Dramatic entrance aside, once Steve had ushered the flustered man into a conference room, it had grown remarkably silent. Natasha, visibly deciding between being a nosy menace and actually being helpful, had signaled that she would wait outside the conference room, keeping any passers-by from wandering in. And, Steve had resisted on commenting, probably listening at the door for her own entertainment.

Small price to pay.

Steve gestured for David to sit, but he shook his head. They stood awkwardly just inside the door. Steve started to feel like maybe the conference room was a bad choice - the cavernous space was going to swallow this nervous man whole, before he had a chance to explain why he'd stormed the building, screaming to be heard.

"So, Mister Dumont, what can I do for you?" Steve asked, offering Mab's uncle one of the bottles of water that were always stationed in the room.

He shook his head, clearing his throat uncomfortably. It sounded like he could really use the water he was refusing. "Captain Rogers-" he said, a little crack in his voice. "This is all my fault. I never meant to-" he sniffled, and it sounded wet. "Please believe me, I love my niece. So much had happened, and I just wanted her to be safe."

"I believe you," Steve said gently.

"But, but," David rambled, "I was still wrong, and I shouldn't have blamed you. After all," David sighed deeply, "you also saved her life. If she hadn't been here and been in that thing then we never would have known, and she'd be… she'd be gone already."

Steve took a step towards David. "What are you talking about?" He had meant to keep his voice gentle, but it definitely didn't come out that way.

David looked confused. "They didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what," Steve pressed, even more serious now.

"While I was busy blaming you, that machine told Stark that some company he'd bought made a mistake years and years ago, and no one had noticed. Doctors had been treating Mab for a problem she didn't have, and the treatments were killing her." David started babbling again. "And I was so, so angry, but I didn't expect - the settlement made such a difference, but I would swear she was happier before. And I took away her chance to choose for herself."

Tony, what did you do? Steve's mind buzzed and tilted the floor under his feet, throwing several disparate facts together into a clearer picture. At the same time, however, a sense of horror washed over him.

"Did you tell her?" he asked, voice quiet but resonating in the nearly-empty room, and Steve couldn't keep the anger out of his voice as he already knew the answer to his next question. "You told me to stay away because I almost killed her. Did you tell her?" It was because he knew the answer that he was able to keep from throwing something through the nearest wall when David shook his head.

"No," he said, voice and expression full of shame. "But I don't think it would make a difference if I did. Too many misunderstandings already."

Long practice kept Steve's head held high, and his expression calm. He kept his hands clenched tightly at his sides - not picking up anything less breakable than steel would keep everything in the room in one piece. Probably.

There were so many things that Steve wanted to say. You just let her think that I abandoned her? What a cruel trick. What came out instead was an uneasy, "how is she?"

Fondness touched David's expression. "If you had another chance, would you leave again?"

Fuck, no. "No, sir."

"Because if you do, then that's it. You don't get another try. My niece is a… well she's not a nice person, but she's a good person. And she's going to make somebody very happy, but I want her to be happy first and foremost. She deserves it."

"I agree."

"Good, that's good." David paused. "There's going to be an interview next week, Tuesday. Local channels, local news, that sort of thing. Could I ask you to carve out some time to watch it live?"

"I can make time."

"Good, good." He nodded. "It sounds silly, being here to give permission that's not something in my power to give. But it also wasn't mine to take away from her in the first place." He patted the pockets of his jacket like someone might check for keys before leaving home. "I hope… I hope someday you can find it in your heart to forgive me. My heart was heavy, for its trust had been abused, its kindness answered with foul wrong."

Steve's fingers itched to turn paper and page. It is impossible to imagine a color you have not seen.

In his place, in his shoes, would Steve have done less to try and protect any remaining family he had left?

Hadn't he done far worse, in trying to keep those he called family safe? It certainly left him in no place to judge, no place to hold on to his anger or any form of resentment.

Anger bleeding away, the ground stopped moving under Steve's feet, and the fuzziness threatening to bleed red cleared. This anger wasn't right. "Please let me know if there's anything I can do."

Relief flooded David's face. "Just make sure you watch the interview."

