A-ha, well… Level seven clearance, Trip."

"How do you two know each other?" Steve interrupted suddenly, withdrawing his hand and taking a slightly defensive stance near Nicole. The way that he was looking at her, this guy didn't exactly seem too friendly.

Until those dark eyes flicked back to him, and the man's entire posture changed. Steve wondered if it was a trait inherent to all SHIELD agents that they could flip through their emotions so quickly. "We grew up together, sir. Old family friends."

"I was practically raised with Trip, especially after I moved to Georgia. We went through Ops together and he's an old friend of the family." She explained, rubbing the back of her head.

"Yeah," The other man added wryly, "Our grandfathers were old war buddies."

That simple phrase triggered recognition, and Steve felt his eyes widening in surprise as the face clicked. "Gabe?"

"Well, it certainly wasn't Morita." Trip laughed good-naturedly, shaking his head. "But yeah, that's my gramps. I've certainly heard a lot about you."

"I… how is he?" Steve asked hurriedly, looking at the agent in a new light.

"He's doing alright. Long since retired from the front line, he's back home in Macon where he still plays his trumpet from time to time." He answered, glancing down as his phone buzzed in his pocket.

Nicole noticed as well, watching as he pulled the device out and tapped at the screen. "Is that Garret?"

"Yeah, looks like we're heading out on another mission. Because some of us don't get the easy jobs." He teased, before pulling her into a quick hug. "Hopefully next time I come back we'll have time to catch up."

"Don't get yourself killed then!" The purple haired woman offered cheerfully, though there was a concerned edge in her voice.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Cap." Trip added, offering the barest sketch of a salute as he started back tracking, body turning down the hall.

"And you." Steve watched as the young man bounded off, feeling a sense of vertigo washing over him. It felt like he had just seen Gabe looking only a few years older not even a year ago and now here he was looking at his grandson. It was bizarre to say the least.

Nicole looked at him then, her eyes dark and filled with worry no doubt in response to the bewildered expression on his face. "You okay?"

He regarded her question critically. Was he okay? It was hard to say, really, because even now everything still seemed so raw. Meeting Triplett, seeing Gabe's grandson who looked almost the same age as him, was a painful reminder that so much of his life had changed. So much of it had been stolen from him. And he was being given a second chance, sure, but how could he not feel the keening pain of all that he'd lost.

"I… don't know. I really don't." She gave his shoulder a light squeeze, and it was a gesture that he found himself taking an incredible amount of comfort from.

Nicole chewed on her lip, watching him carefully. "Steve, if you don't want to… we can do this another day."

And he believed her, he believed that if he really wanted to he could turn around and ask her to take him back to the apartment. She wouldn't press, she wouldn't judge him, and that would be that. But Steve Rogers wasn't one to turn around and run away from something, no matter how unpleasant it might be. He squared his shoulders, steel reinforcing his spine as he tried to wipe any discomfort off of his face.

"Don't see how waiting any longer will make things better." He noted wryly, lifting his shoulders in a heavy shrug. Nicole offered a sympathetic look, looking down to check the watch on her wrist.

"You're probably right. Anderson should have your stuff pulled the arrivals and ready by now, so shall we?" She offered with slightly forced cheer, gesturing towards the elevator at the end of the hall. The plan had been to drive up to DC to pick up his things, and head to the Smithsonian museum, but apparently after her email to her supervisor, Agent Coulson had went ahead and told them to send the box down. Which was how he found himself with his roommate, who was inspecting the object in her hands.

He nodded toward the book, taking a few strides towards the elevator. "Whatcha reading?"

Nicole looked down, face twisting into a mask of confusion followed by surprise as though she had forgotten all about her book. "Oh! I loaned this to Trip awhile back. It's Tolkien's Silmarillion, the precursor to his Lord of the Rings Trilogy and the Hobbit."

"What's it about?" Because neither of those titles made any sense whatsoever to Steve.

