Love at First Late Night

by CapandCarter

The summary is that this is an AU in modern era where Steve is *struggling* and he tries to not. Classic Steve. There's baseball, and Late Night shows and Angie. And pining. And did I mention that there's twitter? And the way it all unfolds is entertaining (at least to me). Enjoy?

2. Chapter 2

*A/N - First, I wanna say thank you to those who reached out, through comments or messages here or on Ao3 wondering if I was okay. I really appreciate your concern. Secondly… I guess there's no way to say it other than to just say it.

My dad died.

Even just typing that is like a shock to the system. A few days after my last update I got a text that he'd had a heart attack. By the time I booked a flight and made it to him… he was just a body on life support. I got to say my goodbyes, hoping he heard them.

Eight days after that was my birthday. Which i cried throughout. And then of course now Father's Day. And I just… Am in disbelief. Shock. Denial. Unlike my grandpa last year where I knew that day was coming… this was out of the blue, so sudden and not something I could prepare for.

I don't mean to be morbid or overshare. It's just the truth. I didn't even have three decades with him. and now he's gone.

While we were preparing for the memorial I kept opening up my writing app. Writing brings me joy. Reading your comments and seeing your kudos brings me joy. i needed every drop of joy I could get.

But I would stare at the blank space forever and find that I could not translate anything onto a page. As I laid awake unable to sleep I wanted to write. And I just couldn't.

Finally after things settled down and I flew back home I tried to write again. I wanted a sense of normalcy. I wanted some joy. And I just couldn't. I started the next chapter of Advancements and kept erasing it. I tried to write The Next Room. And even though I KNOW how that story is going to go I just couldn't write it. I looked at The Hydra and the Mix Up and I was just… blank.

But yesterday, I found myself standing outside at dusk and feeling the wind and seeing the lightning bugs and listening to sad music. Then I found myself writing this. This unasked for, unexpected, unplanned second chapter to this story.

And it went full angst.

You can probably sense my grief through the story as I am unrelentingly mean through the whole thing basically. Growing up in the home I did… the one parent I felt safe with is now gone. And I needed to write my devastation about that. I hope I'm not being too personal or maudlin. Or overdramatic, I just…

When you go into this chapter I didn't want you to be confused why I'm so mean to Steve. Why the story is 99% angst. Why it's basically all hurt no comfort.

I'm working through my own issues and thankfully writing is a cathartic way to process through.

There are many MANY trigger warnings in this story.

Again, thanks to those who continue to read and share their love of this character. And even through this story where I mean to him, I hope you enjoy.

I am feeling peace and I know there is more joy to come. I will be writing and posting again soon. No promises as to when but I will.

Cap

—

"I wish you could come." Steve sighed, his eyes on her as she sat on his couch. He was ironing a few shirts, something she noticed he did when he was nervous.

"I wish so too. Blast this thing I have called a job."

He frowned at her but it was light hearted. "I make enough money for the both of us you know."

She gaped at him but then saw he was teasing right back. "If any of us is to be the domestic housewife I think we both know it won't be me."

Steve laughed, mirth making his cheeks red and eyes close. "I would love nothing more than to make sure dinner is on the table for you every night."

She raised her eyebrow and stood, sauntering over and wrapping her arms around him. "And what other things would you do for me if I was the breadwinner in this relationship?"

She felt his temperature rise, the blush full bodied. She adored the fact that his response to her was always so visceral. His head turned just a bit, catching her eyeline as she stood behind him, "you know I keep a neat household."

"Indeed, and?"

"Laundry—" he grinned, nodding at the task he was completing.

She nudged him with her nose, hands tightening around his ridiculously firm waist, "I'm listening, and?"

"I'm a great listener to your work woes."

Her head tipped back as she laughed, "I listen to people at work so you listen to me at home?"

He chuckled, the rumble she felt with her arms around him making her smile harder. "Whatever my provider needs."

She slid her hands up under his shirt, feeling the smooth skin above his belt line, "and in the bedroom?" Instant heat. His body temperature rose higher as his face turned red. Again the way he was so obviously attracted to her created a smug sense of pride, "how is my little house husband in the bedroom?"

Steve cleared his throat, trying not to appear flustered, "inexperienced." His admission came with a wince and she grinned. They've already had this conversation. Not much time for dating between his sick childhood and the military.

"Well," she said with a smug but soft grin, "I'm an excellent teacher. I'll whip you into shape."

Somehow the blush got even redder and she adored it.

—-

Peggy was grinning at the telly as it focused on Steve's face. He was gearing up to pitch, and his jaw always set just so when he was getting ready to throw.

The score was 4-3. Steve's team was winning the international friendly. But Norway was putting up a hell of a fight and with two men on base, that score could change very quickly.

The big blonde man at bat, Thor, made even Steve seem normal size. A rare feat indeed. But the man was grinning and Steve seemed to grin before the wind up as well.

And maybe Steve decided to go easy on him or perhaps he really was just quick as the massive man swung the bat with a crack and sent it flying.

She watched as Scott raced towards the ball. The man on third started racing towards home plate and Clint stood, ready to catch in case it would be thrown to him.

But no, Sam was there, catching it carefully, clinching the second out and sending Thor back to the dugout. The other man raced back to third, making it just in time before he was tagged.

At the bottom of the ninth, with only one out left to tie or win, the Norwegian crowd was getting antsy. She could see the Avengers were grinning, hoping to take this last out and win the first of their two game match up.

A frown graced her lips as the next batter walked out, smirking and looking all too confident.

Loki. What a ridiculous choice for a name she thought to herself. The Norwegian team had all elected to select names to honor their countries myths. And this thin slimy man had chosen Loki's name. It fit him. He had a habit of causing chaos. His last at bat had hit Scott in the knee, and his bat before that had ended with him sliding wildly into home, crashing into Clint and making him drop the ball, scoring that third run. Clint had been fuming, but Steve had pulled him aside and seemed to calm him.

Now Peggy watched as the man was grinning mischievously at Steve, and Peggy didn't like the look one bit.

The smile faded as Steve threw a solid strike. Slapping the ball into Clint's glove before the pale man could even begin to swing.

The second throw ended in a strike as well although this time Loki managed to make contact, but it went foul. Something gripped Peggy's lungs with dread as Loki's eyes narrowed, sending a menacing and angry glare at her fiancé.

As Steve threw the ball, Loki shifted, angling his bat just slightly.

She gasped as the ball hit Loki's bat, ricocheting back directly towards Steve.

The camera and announcers were in a moment of suspense as it flew, striking Steve against his left brow, just above and barely missing his eye.

Even without being there she could hear the gasp of the crowd as Steve's head flung backwards with the impact. His hat went flying and she stood, fear splintering through her.

Then the announcer's were gasping again as Steve's glove flung out, at the last second, snagging the ball out of the air as it had popped up and off of his skull.

But with no way to catch his balance on the slope of the mound, Steve hit the dirt hard, his back slamming against the ground, making a plume of dust rise and the audience fall silent.

Clint was flying up and over to his teammate, flinging his mask off and sliding on his knees to his side.

The other Norwegian players had stopped, staring wide eyed, while Loki seethed halfway to first base.

Her breath was still, hand clutched to her chest.

She saw Clint lean over Steve, and the camera zoomed in. Steve's one eye was squished closed, but he was smiling sort of dazedly and he held out his glove, ball nestled inside and third out official.

The crowd went wild in disbelief and then started booing, pointing at Loki. Not even his own country would tolerate such behavior.

Peggy nodded, served that little slime ball right for poor sportsmanship.

—-

The game concluded and players were being interviewed. Peggy always watched the interviews because they always snagged Steve, much to his dismay.

But now, a blossoming massive bruise on his brow and a glazed look in his eye, he seemed at ease. Peggy wanted to laugh.

One reporter after another asked him and his teammates a few questions. Steve's answers seemed a bit muddled and she wavered between laughing and being worried he had a concussion. They also flipped back to the Norwegian team. And she rolled her eyes everytime Loki insisted it had been an accident.

Then it switched back to Steve and a new reporter Peggy didn't recognize was interviewing him.

"So, Rogers, how do you feel after that clock to the head?"

Steve grinned, nodding his head, "My ma always said I had a thick skull, so I'm sure I'm fine."

The reporter laughed, and placed her hand on Steve's bicep. "Oh, I'm sure you've got thick everything, look at you!" She made a show of patting his arm and then his pec just quickly before smiling mischievously, "what is your secret to staying in such amazing shape?"

Steve seemed confused, he looked down at her and tilted his head, "sorry, think my hearing got knocked a bit, what?"

The reporter, whose name now popped up on the ticker underneath their faces read Lorraine Davies, smiled, "I asked how you manage to stay in such incredible shape?"

Steve grinned awkwardly, "oh, uh—" he looked up at the camera, "I don't— uh, just the normal stuff I guess."

The reporter was smart enough to see that would lead her nowhere, "tell us about the game, who do you really think earned the MVP of the game?"

Steve loosened up, much more relaxed talking about other people, "oh, I mean, everyone played great, but Thor, man what a team player, you know? His two run home run in the 2nd inning really set the pace for the game, I mean, made us work for it."

She smiled and her hand rested on his bicep again, something he didn't shake off which made Peggy a bit irrationally angry. "He's impressive, that's for sure, but that last catch of yours. I would say you really showed an amazing skill set there. How do you think tomorrow's game is going to go?"

A loud cheer on the field caused him to lose focus for a second and when he looked away she inched closer. When he turned back she was leaning close, microphone held up to him like she was doing it out of necessity to get the best audio. He was just calmly nodding, her hand still on his arm, "I mean, I don't like to make predictions. We didn't win this game because we're the better team. I don't know how tomorrow will go. That's tomorrow's problem."

"Okay—" a voice cut in, and Peggy thanked her lucky stars as Natasha gave Steve the you've-completed-the-contractually-obligated-part and let Steve take his leave.

The woman gave Steve a cheeky smile and then turned back around to the camera, "this is Lorraine Davies, reporting from Norway on this match up of the World Baseball Match-Ups. We'll be live tomorrow for the final game of USA vs. Norway. Tune in at 7:30pm eastern time."

