La Petite Fleur

Tourmenté

A Quinjet brought Steve to the Avengers Tower in NYC and he took a moment to look around. Towering structures, honking horns, wailing sirens, blinking brake lights- all so familiar and yet so strange. With a deep breath, he choked on the fumes of a diesel engine and old brakes. So unlike the warm bread and fresh coffee aromas of Paris. "Welcome home," he muttered.

Sighing, he turned to go inside. Instead of taking the elevator, he trudged down the stairs with the purposeful steps of a regret-laden man.

"Welcome home, Captain Rogers," Jarvis's robotic voice greeted. "Company is waiting for you in the bar."

"Thanks, Jarvis, but could you let them know I might be awhile?" His words were emotionless and weary.

"Of course, sir."

Closing his eyes, Steve rested against the wall of the stairwell. Everything had gone so wrong. He'd lost Peggy, then Antoinette, then found Peggy, just to lose her again. His friends were dead. His closest friend's son was Steve's personal thorn in the flesh, and even his home- New York- had become unrecognizable.

For the first time, Steve wished he had died when the jet crashed. He wished SHIELD had never found him in the ice, never thawed him from his cryo-coma, never uprooted him from the forties, never tarnished the heroism of his sacrifice by bringing him back to life.

People could call him an Avenger, a fighter, an enforcer of justice, protector of the earth, defender of the innocent and helpless, The Captain, a hero- but it meant nothing if his actions were undeserving of praise.

In Paris, chasing Antoinette and her captor, he felt like the villain. He'd let her believe that he was willingly giving her to them. How could he do that? How could he have caused so much damage and chaos? How could he have endangered so many people?

He sat on the top stair of the flight and hid his face in his roughened hands. He'd screwed everything up. It was only luck that Antoinette was even alive after being stabbed in the ribs. And all because he'd wanted to keep her friendship. Was he just doomed to live alone? Would everyone he cared about hate him- or die- and his life just never end?

What if that was a side effect of the serum? That he couldn't die? He hated the idea of living forever, but surely an enemy could kill him in battle. Surely a proper shot could end this ceaseless torture.

He couldn't let himself dwell on possibilities. Standing, he lifted his bag to his shoulder and gripped his shield. The gaudily painted weapon had been a nuisance to keep hidden, and it had been the wedge between himself and Antoinette. As he descended the last few stairs to his apartment inside the tower, he shook his head and cursed his own weighty failures.

Half-heartedly, he kicked the door closed and began to unpack. Dust covered many surfaces, but it seemed as if Pepper or Jarvis had come through to clean a few times. The window shades were drawn together, blocking out the city and its haphazard lifestyle, and also causing the sunlight in the room to be greatly diminished. The jet lag and darkness got the better of Steve's tormented mind and he fell asleep.

Halloween was a raucous nightmare, Thanksgiving was a guilt-ridden day followed by a stressful weekend, the first snowfall was a dismal affair. He found no joy in the holidays or the happiness of those around him. For the sake of the team, he put on a happy demeanor that didn't reach past his false smile and fake laugh.

When he was certain no one could see him, he would sit alone and contemplate the concerns that had plagued him. Steve had but to close his eyes in the briefest blink to see again the anguish on Antoinette's face when she learned the truth. And she despised him. Her hate for him and who he really was had been incomprehensible.