"It's basically the incomplete collection of mythology for the land that the other books take place in." She bit her lip shyly as she hit the down button for the elevator. "Um, if you want you can read it."

He smiled down at her, surprised at the sudden nervousness. Nicole had her eyes locked on the doors as they began their downward descent, but he could see the faintest shade of pink underneath her freckles. "Is it any good?"

"Oh, it's fantastic." She offered with brief excitement, "I love everything by Tolkien! The Hobbit is my favorite though, because it's more high fantasy, pure adventure. He wrote it while using his eight year old son as a sounding board for ideas, so it doesn't get quite as dark as the Lord of the Rings. Which, don't get me wrong I love those books too, and the movies—oh man we should watch the movies—but the Hobbit is definitely my favorite. They've considered adapting the Hobbit into a movie too, and I'd love for that to happen, but with the scope of the Silmarillion I don't know if it'd be possible to do a movie on that scale. But if you wanna read these, I'd recommend starting with this one or the Hobbit because—I'm sorry, I'll shut up now. I just get really excited about these books."

There was a certain vulnerability on her face then, the way she ducked her head in embarrassment that allowed Steve a brief glimpse beneath her outward cheerfulness. The way she assumed that he didn't want to hear her talk about one of her favorite things, it made him wonder how many people in her past had told her to shut up about it before. It was the first time he had ever seen even the slightest indication of self-esteem issues, and he felt a surge of protective anger go through him to know that someone had discredited his friend in that way.

Instead of voicing those thoughts he simply held out his hand towards her. "May I?"

Nicole passed the book over silently, eyes flicking up to him as he read the inside of the dust jacket. He had to admit the book did seem interesting, and as his fingers thrummed over the broken in spine he noticed that it was well used and well loved. "Looks good, I think I will read it."

"Really?" Nicole looked up at him with a slight, hopeful expression on her face. "I have the others too, if you want to read them. And we can watch the movies, there won't really be any spoilers."

He grinned as the excitement began to filter back into her voice, tapping the book lightly with his hand before tucking it into the crook of his elbow. "Well, I'll say yes to the movies but let's let me get through this one first."

"Sure!" The elevator dinged, followed by the doors sliding open a few seconds later as a familiar smirk curved the woman's lips. "I mean, no Steve, you have to read them all at the same time."

"Well, darn it." He groaned, "There goes my weekend."

They shared a laugh at that, stepping into the basement storage unit. They walked down a long hall, passing through an open metal grate leading to a counter with a thick steel door to the left of it, kind of like the vaults at an actual bank. The overhead lights were recessed, the fluorescent bulbs flickering ever so slightly as they walked. Rounding the corner they came to an elderly man sitting at a counter with a sign in sheet and ID scanner. He peered up at them over his newspaper, the rectangular lenses shining in the light.

"Can I help you?" He asked, folding the newspaper closed to inspect them over the tent of his fingers.

Nicole fished out her ID badge, showing it to the man. "Agent Dugan, clearance level seven. I have an appointment with Dr. Anderson to pick up a few things?"

The guard flipped through a stack of papers on his side of the counter, bushy eyebrows furrowing in concentration. "Alright, just sign in and swipe your badge. I'll let him know you're here."

Nicole clicked open the pen as the guard reached for the telephone, scribbling her name, the date and a hasty signature on the form before passing the barcode of her badge through the scanner. As soon as she was done she leaned her back against the counter, arms braced and fingers curving over the edge as they waited. Steve looked up as the red light over the steel door turned green, followed by the rumbling roll of the internal locking mechanism groaning into motion before it started to slide open.

A shorter man was standing in the doorway, his back slightly hunched from the weight of carrying boxes to and fro. He had a calm face, pale and drawn from long hours under fluorescent lighting and crow's feet lining young eyes prematurely. The young man straightened slightly, hands in the pockets of his coat as he noticed the pair of them.