Peggy snapped the TV off and instantly grabbed her phone.

She slid up and clicked the damned blue app, and then she smiled at some of the tweets trending.

#whoisthisbitch

#heistaken

#Lokicancatchthesehands

#handsoffRogers

Peggy smirked. That's right.

—-

Steve came too and immediately groaned. His head throbbed, and his stomach felt like acid.

He sucked in a breath of air and then felt even more nauseous.

He laid back down and closed his eyes. Could a knock to the head cause all this? His memory since last night seemed fuzzy.

The medic officers cleared him, saying he wasn't concussed… or at least not that they could tell. So maybe he just needed time.

A thunk thunk thunk on his hotel door made him wince. "Yo, Rogers! You in there?"

He squinted open an eye and tried to respond. His throat was dry like the desert. He swallowed, his tongue felt like sandpaper.

"See?" The voice said to someone else, "he's not there. He's never late. He's probably already at the stadium."

"They said he hadn't been seen in the lobby." Another voice responded, Scott he thinks. Clint was the other voice, although he's only half sure with how muddled his brain seems to be filtering sound.

"You know him, he avoids being seen. He probably used the back entrance. Come on—" the voices faded and Steve forced himself to sit up. The clock glared at him, 11:29am.

A curse exited his lips. He wasn't just late, he was late. He stood, feeling woozy and disoriented. His stomach rolled and his feet found their movement. Slamming into the bathroom and just barely making it to the toilet before his insides turned out.

A few heaves later and he felt empty. Sagging against the tub and taking deep breaths.

Maybe he really needed to get rechecked for that concussion.

—-

Peggy felt her phone buzz. She ignored it, going over notes of her interviewee of the day.

But then it buzzed again.

And again.

And again.

So she sighed and grabbed it, blinking in surprise at the messages that were flooding in.

She slid back to the first one. A fellow anchor friend had sent her a text that had an attachment, and a message that read did you see this?

Hesitantly she clicked on the message and opened the link. A Norwegian online news website appeared and she gasped at the headline

Rogers and the Reporter - What happens in Norway does not stay in Norway.

A grainy picture was below it. Steve, back against a wall, kissing the blonde reporter from the interview, in some weird alleyway.

Numb disbelief was all she could feel. And as more messages poured in all she could manage to do was fling her phone from her, grab her keys, and race out her door, needing air.

—

"You look like shit, man." Steve looked up, finding Sam staring at him, already dressed for the game, "what the hell happened to you?"

Steve wrinkled his nose, sliding down into the bench and his bag hitting the floor with a thunk. "I feel like shit."

At that moment Natasha slammed into the locker room, "Rogers!" He winced, the loud noise making his headache, "what the hell!"

"Huh?"

"Don't 'huh' me!" She slapped something onto his lap, "what the actual fuck were you thinking!"

He looked down, his vision sort of blurry for a moment before the bold headline cleared. He blinked, then he blinked again. "What?"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" She shouted, "Howard Stark expressly stated no scandals and you're out here kissing insipid reporters?"

Steve stood, suddenly feeling more nauseated, "what! This isn't me! I didn't kiss anybody!"

Sam grabbed the paper, and he studied the grainy photograph, "uh, it does look like you."

Steve huffed, the headache now starting to feel like a jackhammer, "no, no way! I wouldn't!" He looked at them in desperation, "I'm engaged!"

Natasha looked at him like he was an idiot, "then what the hell are you doing kissing other women!"

The other teammates were starting to come back in, fully in uniform compared to Steve's rumpled appearance. Shit, he was so late. "I didn't kiss her." He grimaced, holding a hand to his head, "I swear."

Natasha stabbed a finger at the paper, "oh yeah?! And this mystery man just happens to look like you and dress like you?"

Steve felt sick on so many levels, "I— I don't know. That's not me. I don't remember that, I wouldn't have—" nausea rolled again and he put a hand over his eyes, "I wouldn't do that."

Sam stepped in front of him, "what's wrong, your head hurt from yesterday?"

He nodded, "it kills."

"You didn't drink last night," Sam asked slowly, "right?"

Steve huffed, "no!" And the sound made him wince again, "no, you asked and I said no at the bar, remember? And then I—" his memory felt fuzzy after that point, "I— I got a water and then I left… right? I went back to the hotel…"

Natasha's teeth gritted, "why do you not sound sure?"

Steve sunk back to the bench in the locker room, "I can't remember. It's like the knock made my head all fuzzy."

Her eyes narrowed, "they cleared you of a concussion."

He groaned, "I know."

"You're really saying this isn't you?" He looked up at her disbelieving expression and he felt helpless.

"I don't remember. But I wouldn't ever do that to—" his gut tightened, "Peggy." He slid his phone into his pocket and yanked out his phone, calling her.

No answer.

He tried again.

No answer.

On the third try he left a voicemail, "Peggy, whatever they're saying, it's not true. Okay? I wouldn't do that. I didn't do that. I would never—" he could feel Sam and Natasha's eyes on him, "never do that to you, okay?" Then he hung up and looked at them, "what do I do?"

Natasha's expression was halfway annoyed and half in disbelief, "you do your job, Rogers. Stark doesn't know yet. He's going to be pissed."

She stalked out and Sam sat beside him. The other players seemed interested as Steve had never been yelled at before, but no one else seemed to know about the alleged scandal. "Steve…" his eyes trailed to the picture, "be honest with me. You know you can. If you made a mistake, just…" he grimaced, "just fess up, you know? You're an honest guy."

Steve felt sick to his stomach for more reasons than one. The fact that anyone could think he would ever do that. "Sam, I'm telling the truth, I didn't kiss her. I don't even remember half the night! I think I was asleep in my room!"

Sam's cleared foot tapped on the concrete, "okay… maybe you don't remember the night… doesn't that mean it could be you?"

Absolute dread filled him, "I can't be… you know me!" His voice was getting cracked with desperation, "you know me! I'm not a cheater! I wouldn't ever do that to Peggy!"

Sam was nodding, "I know." He looked at Steve, "I know, you're not that guy, but—" he pointed to the paper, "that doesn't explain this."

Clint walked over, "Steve, what happen—" then his voice changed, "geez, that bruise looks terrible. Did you even sleep? You look like you got hit by a truck." Steve and Sam glared at him and he shrugged, "I'm just trying to be honest."

"5 minutes!" A voice called, letting them know they were needed on the field soon.

"You better change." Sam whispered. Steve nodded, grabbing his bag and heading towards his locker.

—

Peggy walked around her block four times. And on the fifth, she kicked a brick wall.

On the sixth, she shouted down a small alley.

And then she stomped back up to her apartment. After rummaging through all the messages on her phone, and seeing the same grainy photo over and over. She yanked off Sarah Roger's wedding ring, placed it in a ziploc bag and got ready to go to work.

When phone call after phone call came in from Steve. She ignored them, and she deleted the voicemail without listening.

Her mind warred one thought after another. She'd never thought Steve capable of such harm. Of such blatant disregard for their, what she thought was a, solid relationship. He'd never even really dated much before her and now he was kissing random women in alleys? She briefly considered he had been drunk. But Steve barely drank if at all. And even if he had been drunk, it wasn't an excuse. And she wouldn't allow herself to stay in a relationship where she couldn't trust him. Inebriated or not.

People's eyes followed her as she walked through the halls. She gave nothing away. She hadn't even cried yet.

But the ache was there.

Steve had been perfect. Everything. Kind, gentlemanly, strong, vulnerable, open, peaceful and stabilizing. Funny and shy and everything. How could someone so perfect do something so hurtful?

Her mind couldn't fathom it. So her mind ignored the problem. It would eventually go away.

Angie was silent and Peggy was glad. She could feel Angie's eyes on her left hand, but she made no effort to conceal the missing ring.

Through their long friendship, Angie had turned her nose up at everyone Peggy had dated. But not Steve. Steve had had Angie's full approval.

Making his betrayal an even bigger slap in the face to them both.

Another war started in her mind. Steve couldn't. He wouldn't ever do something so horrid. That was not her Steve. That's not the Steve she knew.

The picture floated into her mind.

How could she have been so blind? Fooled to believe he was devoted to her?

She remembered the way he'd had a jersey tailor made for her with her last name and her own number on it. He'd told her she was an official part of the team as his good luck charm.

How he'd figured out how to make her favorite biscuit recipe so he could surprise her with them whenever he wanted to.

How he'd charmed her parents and been like a brother to Michael the few times they'd met.

How after a long day or recording at the studio just four months ago, she'd found a ring resting on top of her show desk on her soundstage set, resting in a box that was decorated to look like a compass.

You're my truth north, Peggy Carter.

Will you marry me?

And she'd looked up to see him behind one of the camera's capturing her surprised expression.

The ache was getting deeper. Harsher. Heart shredding. Her fingers gripped her vanity desk and she took a deep breath.

A hand rested on her shoulder in support and she nodded. Clearing her throat and nodding again.

"I'll be fine."

Angie's voice was quiet as it responded, "I know."

—Carter to the soundstage—

That was her cue.

—

Jack was standing by the stage door and he raised an eyebrow at her. She glared at him.

He wisely said nothing.

—

They were losing 3-1 and he was struggling to pitch well or even focus. Steve felt more distraught and sick as the game progressed. The anxiety about the whole tabloid situation was making it exponentially worse..

He could tell people in the audience knew. By the time the 7th inning stretch came around, he was pretty sure the entire audience and maybe even the whole damn country and probably his own country was against him.

He was too busy puking his guts out to be able to do anything about it though.

The Norwegian translation of "take me out to the ballgame" was finishing.

"What happened to you?" Sam asked, "I think something's wrong. Throwing up is a sign of being concussed, man. You need to get checked out."

Steve wiped at his mouth and washed his hands, "after the game."

"Screw the game man. Winning isn't going to prove you didn't kiss that reporter."

Steve glared at the guy, "I didn't kiss anyone."

Sam sighed, "I think you're in denial. And I get it. That's a crappy mistake. Maybe you were concussed and confused, you know?"

Steve wanted to fight, get Sam to believe that he would never. But they were calling him back out to the dugout.

He let another run score and Fury benched him with a glare.

