Past Lives ▷ Steve Rogers | ✓

10 - BACK TO THE PAST

"Nicky, Nicky," Rhett whispered softly, taking the phone out of his hand, placing it on the counter, the sound of the dial tone clearly heard.

Some people used to question why he was a psychologist if he had mental problems of his own, to which Nicky would reply, much too kind to be fair, that he had everything under control and they shouldn't question his own abilities and worry about themselves.

The last time Nicky had a panic attack—before September—had been five years before. But it seemed as though the fall had brought back enough problems to cause the man a great deal of stress.

"Breathe, breathe," Rhett whispered, helping the man into a chair, placing his head between his knees, "In...out...it's okay, Nicky, it's okay." He was more calm and distant than he ever wanted to be, but him panicking wasn't going to help Nicky in the slightest.

He stared at the clock as Nicky worked through everything on his own, watching as the hands moved along, as if it were to mean anything. As if numbers on a machine told him that he was closer to death, as if he didn't know it himself. As if they told him that there was no going back, when, in fact, there was. At least, there was supposed to be.

Finally, raised his head, his eyes meeting Rhett's, finding a blank stare in response. Despite his want for something more, he understood.

"That was my mom," he croaked.

Rhett's reaction was all he needed to feel better.

º º º

Steve was walking by himself. He had received a text from Rhett saying that he had to take a raincheck as something had come up. Steve decided not to ask, opting to just go on a walk himself.

As he made his way to Central Park, he thought back to Sam who had been the one to text him, telling him to go the day he had first run into Rhett. He smiled to himself, shaking his head at the way the world just seemed to work, how time seemed to align just so.

He missed Sam.

He shook his head, not wanting to ruin his day, but he couldn't help but feel the pang of longing as he thought back to all the people he couldn't see anymore. He couldn't see Sam, or Bucky, or anyone, really.

There were some people that he weren't even sure were alive. The thought of Thor and Bruce made him sick with worry on bad days, and vaguely worried on good. He thought back to Natasha, whom Tony hadn't gotten him in contact with when he helped him get back home.

He was alone.

He sighed, shaking his head, remembering the letter he had sent to Tony back when he was in Wakanda. It only made sense that, if he started off alone, he would end up alone. Just the way the world worked, it seemed.

He pushed up his glasses, tugging at his hat. He just wanted things to go back to the way they were, but they never would. So he could just try to work with what he had. Maybe he could try to salvage the pieces and turn it into something new.

That sounded alright.

As he passed by the lampposts, he couldn't help but look at the numbers engraved at the base of the lamps, smiling to himself. He didn't particularly need to know where he was, but he loved that the lamps would help him find his way if he needed it.