"Agent Dugan?" He asked, voice kept low and hushed. "I'm Dylan Fisher, we talked on the phone about some item recoveries?"

Nicole nodded emphatically, wearing one of her charismatic smiles. It was the kind of look that seemed to make the room a little warmer and a bit brighter. "Oh yeah! I'm so glad you guys got back with us so quickly too, I hope we weren't too much of an inconvenience!"

Fisher returned the expression, eyes widening slightly at the woman's friendliness. "It wasn't a problem at all Agent Dugan. To tell the truth the boys back in DC haven't even began to scratch the surface of dealing with the plane." The man turned back to look at Steve, eyes widening. "Is this—? It's an honor to meet you Captain! Everyone was real thrilled to find you in the ice. None more so than Coulson, but that's because—anyway, I don't suppose you have any ideas about the technology?"

And then Steve found himself bombarded with questions running a mile a minute about anything and everything ranging from what had happened just before Schmidt had disappeared from touching his cube to how they had converted the thing into energy for power. Over Fisher's shoulder Nicole gave him a sympathetic look, before screwing her face up and sticking her tongue out in a way that had him struggling to keep from bursting out laughing.

"I'm sorry," Steve interrupted a long explanation about the possible functions of different pieces of the wreckage with a slight shrug of his shoulders. "I was kind of more focused on stopping the plane than understanding it."

"Oh! Oh of course sir, I didn't mean to imply—"

"Agent Fisher!" They all looked over at the stern voice that belonged to a man wearing a long white coat. He looked more like a field agent than a doctor, with a well-muscled physique even in his age. Streaks of white hair shot through his temples and his angular features were lined from the years but the doctor carried himself like a man thirty years his senior.

"Dr. Anderson! This is Agent Dugan and Captain Rogers, you made an appointment with them over…the…phone." Fisher let the sentence dwindle, a slight flush of color rising to his face at the cool look his superior was giving him.

Dr. Anderson arched an eyebrow, frosty gray eyes turning to where Steve was standing next to Nicole. "So glad you could make it. We have your things in the back. All we need is your signature and thumbprint and you can take it with you."

"This isn't all your stuff, not by a long shot." Nicole explained, shoving her hands into her back pockets and stretching out her shoulders until they popped. "But this is the immediate effects that were recovered from the wreckage. I've already got a few people looking to collect as much of your stuff from your footlocker as we can find."

The look he gave her rang with sincerity, and Steve offered a small smile to his friend. "I appreciate it."

"No problemo, il capitano!" The purple haired agent looked incredibly proud of herself and dissolved into sniggers not long after. Dr. Anderson didn't say anything, opting to roll his eyes and lead them down the long hallway.

It was almost stereotypical, with wall to wall shelves and everywhere in between, boxes and folders stacked to the ceiling. As they navigated down all of the shelves, each corridor nearly marked with signs and letters, a flurry of people wearing skirts and blouses or nice slacks and sweaters, navigated around them. As expected Steve got more than a few looks—one young woman almost ran right into a shelf holding an impressive amount of metal crates—but for the most part the people down here were far too involved with their work to notice the four individuals making their way through.

They came to a well-lit area with glass walls and lab tables covered in pieces of equipment that looked like it had come right out of one of those old dime store science fiction books. Inside the room a pair of scientists were working, a young woman with light brown hair and wearing a set of jeans and a flannel shirt as well as a man with unruly dirty blonde hair and an oversized sweater. They looked to be dissecting a piece of machinery and bickering back and forth with each other as they worked. Steve paused to watch them for a few seconds, eyes narrowing at an almost familiar blue glow that was emanating from the machine.

"That's Fitz-Simmons." Nicole noticed his distraction, pausing beside him. "The girl is Jemma Simmons and that's Leo Fitz. They're partners and probably some of the smartest people SHIELD has working for them. Fitz is a techno-god, and those two have been best friends since they were in the Academy."

"Right now I believe they're working on a new type of tranquilizer." Dr. Anderson added, rubbing a hand along his pointed chin.