They lost 5-2 and Steve threw up again.

—-

Eyes followed him back to his hotel and he wanted to sink into the ground. The tabloid and a few other papers display the picture on the newsstands and he wanted to rip all of them down for lying.

Lies.

He didn't.

He wouldn't.

It's wrong, wrong, wrong.

He barely made it to his hotel room before puking again. The chills started after that, and the next thing he knew he was falling asleep on the bathroom floor.

—-

"—and that's a wrap."

The words were barely uttered before she was in her changing room and ripping out her hair pins.

Angie was once again silent and just gathering her skirt suit and hanging it up for the cleaners.

Her phone was shoved in her pocket. Turned off and ignored anyways.

She was exiting the door when she heard a throat clear.

Angie stood on the far side of the room, looking hesitant.

Peggy glared, "what?"

There was a sad silence before Angie looked up at her with a reserved expression. "It's obviously up to you…"

Her annoyance flared, she could guess. "What?" She snapped.

Angie set her jaw and Peggy saw some of the fire there, the one that had gotten her hired as her assistant. "I remember, when you first started, that story that was released about you—"

"There's a picture, Angie! This is not some incorrect character assasination piece!"

"I'm just saying—" Angie snapped back, making Peggy blink in surprise. "My gut tells me there's more to this story."

"You're supposed to be on my side." Peggy said angrily.

"I am." Angie insisted, "which is why I'm asking you to just talk to him. He loves you—"

"Yeah!" She huffed sardonically, "me and any girl withing kissing distance!"

"No—" Angie huffed, "I don't know how that happened, but that's not Steve. You know that. Remember the girl at that press deal? She threw herself at him and he didn't even notice!"

"There's a picture—"

"And he's a person. Not a news story. You haven't even heard his side—"

"And I don't want to!" She snapped.

Angie just sighed and then nodded, "that's your choice."

And Peggy left with a slam of the door.

—-

At the contractually obligated event that night after the game, Steve avoided the crowds like they avoided him.

All except his own team who just seem confused, and Thor.

"My friend." The giant man says, "you look unwell. The whole game I noticed you seemed off balance. Are you alright?"

Steve shrugged, "I don't know, I think the hit took it out of me."

Thor nodded, "that in conjecture with the drinking would probably make for a miserable hangover." The man grinned and rested a huge hand on Steve's shoulder .

Steve blinked, and he felt Sam's ears perk up. "What are you talking about? I didn't drink last night."

Thor's brow furrowed, "you were quite beyond your wits, my friend. Perhaps it made you forget."

Steve felt shocked, "no, I didn't. I don't even really drink to begin with. I didn't drink last night!"

Sam was paying attention now, and a few other people. "I helped you back to your hotel." Thor said slowly, "after I found you in the alley, looking quite sick with alcohol. That's why I took you back."

Steve knew he was staring. But he couldn't help it.

Then he felt almost hysterical. "I didn't drink! I only ever got an ice water!"

Confusion and what looked like slight disbelief played across Thor's expression. "Perhaps you accidentally drank someone else's beverage. Not knowing."

He could hear the disbelief. They thought he was lying, covering up his actions.

"I think I can tell the difference between water and alcohol—" he gritted out.

"Steve," Sam started, "let's go outside."

He felt just angry and desperate as they walked out of the large room filled with people trying to celebrate.

He breathed in the fresh air and tried to push down the panic he was starting to feel. It had been building. The loss of control over the situation slowly ate away at the more calm control he'd been trying to build.

"Be honest with me."

Steve turned, looking at Sam's sympathetic but neutral expression, "it's just you and me. Tell me what happened."

"I don't know." He rasped out. And that made the panic ratchet higher, tightening his chest. "I don't know. I can't remember."

"Think man, they cleared you from a concussion. But what do you remember? Be honest with me—"

"I am." Steve insisted, feeling the panic start to excelerate his breathing. "I don't remember."

"Are you prone to blacking out when you drink?"

The question made him sick. Throwing harsh memories to the forefront and he couldn't stop the wave of anxiety crashing over him. Suddenly the pain in his lungs was rigid, making him clutch his chest and cave forward. His breathing was cut off. Making him gasp once before he couldn't get anymore in. Crushing radiating sparks of nerves ran from his chest, down his extremities.

His vision was blurring and he couldn't hear. Someone was touching him, he thought. Maybe someone's saying his name.

He can't breathe.

But his brain can't even process that.

What happened? Why doesn't he remember? Why did he drink? Did he drink? Why did he kiss someone he doesn't know? Did he kiss someone he didn't know? He couldn't have. He wouldn't have. There's proof. There's proof. It was him. It couldn't be him. He didn't remember it.

Why doesn't he remember?

I can't be him. It can't be. It's not him.

What if it is him? What if he did.

She wouldn't answer his calls.

She believed it was him.

Oh no. He's going to puke. Again. He tries to get his feet under him to get to a trash can, but he still can't see or hear. He's in the muffled bubble of panic.

Someone's tearing at him.

Someone is dragging their nails across his neck and chest.

Visions of shrapnel shredding against him make him startle and he's pretty sure a sound of pure fear exits his lips and his knees protest at the feeling of hitting something cold and solid.

Then he is puking. Into his own hands and on some sort of concrete surface.

—

Steve was supposed to have returned and she was going to have a small break from recording for five days, spending the holiday with him.

But now…

She stood in her apartment, angry at everything. The way the kitchen light blinked when the power changed. The way her curtains weren't exactly level. The way her floorboards creaked.

She was livid at everything.

And somehow was most angry at the fact that he had stopped calling.

He'd called three times and left a voicemail before his last game.

Then he'd called twice again and sent three messages that she hadn't read after his game.

And now it'd been 28 hours and nothing.

Radio silence.

And she's pissed about it.

Not that she's being exactly fair since she's not responding. But if he really wanted to work it out he would try harder.

And where the hell was he! He should have been back in the states 12 hours ago, and nothing.

What surprised her most was the silence from everyone else.

Nothing in the news about his teammates denouncing his actions or Howard Stark disowning him from the team.

She huffed at herself. Okay, perhaps that was a tad dramatic since he was the best bloody player on the damn team. But seriously? Nothing? Not even a slap on the wrist?

She gritted her teeth and glared at the uneven curtains.

—-

Somehow he was back in his hotel room. He didn't really remember how.

It took awhile but eventually he felt coherent enough to open his eyes. Seeing Sam sitting in the chair in the corner.

Steve didn't want to ask what happened. He hadn't had an attack that strong in a very long time.

It didn't take long for Sam to notice he was awake. He shoved a cup of water into his hands. "Drink."

He obeyed. Sam seemed deadly serious as he drained the cup, feeling like he needed more water than that cup could provide.

"What happened?"

Steve stared at his hands, unable to answer.

"That was an attack, Steve. A major one."

Steve still said nothing.

"We are not going to ignore—"

A sharp knock on the door was heard before it turned to a banging. Sam looked confused but went to open it, leaning back as Howard Stark brushed past him and made a beeline straight for Steve, an annoyed expression on his face.

"I said no scandals."

Steve stayed quiet.

"What the hell. What about Carter?"

Steve felt that clutching feeling again. His lungs struggled to pull in air.

"I'm not going to brush this under the rug, Steve." Howard snapped. "You're going to apologize for this behavior. Or you're off the team. I don't give a shit that players on other teams are disloyal assholes! I will not have that shitty type of character on my team! I—" Steve looked up to see Howard looking utterly confused and angry, "who the hell even are you, Steve? Because here I was thinking there's no way in hell you would ever cause a problem and now I have you sucking face with some rando when you have Peggy Fucking Carter at home? You're engaged, Steve! What the hell!"

"Howard," Sam cautioned, "something is wrong. I don't care that the medics cleared him. Something's wrong."

"Yeah. He got drunk and kissed an over eager reporter!"

Sam pointed at Steve and his voice became even more serious, "he needs to be checked out."

"Yeah, he checked out of sanity when he decided to be loose-lipped!"

Sam groaned, "geez, Steve! defend yourself won't you! You were denying it all yesterday and then now this? Come on, you know something is wrong!"

Steve swallowed, feeling empty. And every insecurity he's ever experienced flooded his soul. Not being a good enough man, or Captain or friend. Not being smart enough or quick enough to save Bucky from harm. Not knowing his ma was dying until it was too late. Not being whole and sane. Why was he such a failure? Couldn't even be healthy as a kid. Couldn't even be mentally stable as an adult.

"Steve!" Sam urged, "come on, man. You know something is not right! This isn't you!" He turned to Howard, "listen, I don't want to go into details and invade Steve's privacy, but he's not okay. Alright? Can't you just trust me?"

Howard stared at Steve for a minute. "What, you think you got so concussed from that hit that you lost your fucking mind?"

"He can't even remember last night." Sam explained, "he can't remember."

Howard snorted unhappily, "so he was blackout drunk."

"He said he didn't drink." Sam said firmly.

"Thor said I was drunk."

Both men turn to him. Howard's voice was sharp, "what?"

Sam's voice was in disbelief, "what are you saying, Steve? You denied drinking!"

And he just felt so empty and disappointed with himself that he stayed silent.

—-

Peggy spends the next day cleaning.

Peggy hated cleaning. But it kept her mind off of things and her anger made for an excellent source of energy.

Her brother called. She didn't answer.

The interview without her ring aired.

While she ignored almost all messages and calls, she knew the fact didn't go unnoticed because of the amount of notifications she received in the first 15 minutes of it being on air.

—-

After he was cleared at an official hospital and with scans that he was in fact concussion free, all of his excuses seemed just that. Excuses. He ignored every cal or text from his teammates or Howard. Natasha tried once but he didn't answer that either.

It was surprisingly easy to fall back into the acceptance phase.

Steve remembered accepting whatever his father threw at him. Literally and figuratively. Being blamed for any problem that happened in their tiny apartment. Bills, money, messes, too loud, too in the way, too much of a bother.

How in the hell did I end up with you. His father would sneer. You're nothing but a weak troublemaking little bitch!

He accepted that. He was a weak troublemaking waste of space.

And when he saw the headline about Peggy Carter not wearing her engagement ring in the last taping of her show… he accepted that too.

