La Petite Fleur

Chaos

After the second post-performance rehearsal, Steve held the door for Antoinette as they left the theatre and paused on the sidewalk. She stood patiently beside him while he took a deep breath of the crisp, autumn night air. The temperature of the air itself was still warm enough to be comfortable without being overbearing but the constant breeze was chilly enough to surprise him each time it blew across his bare forearms. Antoinette had donned his jacket only a minute before to cover her thin blouse she'd thrown over her black leotard. To cover his arms, he unrolled his shirt sleeves and rebuttonned them at his wrists before offering her his elbow with a smile.

She accepted by curling her elbow through his and allowing herself to be pulled closer to him with a teasing smile. As they began to meander the criss-crossing streets of the city, the clear night air helped Steve organize his muddled thoughts and partially relieved the guilt he'd been feeling the past few days.

She hadn't asked any more prying questions but also hadn't acted entirely like she had before their argument. He wanted to tell her the truth, he really did, but he knew it would make things so much worse than they were now. At times, he had to bite his tongue to stop himself from blurting out everything to her just to relieve the massive burden resting like a pure lead block on his shoulders.

He looked toward the sky, wishing there was less light pollution so he could see more stars but it was a city, and cities had lights, not stars. He sighed and ran his free hand through his hair, letting the breeze tug parts of it this way and that. When he returned his gaze earth-ward, he caught sight of Antoinette watching him.

She smiled sweetly and fixed her backpack strap on her shoulder before resting her other hand on his forearm and leaning her head on his shoulder. She tried to stifle a yawn but failed, closing her eyes and gripping his arm tighter as she did so.

Time to get her back to the apartment, he thought, turning down a street that would lead the way they wanted to go. When she noticed where they were headed, she mumbled, "Not yet."

"You're exhausted," he protested.

"Not yet," she repeated, sounding more like her good stubborn self. "I like this."

"And what's 'this'?" he asked with a chuckle.

She shrugged with the shoulder not leaning on him and replied, "Je ne sais pas. I do not know. Just...this."

He smiled and changed their course to extend the walk for another ten minutes before he could feel her feet beginning to drag. Without any protests, he led her back to the apartment and watched as she collapsed onto the sofa still cuddled into his jacket.

Steve found himself yawning as he quietly carried a kitchen chair into the living room and sank into it. Before he could begin the familiar path of thought through his worries, he was drifting asleep into a nightmare he had never wanted to experience again.

Steve's hands shook with the adrenaline pounding through his veins. He couldn't fly this thing! There was no way he could stop the Hydra ship- it wasn't really a plane the way he knew planes- from wiping out America. He felt hopelessness and despair settle in the cockpit as he struggled to put the ship off its course. The scenery slowly changed and he felt the air coming through the bullet holes in the metal shell begin to drop in temperature. At this altitude though, that meant nothing. Then he realized...

He would have to force the jet into the ocean before it hit land.

With an almighty lurch, he aimed the jet for where the ocean might be and felt the shift in gravity. He tried to prepare himself for impact but then Peggy's voice reached his ears. At first he believed he was imagining things but no, she was there. Not on the jet with him of course, but communicating through part of the complex gadgetry on the dashboard before him. And she helped. Not that what she said had any effect but hearing her voice had all the effect in the world.