Steve sensed he wasn't going to get anything clearer out of David. "I will." There was a plan in place, some path that needed to be followed for reasons perhaps only known to a Dumont.

David didn't say anything else, or give any more details. He gave Steve a respectful nod and excused himself, avoiding the curious and moderately hostile gaze of the small gathering of security officers in the lobby.

Natasha pushed off the wall in her typical mock-casual form. "The plot thickens." She grinned. "So what's the plan?"

"There's no plan," Steve emphasized. For one thing, he needed time to process.

On the one hand, he wanted to nail Tony to a wall and extract as much information as possible about Mab's condition - or lack thereof - as possible. On the other hand, he knew how uncomfortable he felt with all of his history and secrets laid bare for every museum visitor to parse and peruse at their leisure. He should be proud of Tony for keeping Mab's life private, if he was being honest with himself.

"You need to live a little, Rogers," Natasha whined.

Tuesday arrived with little ceremony.

An early-morning show, before most of New York was even awake, but Steve was sitting on his bed and staring at a modest stack of library books at his bedside. He trailed his fingers down the stairstep column of flagged notes sticking out of the pages of the borrowed books. He'd been looking for answers, trying to process his feelings, or justifying something.

"Good morning, Captain Rogers. Would you like a cup of coffee?" Friday asked.

"Not today," Steve said. He didn't trust himself to hold anything. "Friday," Steve said openly, "David Dumont is doing an interview on local news this morning. Can you please find the channel and put it on the common room screen?"

"Of course, Captain Rogers."

He needed to get moving. As he left his room, his hands buzzed with anticipation, the door clicking behind him on perfect machinery. He wanted this to give him some kind of answer. He wanted to know what David Dumont was thinking, was planning, why this puff piece of morning talk television was going to be so important.

Natasha was already seated on the sectional in the common room, a bowl of popcorn in her lap and the television on the wall already tuned to the correct channel.

"Are you serious?" Steve asked, sitting down heavily next to her.

"What?" Natasha grinned cheekily, offering him the bowl. "Odds are this is going to be good."

"Did I miss it?" Sam asked, jogging into the common space.

Steve shot Natasha a glare, which she ignored. "Hasn't started yet!" she called over her shoulder.

The elevator pinged, and Vision and Wanda exited, her carrying a bag of chips and Vision something that looked similar to guacamole. "Did we make it in time?" she asked.

"How many people did you tell?" Steve barked at Natasha.

"A few," she replied.

"Good morning, New York! This is Brandy Sanders reporting from our station overlooking a bright-and-early Times Square, it's a beautiful Tuesday, quite a scorcher already, but that's July in the city!" She laughed to the camera. "This morning we're going to be talking about that disaster of a fireworks display again, big changes coming to public transit, and we've got a special guest joining us for coffee to tell us about the September Foundations' Poet Laureate program! We'll be right back."

Steve had expected some kind of jeering comment, or a playful ribbing, or something. He hadn't expected the companionable silence - Sam drinking coffee, and Natasha and Wanda sharing snacks. He caught Natasha's eye and she raised a brow in question. He nodded slightly, and she smiled.

They weren't there for a show, or to make fun. Disguised behind only a touch of fun, Natasha had made sure that he wouldn't be alone.

An ocean of possibilities hung on what so far was a standard morning talk show interview. Steve hadn;t been willing to press David on the details, because he hadn't looked ready. As the show clipped briefly over to Mab's Uncle, sitting in an under-stuffed chair and clutching a mug of talk-show coffee like a lifeline, it was clear he still wasn't ready. He looked a little green, but cheery and determined.

"Thank you, Jimmy, for those updates on Public Transit! And welcome to the show, David!" Steve leaned forward as the host smiled and applauded for David, who nodded and smiled. "They tell me that you're the Poet Laureate for the September Foundation! Can you tell me a little bit about that? Do you just get to write poetry all day and read it out loud in the park?"

David chuckled. "Well, I can say I do a lot of reading to the pigeons in the park, but not nearly as much writing."

The host smiled with all of her teeth. "Did you bring anything to read for us today? I'd love to hear what you're working on."