"Those two are absolute geniuses!" Fisher added enthusiastically. "The stuff they can come up with is phenomenal, and out of the simplest things. They're basically like the MacGyver's of SHIELD."

"So I see." He noted, brow furrowing as that reference went right over his head. The longer he stared at the blue light, the more memories started rising up in the back of his mind. Savagely pushing them down Steve ripped his gaze away from where the two were working to focus solely on Dr. Anderson. "I'm sorry to hold you up, let's get this done so that you can get back to work."

"It's no problem at all Captain." The older man inclined his head slightly, turning on his heels and resuming his pace.

Steve followed behind, but not before Nicole put a hand on his arm. She was giving him a questioning look, brown eyes seeming to see right through him and the worry in them was as obvious as the question.

Are you sure you're up for this?

He shrugged his shoulders, the barest of nods all of the reassurance the woman needed.

Well, Steve knew that she didn't quite believe him but Nicole dropped her hold and lengthened her stride to catch up to the briskly walking doctor.

"Alright." They came to a halt not far from the glass room, where there were several sealed boxes and crates. "I'll get you the release forms and Agent Fisher can go grab your box. It's marked GP-061511.02A, Dylan."

The younger man nodded, dashing off and muttering the code to himself. As they watched him go Dr. Anderson pulled out an electronic tablet, handing it to Steve along with a pen that wasn't a pen. "Just sign in the blue area, press your thumb against that green square and it's all yours."

The instructions were simple enough to follow, even if the not-pen—stylus, Nicole helpfully offered—fit his hand a little awkwardly. The print scan took all of a few seconds and as soon as it finished the tablet projected the word scanning in bold red letters before his picture appeared along with a short list of facts. Dr. Anderson took the tablet briskly, his cool air of professional aloofness made even more evident by the way he discretely checked his watch and glared down the row of shelves that Fisher had vanished down.

"Oh hey." Nicole drew his attention brightly, scratching at her arm before brushing out the wrinkles of her shirt. "So I was thinking that we could pick up some lunch on our way back. How does chicken sound, because I have been craving KFC and their biscuits for a few days."

He recognized a distraction when he saw it, but Steve had to give the woman credit for trying. Rolling his eyes slightly at her, he could feel the corner of his mouth twitching. "You're a bottomless pit, Dugan, so I'm not surprised that you're hungry. But that sounds fine."

"Oh, I'm the bottomless pit? I'll have you know, Rogers, that you've almost eaten us out of house and home multiple times." She glared playfully at him, any sting in her words lessened by the expression on her face.

"What can I say? Super soldiers are always hungry." He quipped back, earning a mildly offended gasp.

"I think you're just using that as an excuse to be a pig." The woman replied haughtily, arms crossed as she swiped her hand under her nose. The inventory of the Bank was definitely more than a few degrees cooler than the rest of the building and Steve had a feeling that right now Nicole was deeply regretting her choice in clothing.

He was about to answer her, make note of how cold she looked, when Dr. Anderson pointedly cleared his throat. That was when they noticed Fisher coming towards them carrying a container. It was longer than it was deep, made out of plastic and with GP-061511.02A stamped on the lid in bright yellow.

"Here you go, all of your personal affects taken from the helicarrier." Fisher added helpfully, setting it on the table.

Steve looked at the box with mixed feelings, taking a deep breath as his fingers found the latches of the lid. The first thing he saw as he pried it open was his shield. The vibranium disc looked no worse for wear, a few scuffs in it from gunshot and being knocked around but overall whole. When he slipped his arm through the straps—cracked and looking as though they needed replaced—he felt something in him sort of click. For so long he'd carried this shield, it'd been as much a part of him as the arm it rested on and it felt… well it was a relief to have it back. Squaring his shoulder Steve tested the weight of the shield and held it close to his chest for a few moments, chancing a look up at Nicole.