The flight home was silent. And so was the drive to his apartment.

He had only been home an hour when Bucky came home.

He could hear him in the kitchen. His flight had been delayed two days and he hadn't told Bucky he was delayed or when he was coming in.

But Bucky must have been able to sense his presence because he felt the door to his room open and a shadow fall over him.

"Steve?"

And he had nothing to say. So he stayed quiet.

Bucky's weight joined him on his bed, and he felt the hand rest on his arm, "Steve, what the hell happened out there man? What happened?"

And the panic of not knowing and having no answer made his silent resolve crack. "I don't know." He curled up tighter, his face pressed against his knees, "I don't know."

He could feel the cool weight of the metal arm versus the warmth of Bucky's flesh arm, and they grasped him, trying to exude comfort, "you gotta know something, Steve. I've never—" Bucky's voice is strange, like he's conflicted, "that's not like you."

"I don't even know how it is me." Steve whispered out, the panic ballooning, "I don't remember."

He felt his shoulder get tugged and he allowed Bucky to turn him to face him, "you don't remember?"

Steve closed his eyes, palms against his sockets, "I don't remember that whole night. Ever since getting knocked it's a bit fuzzy, but then at the bar it's like I'm just blank."

"Bar?"

Steve groaned, "team managers wanted us to be seen being friendly, so we had to all go." He looked at his friend, begging to be believed.

Bucky's eyes are wary, "did you drink, Steve?"

Bucky knew. Bucky saw his dad in his liquor induced rages. "I ordered a water."

"So how did you go from ordering a water, to kissing some stranger and not remembering it?"

His voice was a gasp as he answered, "I'm telling you, I don't know."

"Carter…"

Steve closed his eyes again and covered his face with his arm, "she won't answer me."

"Did you just fly in today?"

He nodded.

"Are you going to go over there?"

Steve looked up, flat acceptance, "I, even though I don't remember it, kissed some girl I don't know, while engaged. And she removed her engagement ring. I screwed up. She doesn't deserve that, or any of the non existent excuses I have. She doesn't want me anymore. Who would."

Bucky's frown deepened, "don't say that, Steve."

"You saw the picture—"

"Are they sure it was you?"

Steve nodded glumly, "I tried to imagine that maybe it was some other blonde guy who just happened to look like me. But…" he sighed, "Thor, the big guy on the other team said he found me drunk in that alley and helped me back to my hotel."

Bucky's eyes widened, "I thought you just said you didn't drink!"

"I don't remember drinking, Buck! And I didn't order anything! I don't know what the hell happened! I don't understand anything that's happening!" The clutching at his chest was starting. He felt his panic grip his lungs and his own fingers grip at his chest. "I— I don't—" he sucked in air, "I—"

"Woah, Woah!" He could hear Bucky trying to get his attention and pull the nails away from where they were scraping into his skin, but he couldn't breathe, couldn't focus, what was that loud ringing? "Steve! Steve look at me!"

"I'm just like him." He gasped out. "Just—"

He tried to take in air but couldn't, and the panic of suffocating made his anxiety ratchet up further, shoving away from Bucky and accidentally slipping off the bed onto the ground.

His vision and hearing were blurred again and he couldn't think past his fear and disbelief at himself. Somehow he failed. What was worse was that he had no idea how or why he failed himself. He never wanted to be that guy. Now he was. A weak moment and he threw it all away.

What a failure. What a waste of space. What a weak troublemaking piece of shit. Barely a man. Just like his dad always reminded him.

Something soft was wiping at his eyes. Moisture was there.

Then something cool touched his face, cold and a bit jarring.

"Come on back, Steve. Steve, can you hear me? Steve, listen to me, focus on my voice, can you hear me?"

He nodded slightly and relief flooded the voice. "Okay, that's good, you need to let go, you're scratching the hell out of yourself Steve, and—" the voice got quiet, "this isn't the first time, what the hell are these? These look fresh—" that something cool was tugging at his shirt collar, "Steve, what the hell, man—"

His breathing was coming in shorter raspy gasps now.

"Okay, it's okay," Bucky, he could process enough to remind himself it was Bucky, "I'm here, okay, it's okay, you're going to be okay, focus on this—" a cold hand gripped his arm, "feel that? What does that feel like?"

"Cold." Steve whispered out, "it's cold."

"Great. It is cold. Natasha hates winter when I surprise her with a cold metal hand to the neck." His friend chuckled and his grip got a little tighter, "breathe, deeply, big breaths, you got this." He could still feel his friend trying to pry his own fingers away from the skin of his neck and chest. "You're doing great, just breathe, okay? Deep breaths."

It took a couple of minutes, but finally Steve felt his lungs fully expand and take in enough air. Exhaustion wracked him and his body sagged onto the wooden floors, his shoulder stuck under him at a painful angle.

Strong hands propped him up against the side of his bed. Brushed his hair back, "geez, Steve…" then a trepidatious question, "have they always been this bad?"

Steve's eyes slid to his friend, "depends." He admitted softly.

Bucky's eyes closed and his grip on Steve's shoulder tightened, "why didn't you say something."

"They were getting better. Sam helped a lot."

"Sam?"

"Yeah, on my tea—"

"I know who Sam is." Bucky gritted out, "you asked him for help and not me?"

"He's a VA Counselor." Steve responded, suddenly feeling like he needed to defend him.

"And I'm your best friend! Your brother."

"I didn't want you to worry—"

"This was like that day, when you found out about the interview, but like 1000% worse."

"Can we not—" Steve started, his voice tight, "can we not talk about this?"

"Right now?" Bucky asked in a biting tone, "or ever. Because—" cold fingers dragged down his shirt collar, "I can't ignore this."

Steve looked down. Fresh gouges we're torn across his neck and chest, smears of blood from where he'd dug too far. The fresh marks crossed over the marks that were a few days old from right after the last game. His fingernails were bloody.

"It's nothing." Steve responded, pushing Bucky's arm away, "accident."

"You looked like you were trying to rip out your own lungs, Steve—"

"I'm fine!" Steve growled, his full faculties returning to him, including his ability to be embarrassed and ashamed, "it's nothing. It's stupid. I'm stupid. So just—" he shoved up off the bed and stood, sidestepping Bucky's hand trying to grab him, "just forget it." And then he was grabbing his keys and out the front door, ignoring Bucky calling his name.

—-

Except he was always an idiot. It took people maybe two blocks to start recognizing him and pointing. It was insane how often he forgot that people just knew who he was now. It was one of his least favorite things about playing on the team.

Anxiety riddled through him and he realized what a mess he'd left the apartment looking like. He ducked into a little tourist trap shop, grabbing an XL hoodie that said BROOKLYN on it and paid the man in cash. He yanked it over his head and tried to smooth over his hair.

The shop owner watched him in awe and he just winced out a forced smile before ducking back outside. He sensed the camera phone before his brain could fully process it, hand raising to block what he could of his face. Then he practically bolted, dodging around another corner and up onto a fire escape out of view.

Thankfully it hadn't been any real reporter as no one tried to follow him.

He sat quietly on the escape for a long time.

—

She glanced at her phone as it buzzed and saw a message from Angie.

And even though their last meeting had been tense, she still slid the message open.

A: He's back in the states. In Brooklyn. Did you know?

Her grip on her phone tightened and she glared at the link below the message that was obviously to some gossip rag.

Another message buzzed through

A: shit, he looks awful.

And that made her click the link.

It was clearly a low quality civilian photo. Steve's hand was halfway up to block the shot but that didn't cover much. The bruise from the baseball was still apparent. Green, blue, purple and yellow in the healing phase over his blocked eye. The one eye she could see seemed sunken and dark bruised beneath it as if he hadn't been sleeping.

Good. Neither had she.

His stubble was longer than she'd seen it the entire time they were together.

And he didn't indeed look awful. Which gave her a sort of grim satisfaction.

A: geez, what did he do, get attacked by hyenas?

Peggy looked closer, trying to see what Angie meant. It took a few seconds but the faint red lines on his neck, disappearing into a hoodie she's pretty sure she'd never seen him wear before made her brow furrow. What on earth were those marks?

A: he try to contact you?

And her heart clenched. Anger and disappointment and hurt that no he hadn't. Not that she'd responded to any of his other attempts… but now they were in the same city. And still nothing.

A: let me know if I can do anything

Peggy didn't respond, just liked the last message so Angie would know she had seen.

Her fingers clicked on the link without her permission and her eyes trailed back to Steve's half blocked face. He well indeed looked awful.

She dropped her phone onto the table and walked away from it. He wasn't hers to worry about anymore. Let that little blonde reporter worry about him now.

—

He could hear Bucky on the phone in the kitchen as he stood in the hallway outside his apartment door.

"No, Nat, you don't understand, he's… he isn't himself—" she must say something but he's annoyed and cuts her off, "I've known him since he was three! I think I'm a pretty good judge—" another break, "he was talking about himself like I haven't heard since…" his voice trailed off and Steve grimaced. "Since we were kids, okay? It's a long story. What happened in Norway, did Sam say anything?"

There's a longer pause and then Bucky was cursing, "fuck! He had another just a few hours ago, sounds like the same level. Why the hell didn't Sam report that to Howard!" A pause, "well no offense to Mr. Counselor man but fuck what he thinks! And he shouldn't have allowed Steve to just brush it off—"

Steve took a step back, not wanting to hear anymore, but Bucky's voice raised, "Natasha, you don't understand—"

And he took off again. Not wanting to hear the excuses his friend was trying to make up for him.

—

Peggy was not sure what possessed her to turn on the news. Morbid curiosity and the desire to see his face even if she was still achingly furious.

It didn't take long as the normal day to day news turned to the sports section.

The upcoming season is fast approaching, the man in the boring suit and tie said directly into the camera, and all eyes are on the Brooklyn Avengers. After a monumental World Series win, and a good showing in the World Baseball Match Ups, the scandal of their pitcher, Steve Rogers, has sent the fans into a tizzy. One look at Twitter tells you all you need to know.