David reached into his jacket pocket. "Funny you ask, Brandy, because I've got the poem that won me the laureate program right here."

"Oh, that's wonderful! Let's hear it."

David cleared his throat and loosened his tie. He glanced anxiously offstage and Steve's heart soared. Is Mab there with you? His hands were suddenly sweaty.

David cleared his throat. "It's called 'prayer for parity'. Here goes."

Steve frowned slowly. Prayer for Parity. "There is no ballast of laughter," Steve said as David read it on the screen, "that outweighs the leaden heft of the simplest words…"

"I'm. Sorry." David said, as Steve whispered the words.

Steve could feel eyes on him as he leaned further forward. He knew the rest of the poem even after only seeing it the one time. He'd seen it once, only once, and there had been music, and snow. He knew with an iron certainty that it had been signed Mab Dumont. Not David.

What was it David had said? Too many misunderstandings already.

David finished the poem and cleared his throat again, and again glanced offstage with a growing appearance of worry.

The host hadn't sensed the change and plowed forward with what she probably believed was a puff piece. "Wow, that's so powerful! So what were you thinking about when you wrote it, if you can tell us."

"That's the thing, Brandy, I didn't."

She laughed with all of her teeth again. "Oh, it just comes to you in a dream or something? You're so funny! I'd love to talk about this piece you wrote and presented at the event last week-"

"Oh, I didn't write that one either. In fact, I haven't written any of the work I've presented as the Poet Laureate."

The host's smile went from practiced to forced, and it was her turn to glance offstage, probably silently begging a producer for a lead. "David, are you telling us that the Poet Laureate has been plagiarizing poems?"

David shook his head. "There was a mixup during the application process, and my niece's poem was submitted under my name." Time moved in slow motion as he pointed, and the cameras swung around. "Mab Dumont is the real Poet Laureate."

The world churned as the cameras swung from the well-lit stage into the dark floor of the studio. Steve jerked to his feet in response to the sheer horror on Mab's face as the cameras.

Shock.

Horror.

Fear.

He hadn't seen her in so long.

She looked just like he remembered, and better. Some hollows in her face had filled in with health, and there was a flush pink to her cheeks that was new.

Healthier.

She was holding a simple black cane, but she wasn't leaning on it. Someone had probably told her to wear black if she was going to be behind the stage, as she was dressed head-to-toe in it.

The host was still speaking, and the camera did a split-screen, half on the stage and half on Mab's frightened, silent face.

"So, it was all an act?"

"Not exactly - my niece won on her merit, my name on it was an accident."

"Mab! Why don't you come and join us on the stage!" the host called.

Mab shook her head in a frantic, jerky motion, hair swatting at her face. She cut her hair. She took a step back, and the camera lost focus on her for a second. She was saying something, but since she wasn't wearing a mic the cameras didn't catch it.

David stood from his understuffed chair with some difficulty as Mab turned and walked out of the studio. "Mab, wait!" he called before he ripped the lavalier mic off his jacket.

"Well, folks, we'll see if we can get them to join us back in the studio after this-"

Steve turned on his heel, aimed at the elevator, but Sam shot up and held out a hand. "You can't, man."

"Sam, move," Steve ordered.

"Think about it - how's it going to look if Captain America shows up in the middle of what's already going to be a media shitstorm?" Sam shook his head in warning. "You're going to make what could be a one-week story into the scandal of the year."

Natasha leaned over the back of the couch. "She said leave me alone."

"What?" Steve asked.

"The camera didn't catch it. She said 'leave me alone'." She sighed. "Sam's right, Steve. Now's not a good time to try and be a white knight. Give it a week."

"Their writing styles were so different, it's a surprise their swap wasn't discovered before now," Vision mused.

"You heard him, it was an accident," Wanda said.

"It should have been an obvious one - Mister Dumont's writing is far more flowery than Miss Dumont's. They're both prolifically published, a simple search would-"

"Vis, shut up," Wanda said firmly.