He found his eyes meeting hers, an unreadable expression on her face. The woman looked so serious and contemplative before she gave herself a visible shake and grinned at him. "Looks good."

"Thanks." He added dryly, setting the shield down on the table before turning his attention back to the box. His uniform looked neatly cleaned and folded, lying on top of it was his pistol and a combat knife as well as two sets of dog tags—his and Bucky's—and…

His fingers were slightly numb when they closed around the compass and Steve lifted it out of the box with more than a little trepidation. The tremors that went through his hand were nearly imperceptible, and he hesitated upon opening it.

Taking a deep breath he pushed through his hesitation and flipped the compass open. A surge of disappointment went through the blonde when he saw that Peggy's picture was gone, but he wasn't really surprised. The water would have long since dissolved the paper before freezing over. At least he had it back.

"Is there anything missing?" Dr. Anderson asked lightly as Steve carefully began repacking the box.

"Not that I can think of, no. Nothing important anyway." He answered honestly, fingers tracing along the edge of his shield. "If I remember something I'll—"

A loud flash of light filled the area, coming from the glass box, followed by a huge bang of exploding energy. As soon as he heard it Steve was jumping into motion, survival instincts honed by war springing into action. He pulled his shield close, drawing it up protectively over his chest as his other arm wrapped around the woman standing next to him. Without a moment of doubt he flung them both to the ground, rolling under the table and sheltering Nicole's body with his own.

His brain went on complete lock-down as he tensed over her, eyes scanning the area critically as his heart thudded in his chest. For a second he wasn't in SHIELD's base, but back in the war and there were HYDRA cannon's firing at them from all sides.

Steve's vision cleared not long after that, the roar of blood in his ears dying down enough so that he could hear Nicole speaking.

"—2011, Steve. Everything's fine, it was just a miscalculation. Problem over in the lab, we're safe." She soothed, blinking up at him. That was when he realized that her arm had hooked around his neck and she was holding him just as tightly as he was holding onto her.

The blonde shook his head slightly, the tips of his ears turning red as he scrambled off of his friend, crawling out from under the table and jumping to his feet. Agent Fisher was watching the pair in interest, while Anderson had hurried off to the source of the noise. They could easily hear the man shouting obscenities, and the faint scent of smoke wafted over to them.

Nicole's emergence from underneath the table drew his attention, and Steve clamped his hand on the back of his neck as he stammered an apology. "I—I'm sorry. I just heard the explosion and I thought… shit."

"It's okay sweetie. You don't have to explain anything, I completely understand." The purple haired woman shrugged sheepishly, swiping the back of her hand across her forehead. "I was expecting an attack too."

That was when he noticed the flashing silver of the knife caught in a white knuckled grip. A knife that he'd had no idea she had been carrying. "You're… armed?"

"I'm a field agent, I'm always armed." Her brows furrowed. "Are you alright?"

"Better now. What happened?" Steve craned his neck to see Fitz-Simmons emerging from the glass walled lab. Neither of the two scientists looked actually injured, but they were clearly shaken up.

"I'll be bushed if I know." Nicole answered, nose wrinkling. "I'm completely bio-chem and stabbing things." The purple haired woman slipped the knife back into a sheath that was fastened to her back.

"I can't believe you've been armed the entire time." He shook his head, watching Dr. Anderson snap at some lab assistants.

"I'm always armed." Nicole smirked back, waggling her eyebrows. With anyone else Steve might have considered those words boasting, but after seeing her fight as well as pull a weapon almost out of thin air he was convinced.

Fisher snorted at those words, brushing out his shirt. "Always armed doesn't even cover it. Dugan's practically a machine; her mission in Glasgow put her right up there on the list with Romanoff and Barton."

The woman's face turned red, a distinctly uncomfortable, somewhat cagey look twisting her features into a grimace. "It wasn't that big of a deal. I just did my job."