The picture from the tabloids of him kissing that woman flashes on screen, and then the newest one, the one in Brooklyn before switching back to the man. How can someone who was so beloved fall so fast and far out of the country's good graces? The man shook his head as if in disbelief, by betraying one of the country's most beloved female news anchors. Peggy Carter—

A still of her latest episode pops up, zooming in on her hand.

—now having been ringless for the last four episodes of her show, has been tight-lipped about the whole affair, pardon my pun, but a source close to her said she's behaving as normal. Professional and together even behind closed doors. Well— the man grinned, she's never been one to overreact, has she? As the new season approaches, we will keep you up to date on any roster changes. Tune in tomorrow—

She snapped the telly off and threw the remote into the same far cushion where her phone resided.

And decided it was time for her to pretend to be able to sleep.

—

Steve had waited until he heard Bucky leave to reenter the apartment. Thankfully no one had come across him as he hid around the small corner of the hallway.

Then he sat in his room and he stared at the picture of his ma and him on his dresser. It's strange. He could tell he was spiraling. Being illogical. But he couldn't stop it from happening. Every thought, every memory of what his father said about him, every failure… it replayed over and over in his head. He hadn't thought about his father's treatment in ages. Too caught up with the war and then with friends and work. He thought that was behind him. But this mistake he couldn't even remember making brought it all crashing back.

What a disappointment he'd turned out to be. Just like his dad predicted.

—-

Howard stared at him. "What's it going to be?"

Bucky's jaw was tight and he and Howard had already argued. But Steve had kept quiet. It was written in the contract. Any scandal was either met with dismissal or with an apology if he wanted to remain on the team.

"I'll apologize." Steve answered quietly. Not stating his other part of his decision.

"Press conference tomorrow." Howard snapped, "10am. Don't be late."

Steve just nodded.

—-

"Are you going to watch?"

Peggy stiffened only slightly at Jack's voice from her dressing room doorway. "Watch what?"

"Yeah.." Jack huffed, "sure, okay. You're going to pretend you don't know."

She turned and glared at the man who was watching her with a raised eyebrow.

"You know it's okay to show that you're upset."

"Oh sure, then you can label me as the over emotional woman instead of the calm professional."

He gaped at her and she rolled her eyes. "I'm not an idiot Jack, I know you were the close source. Angie wouldn't dare."

"Well… what I said was true."

"And it shall remain."

"Still didn't answer my question."

"I don't know. I don't really care."

And Jack gave her a look. One all too knowing as they had been colleagues for a while, "sure Marge. Sure." And then he sauntered off and she sighed, staring at herself in the mirror.

—

"Rogers!"

"Rogers, over here!"

"New York Post, over here!"

Howard stood beside him and quieted the crowd of press. "This is not for questions and answers. This is simply a statement. Steve?"

Steve could barely get over the lump in his throat. But he managed to clear it and speak into the microphone without looking at anyone in the eyes.

"I just wanted to apologize for my actions in Norway. They were unprofessional and disappointing to my team, my friends and to myself. I truly don't know what happened but I take full responsibility. So, I am sorry. I won't be returning to the Avenger's as I need to take some time to figure some things out." He could feel Howard's wide eyed surprise at him. He hadn't told him that. "Thank you." Then he was standing and walking out, ignoring the silence and shock in the room behind him.

—

Peggy watched as Steve looked haggard and worn sitting behind that desk. The bruising under his eyes had only worsened. and her confusion and concern deepend as he was wearing a shirt with a high neck and way too warm for the weather they were having. Obviously covering something up. His stubble was gone but his hair seemed too long and it hung in his face. Which perhaps was his intention as he seemed to want to hide.

Then the apology. Sounding shredded from his throat and painful.

Then he quit. And she watched with wide eyes as Howard seemed stunned.

And then he was gone and the pundits were all talking in surprised tones about having to replace him and what the hell just happened.

And something painfully sad curled in her stomach. Something was not right. But she couldn't bring herself more pain by allowing him to give her an excuse.

—

Howard caught up with him before he could make it out the studio door.

"What the hell!"

Steve stayed quiet.

"You said you'd apologize! Not quit!"

Steve's anger at himself rose up, "I'm a piece of shit, Howard! You don't want me on your team anyways, alright! You should be thrilled. Find someone who actually deserves to be on the team, okay?"

He tried to walk away again but Howard's grip turned into a vice, "excuse me, what? What are you talking about, Steve! You made a mistake—"

"Oh, now it's just a mistake? Not a scandal?"

Howard huffed, "it's both, pal! But it's not the end of the world—"

"You don't get it." Steve snapped. Ripping his arm out of Howard's grip, "My character was all I had to offer. Now I don't even have that."

The words stunned Howard and Steve was able to slam out the back door with no one coming after him.

—-

She shouldn't be surprised by the appearance outside the studio gates.

"What do you want, Barnes?"

The man, grim faced, looked at her with an weary expression. "I was just wondering…"

"I'm not going to talk to him."

Barnes glowered, "that's not what I was going to ask."

"Then what."

"Did you guys argue? Or maybe… I don't know… Was there some sort of conversation you guys had between the first and second game?"

She frowned, "no, Barnes. And even if we had, that wouldn't give him an excuse to be a cheater—"

"I'm not saying that!" Barnes snapped back. "I'm asking because…"

"Because of what?"

"Did Steve ever mention…" He seemed to hesitate. His sleek metal arm running through his hair before he sighed and looked at her, "never mind." Then he shoved his hands in his jeans and was about to leave when she couldn't deny her curiosity.

"What!?" She gritted out, "Did he ever mention what?"

Barnes seemed to get angry, but not at her, "It's just, you know? I think he's over this stuff, right? That my friend gets some peace. That the situation is finally buried. And I don't bring it up because I want him to forget, right? No one wants to be reminded about that shit. And so neither of us says anything. And I think that's that. That he's fine. Happy. And then this shit happens and suddenly I realize he's been more haunted than ever and what the hell was I doing, you know? All fucked up myself and not realizing that perfect put together Steve was a facade for the—" he slammed a palm against his forehead, "geez, that scared angry kid who wouldn't put his fists down for anything. Ready to fight for anyone, everyone, except himself."

"I don't understand." Peggy responded, voice wary and defenses going up, "you're not making sense."

"I'm just asking." Barnes said angrily, still not at her though, "did he ever say anything? Stuff that made you worried about him?"

"Like what?"

"Like…." His throat seemed to go dry and he rotated his metal arm like it was bugging him, "self-deprecating stuff. You know? Stuff that was dark. Not healthy. Like he… like he…" He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, "like he didn't think he was good enough?"

Her defenses were on high alert, "is this your way to try to make me give him sympathy? What, he's feeling poorly about himself since he decided to publicly embarrass us both? Poor him." Her words were sarcastic, biting.

A whole range of emotions filed on and off Barnes' face before he settled on tired. "You know he doesn't even remember kissing her?"

Anger filled her, "how convenient for him."

Then the anger did seem to turn on her, "you don't even know what he's been through."

"And that's supposed to make me forgive his actions? What, poor rich sportsman has self-esteem issues so he can flit around with whomever he'd like to make himself feel like a man?"

Barnes' shoulders sagged and he just took a deep breath, looking out at the cars passing by the gates of the studio. "Never mind."

Then he was gone, leaving her more confused and annoyed than when he came.

—-

The next guest a few days later was more of a surprise.

"What?" She snapped, Howard Stark's face grim and challenging outside her apartment door.

"You know where he is?"

She rolled her eyes, "funnily enough we haven't been in contact. Haven't seen him for almost two weeks."

"Did he ever mention a place he liked to go?"

She frowned, "what?"

"A place he liked to go, you know? Did he have a second apartment? House? What?"

Confusion filled her, "I'm sorry, are you saying that you don't know where he is?"

"Been absent and radio silent for three days now."

Her hurt was stronger than her concern. "Sounds like a you problem, Howard."

He took a deep sigh and then nodded, "you're right. Sorry to bother." He's turned away, halfway down her hallway when her concern does rear its head.

"You're Howard bloody Stark. Don't you have facial recognition or something?"

He paused and looked back at her. A sad grin is all he could manage to spare. "That's a good idea. Thanks, Carter."

Then he was gone and she stood in her hallway for far too long before forcing herself into the quiet apartment.

—

The vomiting had stopped after the first 72 hours of getting hit. But the nausea, probably caused by the emotional stress and anguish was ever present.

He laid on the hotel bed and stared at the old alarm clock, reading 2:50a.m.

After his announcement about leaving the team had aired, his teammates had been after him non-stop. Trying to convince him that he should change his mind or that it's not that big of a deal. And he just couldn't listen to it anymore. So he'd grabbed his wallet, left his phone, and walked all the way to Staten Island. Booking a dingy room in a rundown part of town.

It had been two weeks. Two weeks of utter disbelief how things went to shit.

Four more visceral panic attacks and barely being able to sleep.

He couldn't even fathom eating and water seemed to be the only substance he could keep down.

He closed his eyes and didn't do anything to keep the thoughts from swallowing him whole.

—

She was annoyed with herself how much she was concerned.

Not that Howard Stark would have contacted her to let her know he had been located. But she assumed he hadn't. The media was asking a lot of questions, confusion over Howard Stark's refusal to select a new pitcher, and how not even a joke or mention on Late Night catch Up with Carter.

Barnes did not contact her again. And her ride wouldn't let her reach out to him.

You don't even know what he's been through

She assumed he meant Steve's military career. But wasn't sure in which way.

Steve hadn't talked about it. He hadn't wanted to and she didn't want to press. He really didn't talk about his past much, except about his ma and the Barneses.

But he'd seemed happy. At ease with her and— her throat caught— in love. He had seemed fully and wildly in love with her. She hadn't figured he was keeping things from her. He'd always seemed so willing and open.

How could she have been such an idiot?

But her mind wouldn't let her let it go.

So one day, she abandoned her reason, picked up a hat to cover her face and slipped into some jeans and a jacket and walked out and down towards Steve's neighborhood.

It didn't take long to locate. Google Maps leading her easily to Jones' Auto and Repair. She stepped into the large open garage door and heard music playing from somewhere. Someone stepped up and looked at her, "can I help you?"

"Yes, is um—" she remembered his name from her interview with Steve, "is Hank Jones here?"