He could ignore them. He could probably walk right through Sam, and be on his bike in under ten minutes. He might even beat Mab back to the brownstone. But would that be insult on top of injury, for him to plead forgiveness as her uncle did the same? To place his wounded pride at her feet and beg for mercy?

What would he even say?

Nothing.

He couldn't think of anything.

He could only think of one of the books at his bedside, and the series of sticky flags peeking out of the pages like stepstones leading nowhere, marking almost every page.

What's the word for a place that you loved,
A window seat, a garden, a house of stone,

A wall in a field you were carried to on the wind,
That, when you look for it again, is gone.

"Steve," Wanda drew Steve back to Earth, out of the memory of hunting through pages for answers, "it's going to be okay."

The elevator doors opened. "Keating has gone off the rails!" Tony yelled, brandishing his phone. "Have you seen this?"

"We've seen it," Sam said, "why are you si worked up about this?"

"The September Foundation funds the Laureate program," Steve said, "and it's Tony's foundation." In memory of his mother, if memory served. Nothing quite set Tony off like the mere possibility of someone trampling on his mother's memory.

As Steve was trying to put together how to diffuse the situation, to defend Mab, Tony stopped at the couch and narrowed his eyes. "Did you have a viewing party without me?"

"You were invited, just didn't RSVP in time." Natasha popped a piece of popcorn in her mouth. "Shame."

Tony turned on Steve "That poet, your poet, has some explaining to do."

But she wasn't his. She thought he'd abandoned her, and he had, and he was doing it again, and-

"I doubt she's going to talk to anyone right now," Sam said.

"We have ways of making her talk,"

"Just let the media chew on the story a bit before you go breaking down her door. She's probably terrified right now, and it's really not that big a deal if you think about it," Sam chided.

"Not that-" Tony spluttered, "we go through all the trouble of keeping her from dying and this is what I get? I expected maybe a nice thank-you card, not a knife in the back!"

"I like her," Natasha said, tossing popcorn up in the air to catch it in her mouth. "She's spunky."

Tony rolled his eyes "You've never met her, how would you know?"

"Not for lack of trying; we spoke on the phone."

"Vis and Sam and I met her at the wedding," Wanda filled in. "She's nice, Tony. I don't think she's the type of person to try and cheat you on purpose."

Tony balked. "Listen, I met her too - just through medical glass and a lot of scanners - so don't go thinking you're any kind of steps ahead."

Natasha scoffed. "Sure, keep telling yourself that. This is really not a big deal, Tony, but you could definitely make it into a big deal if you don't take that stick out of your ass."

"Hasn't the foundation been getting a lot of excellent press, due to the success of Mister Dumont's readings? They've been presenting excellent work," Vision added helpfully.

"That's really Pepper's department-"

"Tony," Steve finally said, and received only an exasperated look as he asked: "…please."

"Oh calm down," Tony barked, waving with his phone like it wasn't absurdly expensive, "I'm just worked up, I'm not going to ruin her life."

"You're the only one mentioning ruining her life."

"So you definitely considered it."

"I am a rational-"

"You can stop right there, you absolutely are not."

Tony glanced at Steve, probably to demand that he step in and get control of his team, but paused. "You square, Cap? You look a little green,"

As the fear for Mab faded slightly, Steve had to sit down. Emotional whiplash, or something equivalent, had rocked him back to a feeling of hopelessness. He had abandoned her, there was no other way to describe it. She'd clearly been trying to live her life quietly, and now that had probably been taken from her as well. Sam was right - if he turned up at her doorstep to beg forgiveness, it would only make things worse.

So where did that leave him? He had promised that, if given another chance, he wouldn't give it up for anything - but how could ask for it now?

"Hey-" Tony barked, getting his attention. "None of that. Just leave it to me."

Steve shook his head, "No, I should-"

"No, no," Tony waggled a finger, "wasn't a question."

Mab was surprised that she didn't throw up in the cab home. She counted the cash to pay for her ride with methodical care, not quite sure she could read accurately and not trying to get screamed at for shorting a cabbie.

David's cab pulled up right as she hit the steps, and she couldn't hear him calling her name. She put her keys in the bowl, kicked off her shoes, and realized she wasn't breathing. Mab's lungs were burning, working overtime, but not providing her with any air.