"Did your job?" Fisher exclaimed in disbelief. "We're still speculating on how you started that fire! How did you do it anyway? There weren't any sources of flame or electricity to use. Not that anyone could tell anyway, the power had been shut off in the warehouse and all."

Steve noticed the trapped look on her face, the way she was withdrawing into herself and making herself seem busy by collecting her book after it had flown out of her hand and decided to intervene. "I think we should get going. After what just happened, we're really only going to get in the way. Plus we have to let your dog out."

The look she gave him was one someone reserved for the highest of idols, and he tucked that away for material against her later. The woman liked teasing him about all sorts of things, he needed to build up some dirt on her as well. "You're right. It's been a pleasure, Agent Fisher and tell Dr. Anderson I said thanks for his help but we really do have to be going."

She practically slammed the lid shut on his crate, carding a hand through her hair and backtracking the way they came. After a brief goodbye Nicole lengthened her strides to get them away from the agent as fast as she could possibly manage, something that did not escape Steve's notice. "What happened in Glasgow?"

Nicole groaned softly at the question, dropping her face into her palm as she lifted her ID to the scanner to open the steel door. "I'd really rather not talk about it right now. It was a shit mission that did not end well for me… and yet people seem to think it was one of my finer moments. It was definitely one of my bloodier moments."

He quirked a single eyebrow at that, adjusting his hold on his belongings and following her past the security guard and to the elevator. She saw his look and shrugged her shoulders, lips twisted into a distasteful grimace. "Unlike a lot of the newer agents, I happen to be of the mindset that the less people killed the better. Which was not the case in Glasgow. I usually have to be a lot less sober to tell that story."

"Alright, I get it. I won't pry." The elevator ride was mostly silent after that, Nicole flipping through her book and Steve attentively studying the container in his hands. He thought back to his session with Dr. Cross, and her stipulations for getting him back into the field.

He wanted to wait to bring it up to his liaison but before he could stop himself his mouth was opening and he was speaking. "So there's a chance that I can get back out into the field soon. Nothing major, just some light duty."

Nicole looked up cautiously at that, carefully closing her book. "Oh?"

"Dr. Cross wants me to get into contact with the Commandoes first. Afterwards she said she'd talk to Fury and get me cleared. I was wondering if we could…?" The question died off before the end, and Nicole focused her attention on him fully.

"If you really want to, I'll call my grandpa and start making some inquiries. I'll make up a list of who's where and doing what and we can tackle it whenever you're feeling ready though it will probably be after our trip to DC." There was something off about her words. They were spoken lightly, calmly, but there was something else in the undercurrents.

"You don't approve." He stated, looking up as the elevator doors opened at the parking garage.

Nicole released a deep sigh at that, pulling her keys out of her pocket. "It's not that… not exactly anyway. I just… I don't want you to end up trying to barrel your way through this when you're not ready so that you can get back out there. I want you to do this because you want to, because you can handle it."

Those words touched him, and Steve straightened after shoving the crate into the trunk. "I do want to do this. I've been thinking about it for a little while now actually, Nicole, Cross just gave me the push. Maybe just start slow, not everyone at once and go from there?"

The trunk closed with a snap and the purple haired woman peered over at him warily. "If this is what you want, I'll start working on it as soon as we get back." Her entire demeanor changed in an instant as she let the matter drop. "But first we need lunch because I'm so hungry I could eat a horse."

The way she accepted his words and his reasoning without further argument was a relief, and Steve felt his body lose some of the tension it had been building up as he prepared for a lengthier argument. That was something about the woman that he appreciated; Nicole trusted him to know how he felt. She would sometimes push if she felt he was hiding something, or when she could see right through him but for the most part his house mate accepted the fact that he wanted to make his own decisions.

Though as they rode in the car—her singing along to a catchy song on the radio and him staring out the window—he wondered if she would be nearly as accepting when he broached the subject of her own feelings. Because Steve was still worried about the look she'd gotten on her face after their game a few days ago and he was determined to resolve the issue.