"Someone looking for me?" She turned to see a man staring at her with a wise and appraising eye, he was tall, and his stature was an obvious portrayal of how he was perceived. His deep voice rumbled through her, "how can I help you, Miss Carter?"

Of course he knew her. This man knew Steve. She took off the cap, holding it between her fingers and did not wither beneath his weighty glance. "I was wondering if you'd… have a few answers to some questions I have."

"About Steve?" She nodded and he seemed to have no rush to decide. Watching her for a long moment before he nodded, "come into my office."

Office was a loose term as it was more of a three sided room, a section open to the garage but there were glass panels creating a buffer between them and the sounds of the mechanics. He gestured to a worn leather seated metal chair. "What questions do you have?"

"Barnes…" she started, looking around the office while trying to remain calm and unbothered, "mentioned something to me. And I just wondered what he meant."

"Which was?"

"That I didn't even know what Steve had gone through."

The man tilted his head and seemed to set his jaw in a new way that meant wariness. "What exactly was he referring to?"

"He didn't say. I assumed his military career."

"Could be."

Her eyes narrowed at his quick dismissal. "Is there something else Steve went through that I should be aware of?"

"If you were engaged to Steve shouldn't you have already been aware of it?"

The jab was sharp and she glared at the man, "I can't know to ask about something I'm not aware of."

He nodded, "that's fair."

"So what is this supposedly horrible thing I'm not to know? Or that I'm unaware of?"

His frown deepened and he stood, eyeing her with a reserved disdain. "Come on." He said in his deep voice, "I need to show you something."

She followed him through the garage, past curious mechanics and to a side wall where posters and pictures covered every inch. And that's when she saw it. A jersey. Steve's jersey. Hung proudly and at eye level. He pointed at it. "Read it."

She stepped closer, and in Steve's artistic block lettering she saw a message.

To the man who showed me what having a dad is like. Love, Steve

Her throat caught. She turned back to the man still studying her. "I…" She hesitated, realizing she can't remember Steve ever mentioning his dad. She had just assumed he'd died when Steve was young. "How old was Steve when his father passed?"

"16 years old."

The answer made dread curl in her gut. "And his mother?"

"When he was just shy of 19."

"And…" the message is like a flashing alarm. A man who had a father for 16 years and wrote this message to another man? "Steve's father… was?"

The man's face turned guarded, "alive for 16 years too many."

Her eyes widened, "how do you mean?"

"Steve, and everyone else thinks I gave him a job because he served with my son, Gabriel. That he was a good guy in need of a job, good mechanic. Easy decision."

She waited, knowing that was a lead up.

"But I've known who Steve Rogers was since he was a 7 year old. His baseball—" His eyebrow raised as if she needed to catch the irony, "rolled into my shop one day. Not sure if it gone thrown wildly or hit or how it ended up scaring the bajeezus outta me as it hit the back metal panel." He turned, facing a piece of sheet metal on the wall as if remembering it clearly. "The boy ran in here to collect, looking sorry and scrawny as a fence pole." He pointed to the doors, "and when I handed it to him, he looked all apologetic and grateful. He introduced himself and he started asking me questions about the cars and I started answerin'." He grinned, lost in the memory, "kid soaked up information like a sponge."

She waited, still watching him closely. "Then outta nowhere a man came stormin' in. Drunk as high heavens at 11am in the morning. Shouting at Steve for who knows what." The image did not allay her dread. "Then he's dragging the kid outta the shop by his neck and I'm watching helpless." He pointed to the jersey, "but then I remembered he'd set his ball down and I ran to grab it, following the shouting out of the shop and after them down the street. I catch up to them and hand Steve the ball, trying to somehow make the situation better. But Joe Rogers—" It was with a startling realization that she heard Steve's dad's name for the first time. "Slapped the ball out of his son's hand. Saying I've contaminated it and that it's trash now."

Her throat goes dry at what he's saying and the man looked out towards the street, deep in thought, "I didn't even know what to say. All I know is that the kid yanked his neck from his dad's grip and grabbed the ball, shouting "it is not" with all his little seven year old might. Then he came over and shook my hand and thanked me before scrambling off, running past his dad and leaving both of us in shock."

Her heart is tight, emotion at the story causing her resolve to crack, "I kept my eye out my shop door for him after that. Two days later I see him running around the streets with James and he's got a bruise covering half his face." His eyes bored into her, "and when my son came back from war. Raving about his Captain Steve Rogers, I thought 'no… couldn't be'." He shook his head and huffed a sad smile. "I asked where he lived and Gabriel told me he was a Brooklyn native. I took one look at him and knew this was the scrawny kid from all those years ago. And when he came around asking for a job, I gave him one, thinking he remembered. But no, he didn't. And I never felt the need to remind him."

"His dad… drank heavily?"

The man laughed. A sorrow filled ireful laugh. "He wasn't just a drunk, Carter. He was the town drunk. That man got kicked out of more pubs and bars than I've ever set foot in. And he was always ranting and raving about something."

"Is that why Steve doesn't like to drink?"

He nodded, "probably one of the many reasons."

She stayed silent and the man walked closer, eyeing the jersey while clearly still talking to her. "Now I'm wondering why you're asking me these questions. And not Steve."

She raised her left hand, wiggling her ringless fingers.

"I know. I heard all about it. Gabe and I couldn't believe what we saw."

She huffed, "neither could I."

"I've always had an easy time talking to the kid." She wanted to laugh at his use of the word kid for a 30-something. "But then one day I noticed the marks."

"Marks?"

"The scars."

"Scars?"

He looked at her, "you know. The shrapnel scars on his chest."

She frowned, "he said those were stretch marks from growing too quickly."

An awkward look crossed his face, "No, ma'am. Those are not stretch marks. Gabe told me that on the mission where James lost his arm, Steve tried to throw himself on a grenade to try to stop it."

She knows a brief recounting of this story. Not the grenade part. Just that Steve tried to save him from a blast.

"A grenade?" She asked softly.

He nodded. "Gabe told me that the main part of the blast caught James' arm. But Steve had been yanking him away, catching the last of the shrapnel and saving James from more harm."

"And he showed these to you?"

Hank shook his head slowly. "Not on purpose."

"Then… how?"

"One day, it was just me and him in the shop. And we were working on this lemon. Real waste of money, but the owner insisted." He huffed out a laugh, "and as I'm trying to start 'er up, the car backfires and Steve's close to the exhaust. Smoke and heat blast him in the face." His face turns deadly serious. "I called out to him… but he didn't respond. So I get out of the driver's seat and I walk around to find him hunched on the ground. Face covered in smoke and eyes in a thousand yard stare. He was agitated, couldn't hear me. Do you know what he was doing?"

She shook her head.

"His fingers were trying to claw out shrapnel from his chest. I couldn't get him to stop. I tried to drag his nails away from his skin but he was too strong for me, the old guy." He shook his head and looked at her, "I don't think I realized how bad his PTSD was until that moment. He'd spooked before, or seemed in his own world. But that… that was pure panic. Full flashback immersion to the battlefield. To the moment he felt like he failed as a friend and a Captain." His eyes again settled on her heavily, "have you seen him have an attack?"

She shook her head no.

"Has he spoken about them?"

She grimaced, but shook her head 'no' again.

"Did you even know?"

"I may have seen some signs." She admitted, "but nothing to that level."

He nodded, "Steve doesn't like to acknowledge it himself. He's been conditioned by his father that asking for help is a burden. He was treated like a human punching bag and a scapegoat for all his father's problems. Even if there were signs he tried his best to never let them show."

"He told you this?"

The man raised an eyebrow at her, as if the question was ridiculous. "Of course he didn't. After the first year they were back, I sat James down for a long conversation."

You don't even know what he's been through—

"How did his father die?"

"Liver gave out."

"And Steve… lived with him through all those years?"

"Yes. I may not have been able to keep super close tabs on him specifically. But everyone knew Joe Rogers. Knew how he treated his family."

"As horrible as that is, and I'm truly hurt that he never even mentioned those things that happened to him…" She looked at the man, "I still don't know how I'm supposed to just accept his actions. Poor behavior by the father does not excuse poor behavior by the son."

Hank nodded, "I understand." Then he gestured to himself, "but you'll have to accept that even a hurtful mistake like the one he made does not change that I view him like a son. That when he finally decides he wants to talk about it and tell me his side, that he will receive a listening ear."

She nodded. "I understand."

"Any more questions?"

"No. Thank you." She shook his hand and left, mind running through all the things she'd learned.

—

He heard the door open to his room. He sat up quickly, then held his head in a grimace. A pounding made his feel weak and dizzy.

"Rogers?"

He blinked as the last person he expected walked into the main part of the room, "Natasha?"

Her stare towards him was open and undisguised, "what the hell?"

He looked around, "what?"

She walked forward, and rested a gentle hand on his cheek, "what are you doing? Are you even taking care of yourself?"

He yanked his head back, "who cares. I'm fine." She looked about ready to protest when he waved her off, "how did you find me, and—" he glared at her, his head still pounding, "how did you get into my room?"

She circled the bed till she was standing directly in front of him. "I'm trained to find things out. And I'm good at getting what I want. All I needed to do was follow the trail and figure out what places accepted cash, no ID, and long term stays." She grinned at him, but then it faded and she frowned, "why the hell have you been MIA? Howard and James have been looking for you non-stop. Pretty sure Howard activated a satellite to search for you. Through facial recognition."

He blinked, "what?"

Natasha nodded, "yep. When the city cameras failed him, he decided to go global. Stark Industries is on a manhunt for you."

He shook his head, "why?"

She leaned down, looking him straight in the eye, "because we're worried about you."

That made annoyance flare up, "well don't. I'm fine."

"Steve—"

"Weren't you the one yelling at me first in the locker room? Telling me how much I screwed up? Well, I did. I don't even know how, but I did. Big Time. I'm paying my penance, okay?"

Her expression was hurt, guarded, "this isn't what I meant. I didn't want you to suffer like this."

He scoffed, "suffer? I'm not suffering. I'm fine. I deserve this. I screwed up, like you so clearly put it."

"Steve, that's not—"

"Listen. I've got more money than I know what to do with. I don't need anyone's help."