"I can't believe you did that!"

The phone in the kitchen rang, and they argued over it.

"I had to!"

"No, you didn't! Everything was fine, why would you…" Mab groaned, burying her head in her hands. "Oh my God, we're so dead. The foundation is going to sue us into the ground, we're going to get evicted, are we going to go to jail!?"

"It's going to be okay."

The phone in the kitchen stopped ringing, and was silent for only a moment before it began to ring again.

"No, it's not, David!" Mab had to grab the bannister for support as the floor swam. "We're done. You're done! We're never going to get another job that requires any kind of trust, which is any job, why, why - there were only a few months left!"

"But it wasn't me," David reached to grab her hand, pleading, "it's you, it's all you, and I couldn't go on lying anymore, I-"

The phone in the kitchen rang nonstop, shrill and biting.

Mab snatched her hand from his reach. "You have destroyed everything we have ever worked for in some… crusade of honor?" She clutched at her face, clawing at her skin, and a terrible, strangled, frustrated howl burst from her mouth.

"I've been crowded, and elbowed, pushed out of line,
Have been offered inducements to steal and lie;
But turned them aside—for I knew "I'd get mine"—
I carried the banner of Honor held high," Mab recited, throwing the words like bitter medicine.

But David, too, was a poet. He had read with her in the evenings, traded quotes and concepts and books.

"Hold fast to dreams," David said slowly,
"For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly."

The brownstone was trying to swallow her whole. There would be nothing left for Christine to claw or bite. There would be no music to comfort her, no windows that traced raindrops and snow.

The phone in the kitchen rang, and rang, and rang.

How could David possibly think she had any room left in her life for dreams? In what fanciful dream could she possibly afford anything she had ever dared to desire?

"My silence honored his," she hissed, "holding itself
Away from a gratuitous intrusion
That likely would have widened a new distance - " Mab's voice cracked and broke before she could finish her poetic retort. She had to sit down. She sank, sitting on the bottom step of the stairs, hand trailing down the newel post.

There was nothing left. She had accepted the idea that this made her sacrifices worth it. She could make up for her leaden burden by supporting from the wings. She could make up for the loss of her mother by making sure the Dumont name was remembered fondly. And David had ruined it all to try and bring her into the light. She'd never asked him to love her so much that he would bring them to ruin.

Hot shame poured down her cheeks. What foolish things humans did for love.

The phone in the kitchen rang without breathing, rang and rang and rang.

David sat down next to her on the step.

"Give me your hand," he said. "Make room for me
to lead and follow
You
beyond this rage of poetry."

A stinging salty veil shrouded her vision, but Mab could feel his shoulder pressed against hers, and smell his cologne. She could feel the pinpricks of pain in her hands as she clenched her hands so tightly that they threatened to bleed.

David continued, "Let others have
the privacy of
touching words
and love of loss
of love."

He set his hand on hers.

"For me
Give me your hand."

Mab had never understood the concept of uncontrollable sobbing. How could you cry so hard that it was 'uncontrollable'? She had always managed to hold in a scream of frustration, or hold back her tears. She'd kept her life controlled even when it had most threatened to fall apart.

The phone in the kitchen mocked her as she took a shuddering breath, and lost all control.

David wrapped an arm around her as she dissolved against him, water pouring from her face and gasping sobs rattling through her. She clung to her uncle, grabbing at the scattering of dreams that had just slipped through her fingers.

David rocked her, shushing and comforting in a way she had never needed, as grief robbed her blind.

A/N: I've been sitting on this for so long. Mab's title, The Silent Laureate, has been a part of her since she was named.

I know my readership stats pretty much fell off a cliff since I stopped updating, so thank you for being here. In the last six months I sold House A, bought and moved into House B, got my daughter ready to start school, started a new job, and I've been working on my Master's. So it's been a wild time. But now I'm back, with a lot of fresh inspiration!

Please leave me a comment, let me know you're still with me :) I can't believe I've been working on this story for almost FIVE YEARS. Yeesh.

Comments/Reviews make me write faster ;)