"Are you eating?"

The question catches him off guard. "Yes."

She gaped at him and then stabbed a finger, "oh, so you are a liar."

He frowned, "I'm not."

"Are. You. Eating?"

He stayed quiet.

She glared at him and walked over to the trash can, "don't lie when it can be easily proven wrong." She pointed to the trash, "no food refuse." She gestured to the room, "no signs of room service or any sort of food." Then she pointed to him, "and you're starting to look gaunt. You need to take care of yourself—"

Steve huffed, "why?"

And she blinked in surprise, "what do you mean, why? You're a human being. You need food and water and basic things."

"I'm fine." He growled out, "can you please leave?"

"So you can disappear again after it took me over a week to find you? Hell no."

He stood up, and tried not to wobble at the way his head throbbed. "In case you hadn't heard. I'm not an Avenger anymore. Your job description no longer covers me. So you can let it go."

True hurt telegraphed over her face. "I thought we were friends."

His starvation headache was making it hard to be logical. "Why, because you were dating Bucky?"

Her eyes widened and she crossed her arms over her chest, "no, you asshole, because I thought we genuinely got along."

Steve frowned, "why would you want to be friends with me after I screwed up?"

And she looked flabbergasted at him, "Steve, the whole rest of your life won't be defined by this one, albeit awful, mistake."

The comforter sunk beneath him as he sat back down heavily. "That's where you're wrong." He responded quietly. "My life has always been defined by the fact that I am just one big mistake."

Natasha's face got up close to his, "Steve? Absolutely not. That sort of talk is unacceptable. You are not a mistake. You're a human being who made a mistake. That's two very different things."

He said nothing, not wanting to argue.

—

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't keep Steve from the front of her mind.

Ever since Hank told that story, she'd been running over it again and again.

And now the marks Angie had mentioned made sense.

Her anger wavered and fought with her pride and her concern.

She gave in and texted Howard.

P: Did you find him?

It only took a few minutes for a response.

H: Not yet. Natasha thinks she's close but I haven't heard from her yet. Still running Facial ID.

Peggy blinked at the message. Natasha was looking for him? She hadn't heard from the red head yet. They'd become close friends but didn't have much time to hang out that hadn't been double dates with Barnes and Steve.

Although since she was dating Barnes and working for Howard it made a sort of sense.

P: Okay. Thanks for the update.

Typing bubbles appeared and disappeared multiple times before a little thumbs up appeared on her last message and she could tell he wasn't going to respond.

—

Steve agreed to come home as long as she didn't alert Howard. She begrudgingly agreed to that term as long as he agreed to eat.

He promised to try.

Natasha's car took them slowly back into Brooklyn and parked in the underground garage. They took the slow elevator back up and Steve used his key on the door.

—

Peggy squinted her eyes open. The buzzing of her phone again and again waking her from her half doze.

She reached for the device and winced as the screen lit up, burning her retinas momentarily.

It was a call.

She slid her thumb over the answer button, "hello?"

"Carter, holy shit, Carter!"

She groaned and sat up, "Howard?"

"Carter, you're not going to believe this shit! Where are you!?"

She looked at the clock. "It's 4 in the morning, Howard. I'm at home."

"Stay there. I'm coming."

Then the line went dead and she stared at the phone in confusion.

—-

Steve laid on the couch. Bucky hadn't wanted him out of his sight. He could hear Natasha's even breathing on the chair next to his head. Bucky was sitting on the ground, on his phone.

"I know you're awake."

Steve winced, "sorry."

"Why are you apologizing?"

"Because you sound mad."

"Mad that my best friend decided that disappearing was the best course of action? Mad that he doesn't trust me to help him after he spent four years dedicating his time, effort and money to help me?"

"Sorry." His voice was quiet and bucky leaned back, sighing.

"I wish you'd told me how bad it was."

"It isn't always."

A hand reached to his collar, revealing the last set of scratches he'd ripped into himself just two days ago. "What do you call this?"

The grimace was plain on his face although in the darkened room he wasn't sure if Bucky could see it. "It's not usually this bad… this often."

"You're gouging out your own skin, Steve. It doesn't need to be often to be bad."

And Steve decided to be honest. "Do you remember those nightmares… about the explosion? Where you'd have phantom pains about it… being blown off?"

Bucky was quiet but he could sense the head nod.

"It's like that. When I…" he could barely scrape the words out of his throat, "have an attack… it turns into this terrifying flashback. The shrapnels still caught in me and I have to get it out. I have to."

A hand rests on his neck and he can feel Bucky's tension, "I'm so sorry, Steve. That's awful."

"It's my penance for not getting to you quick enough."

The grip tightened on him, "What? What the hell did you just say?"

He could feel the intensity of Bucky's glare even in the dark. "You heard me."

Then he's being lightly shaken and Bucky is making sure they're in eyeline, twisting to face him fully, "Don't you ever say something like that again. You saved my life, Steve! You could have died, but you stepped in between me and kept me from losing everything and you think you owe some sort of penance for this?" The cold weight of his metal hand rested on his shoulder. "I have an arm that can do everything my old arm could, doesn't hurt, and can charge my damn phone. I don't need you feeling guilty about it!"

Exhaustion filled him and he didn't have the energy to argue. "Go to sleep." Bucky huffed, "I'll yell at you about this in the morning."

He jsut closed his eyes and obeyed.

—

Forty-five minutes later a frantic knocking on her door alerted her to the fact that she hadn't in fact dreamed up that call.

She opene dthe door to a manic Howard Stark and he stormed into the room, carrying some sort of tablet.

"You'r enot going to believe this shit!" He said altogether too loudly for what hour of the day it was. "I'm such an asshole." He added, "believing Steve could ever do something like that, what the hell was I thinking!"

"You've lost me." She stated with a yawn, "steve what now?"

He tapped on his tablet and then looked at her seriously, "When I sent out my global satellite for Steve's face to try to find him, you wanna know what popped up?"

Her brow furrowed, "Steve?"

He snapped, "Bingo. Steve. You wanna know where?"

"New York?"

"Yes, a few times, in the past. Not helpful to my search for him now. But where else?"

She blinked, "I don't know, Howard."

"Norway." He said with a wave of his hand, "the bar in Norway! There were security cameras in the bar—"

She froze. "What?"

"And you won't believe what I found."

He gestured to her own chair and she slid into it, feelin like the center of gravity of the room was shifting. Howard set the tablet in front of her and tapped something. A video of security camera footage appeared.

A full bar, people pressed up against each other. Laughing and talking and she can see the lights are dimmed. People seem to be talking loudly to each other to be heard over the loud music.

"Here—" Howard pointed, "watch."

Steve and Sam appeared. Steve still looked a bit dizzy and leaned against the bar immediately once he'd reached it, that same glazed smile on his face. Sam was laughing about something. Then he pointed to the bartender, asking a question to Steve. Steve shook his head and hands in conjunction. Sam nodded and spoke to the bartender who nodded and started making a drink.

Sam sipped at it once it was handed to him and he questioned Steve again. Steve pointed to his head and then pointed to the door. Sam responded and waved before walking over to a group where she could see Clint and a few of the Norwegian players talking.

Her eyes flitted back to Steve who turned to the bartender asking for something. The man nodded with a smile and started to make something. Howard pointed to the screen. "Look, just like he said. He ordered an ice water." The bartender handed him exactly that and she wanted to laugh at how Steve still stuck a large tip into the tip glass to thank the bartender for the water.

Steve took a sip and then held it up to his forehead.

"Watch this." Howard's voice was deadly.

And her throat went dry as Loki approached Steve. She couldn't hear what was being said, but Loki seemed to be examining Steve's forehead with a pretending to be genuine apologetic expression. Steve set his glass on the bar and appeared to try to focus on the man in front of him. Loki talked for a few minutes, Howard scrubbed the footage forward, "now watch."

Loki moved, standing beside Steve and throwing his arm around Steve's shoulders. "Look!" She followed Howard's finger to the slight movement. And she gasped as she watched Loki pour something into Steve's water.

"See!" Howard crowed, "look!" He rewound it again and it was clear as day. Loki clearly poured something into Steve's cup before clapping him on the shoulder and taking his leave.

Steve seemed unbothered, and just sipped from his glass again. He sat there for another minute, sipping at his water. When he went to stand, he wobbled, looking troubled.

She watched in horror as Steve tried to take another step. He reached out and steadied himself on the bar. His face was a clear grimace. For the next few minutes, she and Howard watched as he started to look sick and agitated. They watched him put a hand up to his head and barely make his way out of the bar through a back door.

"Is that the alley?" Her voice was panicked, "Are there cameras in the alleyway?" She asked, horrified.

He shook his head, "no. But I don't need them" He reached forward, tapping things and changing the angle of the cameras. "Once I watched what happened, I had this sickening feeling." He scrubbed through more footage, "so I followed that slime ball and look—" Her eyes widened as Loki approached Lorraine, talking to her for a minute before pointing in the direction that Steve had exited. Lorraine seemed to question him for a second but they watched as he urged her, practically shoving her towards the door. She shrugged and disappeared from the cameras view.

"Now I don't know what happened in the alleyway." Howard said iwth a firm voice, "I've already reached out to the people she works for to try to get a statement with no luck so far, But my bet is that he was disoriented and had no idea what the hell was going on. You know how many odorless, tasteless drugs there are that cause amnesia? Lowered inhibitions? Nausea, irritability and would definitely make Steve act completely different form the steve we know?"

She couldn't do anything but sit there and stare at the screen. She'd warred so hard with herself. Not able to believe the Steve she knew and love owuld do such a thing but the proof had seemed irrefutable. Until now.

And how horrid sh'ed been to him. How dismissive and awful.

"I've already emailed this to the manager of the Norwegian team and the authorities there," He picked his phone out of his pocket, "I want this on the news immediately. I need to call Barnes."

She couldn't respond, too angry at herself, even though she couldn't have known. But she should have just listened to him.

"Yeah, I need to show you something. It's about Steve—" Howard gasped, "what? You found him?"

She turned towards Howard, eyes wide. "Stay there! We're coming?" She could hear the 'who is we?'

"Me and carter." Then Howard hung up and looked at her, "you're coming right?"

And she nodded, "hell yes I am."

—

Bucky groaned awake and Stve e heard him answer his phone, "yes?" A wild voice on the other side made Bucky groan but then he was yawning, "Steve's here. What about Steve?" An answer he can't hear. "Who is we?"

Then Bucky choked and stared at his phone as whoever it was hung up.

Steve blinked, "what is it?"

"Howard is on his way… And Carter."

He sat up, "what!?"

"That's what Howard said…"

"She can't come here!" Steve reacted, standing up, feeling panic rise, "I can't see her."

"Maybe she's willing to listen." Bucky tried, looking at him carefully like he's a caged animal about to lash out.

"Listen to what, Bucky? I don't have anything to say. I don't have any excuse!"

"Then if she's coming, she must have something to say, alright?"

He felt trapped, panic rising. "I can't—"

"Hey." A soft voice spooked him, but the hands were resting on either side of his face, "hey, look at me." He looked down to see Natasha's calm and relaxed expression, "It's all going to work out. Okay? I know it. So just breathe. Okay? Deep breaths. Don't let the panic take over. Just breathe it out, alright?"

He tried to listen and it did help some. So he slid into a kitchen chair and waited, Natasha's hand held in his as Bucky paced by the door.

—

Every apology she could think of flashed through her mind.

And just the thought of how he'd been villainized these last few weeks made her positively anguished with guilt.

The ring. His mother's ring was in her pocket. She'd grabbe dit before they'd left her place. She didn't feel right putting it back on without his permission, but she hoped he would forgive her.

They arrived quickly and made their way up. Howard had barely knocked before Barnes was yanking the door open.

Her eyes caught him immediately. Looking haggard and gaunt and miserable. The bruis on his brow was gone but the dark circles were heavy.

She stepped forward, not letting him out of her sight. He watched her, wary, like she might start yelling at him at any second.

But she didn't. Walking slowly and softly until she reached him. "Oh Steve." She whispered out, "I'm so sorry." Then slowly, she reached out, resting her hand on his cheek, "would you ever forgive me?"

Confusion etched itself across his face, "what?"

She leaned forward, sitting in the chair next to him, "I've been awful to you. And—"

"He doesn't know." Howard cut in. "Peggy, you realize that, right? He doesn't know yet."

Somehow that realization had eluded her and she gasped, making Steve startle back.

"Doesn't know what?" Natasha asked.

"Yeah, doesn't know what?" Bucky reiterated.

Howard set the tablet on the table. "There's something you need to see."

—

Steve watched the footage in disbelief. He did remember Loki coming up to him. Making some excuse about how it had been an accident and 'no hard feelings' and all that but now seeing what had been the true intentions behind it made him sick to his stomach and so angry.

"He needs to go to prison!" Bucky growled out, making them all jump.

"The authorities have been notified." Howard answered calmly. "He won't be walking around for long." After the part with Lorraine was showed, Steve felt his head sag into his hands.

Three different hands rested on his neck and he could sense Peggy rest her forehead against his hair, "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have doubted you."

He finally looked up, "so everything I thought was a concussion was just the side effects of whatever he slipped into my drink?"

Howard nodded. "We can test and see if it's still in your system or hair, but my guess was he wanted you too sick and maybe too embarrassed to play. The photographer was obviously not there by coincidence."

Steve took a deep breath. Having the answer laid out in front of him made things clearer, made the fear of being out of control and his insecurities quiet down.

—-

"I've already sent this clip to our news stations."

Steve looked up at Howard, "what?"

"I screwed up, Steve." Howard admitted, looking guilty but ready to face his punishment, "I doubted you. Why would I ever doubt you? I made you apologize to a whole fucking country becuase I didn't even take the time to listen that maybe something else had happened. Now, to be fair, the actual story is one I could never have predicted or would ever have even thought of a possibility. But Sam told me. You told me. It's not you, you wouldn't. You would never. And I just sat there and yelled and made you apologize. So starting as early as possible, we're going to rectify that." He tapped at his tablet. "Your contract with the Avengers is renewed. And if you don't want to do that then I will contract you as an artist. And if you don't want to do that then I'll contract you as a mechanic. I don't give a shit. You're going to let me make this up to you. And—" his eyes popped over to her and then back to Steve, "I'm absolutely sure that the entire country will be outraged on your behalf."

Steve stayed quiet. Seemingly overwhelmed by the turn of events.

She gave a soft tug on his hand to get his attention. He turned to her, "what can I do?" She asked, "what can I do to make this up to you?"

He frowned, "nothing. It's not like you knew either."

Her frown deepened, "true, but that doesn't make it fair or kind that I simply ignored you. Wouldn't even listen."

Steve was at a loss, "I understood. What I did was horrible."

She shook her head, "no. No. What was done to you was horrible. And like Howard, I will stop at nothing to make this whole mess up to you."

She reached into her pocket and Steve's eyes widened as she pulled out the bag with his mother's ring. "I…" she looked ashamed, "I took this off, so sure you'd betrayed me. Now knowing what I know, I didn't feel right putting it back on without asking you… Would you still want me as your wife?"

The shock of the question left him speechless for a moment. She could sense Barnes, Howard, and Natasha watching on bated breath. "You still want to marry me?" He asked finally.

Peggy laughed tearfully, "oh darling, I never really stopped. I was just so hurt by this what I assumed was betrayal. However—" she reached out, her hand gently pulling down the collar of his shirt. Marks, clearly within the last few days appeared and her heart ached for him. "I think there's more conversations that should be had."

He openly grimaced, pulling out of her grasp and pressing his hand against his collar, covering them up.

Howard leaned forward, "what were those?"

"Nothing." He said quickly, "It's nothing."

She looked over at Bucky who looked pained but unwilling to rat out his friend. Natasha's eyes were sharp and Peggy knew she knew.

Howard seemed ready to press but Peggy waved him to be quiet. "This has been a lot all at once. What can I do for you right now?"

Steve looked at all of them and then seemed to grow exhausted right before their eyes. "I think I just want to sleep."

She nodded, "alright. Then let's get you to bed."

—

In a shocking turn of events. New footage has been released showing Tom Laufeyson, nicknamed 'Loki' during the World Baseball Match-up, purposefully drugging Steve Rogers' drink the night before their last game.

The shocking footage you're about to see, leaves no room for argument.

Peggy forced herself to watch it again. The cavalier way Loki dropped the substance in and feinted friendship with Steve before then tricking Lorraine into following after him.

Fans had been vocal about their disappointment in Rogers' actions, following what had appeared to be a scandalous night out. But now, the tides are turning as full understanding is being revealed. Let this be a lesson to us all. Always try to find out the full story. This has been Gary Walins. Nightly News.

Steve was still sleeping. And She could hear Barnes and Howard having a whispered conversation about the marks on Steve's chest.

Howard kept cursing quietly. A sentiment Peggy shared.

—-

Steve woke feeling rested for the first time in over two weeks. He stretched and yawned and then settled back into the warmth of his bed.

He could sense them in the other room.

The footage flashed before him and he ran through it over and over. Unable to really believe what had happened and yet, grateful and relieved for the solid explanation of his lapse in judgment.

His door creaked open and brown eyes peeked around the corner. When she saw him awake, she winced, "did I wake you?"

"No." He responded, shifting up onto his elbows, "I'm awake."

She hesitated. Her expression guilt ridden. Something he'd never associated with Peggy before. "Can I… come in?"

He nodded and she padded softly over to his bed, sitting beside him, careful to leave space.

"I'm not mad at you."

She blinked at him, surprise blooming, "yes you bloody are." She snapped. "You need to be furious with me. I'll need some sort of swift retribution. And I'm thinking of apologizing to you on my own show—"

:What!" He shook his head, "no. No way, please don't do that."

"Why not?" She asked, "you deserve that and so much more—"

"You didn't know. I didn't know. I don't want you blaming yourself for something you had no control over."

"I had control over how I treated you."

Steve nodded, "that's true. But if footage came out of you kissing another guy I would probably be upset and want space from you too."

She grimaced, understanding his point but still feeling guilty.

"What are you going to do now?" She asked.

"I think…" He huffed, "I don't know. I need to figure some things out."

Her eyes trailed to his chest and back up, a saddened look on her face.

"Peggy…"

"Why didn't you tell me?" She asked, "we dated for 6 months and were engaged. And you never mentioned him once."

Steve felt ice grow in his chest, "him?"

"Your dad."

He sat up all the way, "what are you talking about?"

"I know… I know how he treated you, or tiny bits of it. And how he drank. And about the attacks."

Steve grimaced, "how?"

"Mixture. Barnes said something. I went and talked to Hank Jones. Some self research."

"You talked to Hank?"

She nodded. "I was worried about you."

"When?"

"When you were missing just a few days ago."

"Even when you were mad at me thinking I'd cheated on you?"

She huffed, "yes, even then—" he reached out, snagging her waist and pulling her tightly against him, holding her and resting his head in the crook of her neck.

"I missed you." He whispered out, "I missed you so much it hurt."

Her arms wrap around him with no hesitation. "I missed you too. Even in my anger I couldn't seem to make the man I knew mesh with the picture of you kissing her. I felt like I was in the twilight zone. I'm so relieved that my conscience was right even if my pride led me astray." She kissed the crown of his head, "Steve?"

"Hmm?"

"I think you should see someone. A professional."

It took him a while and he felt an ache. The ever deeply ingrained fear of having to ask for help.

"I know." He responded finally, his voice quiet, "I will."

She pulled back and smiled at him, "You are one of the strongest and bravest men I know."

He grimaced, "I don't know about that."

"Barring this last monstrosity, I'm hardly ever wrong."

He grinned slowly and leaned his head back on the pillow, dragging her with him. She cuddled against his side and rested her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

"Steve?"

"Yeha?"

"I love you."

He took a deep breath. Hearing her say those words was like a balm, "I love you too."

"Don't ever let me treat you that way again. Understood?"

He started to protest but she wiggled out of his grasp and glared at him, pointing a finger at him, "never again. Do you understand?"

He smiled at her, slowly pulling her back down to rest beside him, "I understand."

She kissed his jaw and nodded. "Good."

—