Steve had been filled with apprehension when he'd first entered the large group room on Empire State University's campus. Captain America, the supposed hero, was about to enter a room where grieving people were meeting to discuss their pain. A pain that he and his team hadn't been able to keep from happening. He stood on the threshold, ball cap hiding his features, fists shoved into his jacket, and he looked at the room. A circle of chairs was arranged in the center and there was a table off to the side that was covered in plates of various snacks and beverages. Adults of differing ages and backgrounds stood around in various little groups, socializing as they waited for group to begin. Steve watched them and felt incredibly conscious of how they would perceive him once they discovered who he was. And they would. He had no illusions about that. He knew that a ball cap and civilian clothes wouldn't hide who he was from them.
What are they going to do when they see who you are, Rogers?
His nerve lost, Steve promptly turned around to leave. It was a bad idea, one he hadn't thought through. But as he turned, he collided with an older woman, causing her to drop the grocery sack she was carrying, spilling various fruits on the floor.
"Sorry, ma'am," he uttered as his good manners extinguished his sudden urge to walk away and he knelt to pick up the apples and oranges as they rebelliously rolled away.
"It's alright," the woman said as she knelt to help. When the all of fruit had been placed back in the bag, she smiled up at him and Steve read the kindness in her face. "I'm Dorothy," she said as she reached a hand out.
"I'm..."
"Steve Rogers," she said with a knowing smile. "I know. My grandson has all of your action figures." She paused and shut her eyes as emotion swept over her. "I mean...he had. He's...he's gone now."
Steve lowered his head. "I was just leaving," he said. "I'm sorry for the accident and for...interrupting. And everything else."
Dorothy scowled and reached out for his arm. "Please don't go, Steve," she said in a voice that sounded like home cooking and love.
Steve smiled. "I should. I don't...I don't need to be here."
Dorothy clicked her tongue. "But I think you do, Steve. You think just because you're a hero you don't need a little help sometimes?"
"No," Steve admitted. "I need help. A lot of help. But I don't think I should be here because..."
"Because you feel responsible for what happened?" Dorothy finished for him.
Steve hung his head, unable to think of anything to say to that.
"You listen to me, Steve," Dorothy said in a soft voice that managed to sound firm but gentle all at once. "I saw the drone footage, same as anyone else. I saw you fight tooth and nail to save the world." She paused and touched her cheek to catch the tear. "I saw you...hold that bastard's hand back. I'll never forget the look on your face as you stared up at him. So defiant. So...powerful. So selfless. But that's you, isn't it?"
"I don't know...I don't know who I am anymore."
"Sure you do. And if you don't know, honey, I'll remind you. You're Steven Grant Rogers. Captain America. The frail boy who became a super soldier. And stood up to the bullies of the world. Laid his life down for freedom. Everyone knows about the sacrifices you've made."
Steve felt emotion welling within him. He didn't even know this woman personally and her words were moving him.
"You're strong. You're fast. And you can fight. But none of that can equal what's in here," Dorothy said as she touched Steve's chest. "You have a good heart, son. Always have. But it can break like anyone else's. And I know it's broken now. So, please, join my group. We'd love to have you."
Dorothy offered her arm and Steve smiled in spite of himself and accepted it. Together they walked back into the room as the others took their seats.
"Good evening, everyone," Dorothy greeted the group. She then turned to Steve. "I want to introduce our newest member. This is Steve Rogers. And he's come to share and listen with us. So I want everyone to give him a warm welcome."
Steve had expected pitchforks and torches. But when everyone stood up and clapped he could feel the floor shifting underneath him. And older man grabbed a chair from along the wall and brought it over for him and Steve took a seat in the circle.
"Now then," Dorothy said as she set the fruit out and then took a seat next to Steve. "Group is now in session. And since we have a new member I want to go over the guidelines."
Steve learned that everything discussed in group was confidential. That dignity was honored and no member should ever feel humiliated or abused in any way. She discussed the importance of allowing everyone to speak uninterrupted. With that task out of the way, Dorothy warmly asked who would like to share first that evening.
Having opted to simply listen during his first session, Steve learned a great deal about the people around him. As he listened to each person speak their truth, he felt himself being moved by their openness with one another. He was so engrossed in everyone's stories that when a box of Kleenex was offered to him he hadn't even realized he'd started to cry. He saw their pain and their sorrow as they talked about the loved ones they'd lost. But, more than that, he saw the unity, strength and tenacity of the human spirit. Faced with tragedy, these people had come together to support one another. To be each others strength. He felt humbled in their presence.
"I'm glad I stayed," he confessed as he sat in a booth across from Dorothy at the nearby cafe. "I needed that."
"I'm glad you did too. And I hope you'll come back again," Dorothy replied.
And he did. He made it a habit to show up early each week so he could help put snacks and drinks out and set up the circle of chairs. He would carry things in for other members. He even- much to Natasha's amusement- started preparing snacks to take to group.
"You are so incredibly adorable, Rogers," she said as she sat on the kitchen counter and watched Steve arrange a fruit plate and mix up a sweet dip to sit in the center of the arrangement.
Steve grinned as he placed the plate in a container for transport. "It's...I don't know...it's been good for me. I like it."
"I'm glad."
"You could go with me, you know?" Steve offered despite knowing the answer he'd get.
Natasha shook her head. "Oh, no. I'm good living vicariously through you."
As he attended more groups, Steve found himself becoming more vocal. There were occasions when he would speak for great lengths of time while the others listened, captivated. Then he'd look up at the clock and smile as he sheepishly apologized for taking up so much time. But the others never seemed to mind. In fact, there were several occasions where people would approach him individually during breaks to thank him.
"You bring me hope," Fiona, a mother of three whose husband was taken in the Blip, told him. "The way you speak. I look forward to it every week."
As time progressed, Steve's natural affinity for leadership made him a person that the others looked to. It was in those moments that he felt he'd found himself again. He felt needed. And he felt that he was giving back to the world in some way. He wasn't throwing his shield around, but what he was doing wasn't of less importance. He rallied his group just the same as he once rallied the Avengers.
And it felt good.
Empire State University greeted Kyle with its sweeping campus and tall buildings and he couldn't help but feel a sense of pride when he compared who he was now to the person he'd been when he'd last been in the city. He'd left a street urchin and returned as a more polished and educated young man.
His education at Xavier's Institute for the Gifted was recognized by every college as being first-rate. This meant he was a candidate for practically any school of his choosing. And the college courses he'd taken at the Institute meant he was already advanced enough in his college education that he could be on a fast track to a degree. And the major he'd chosen for himself was education.
It wasn't lost on Kyle that Xavier and Lensherr were the inspiration for his choice. Despite his resentment at their inactivity during Thanos's attack in Wakanda, he couldn't deny their influence. They had shown him the transformative power of education. He had fallen in love with the alchemy of learning and how it could transform someone like him just as surely as lead could be turned to gold. Higher learning, he had decided, would be his means of coping. He couldn't change what had happened in the past; he could only shape his future now.
He took to college with ease. Hard work wasn't foreign to him, though making connections was something he met with great resistance. He opted for the solitude of his studies and quiet walks on campus rather than time with his classmates. In fact, any time the thought crossed his mind it was immediately met with a solid brick wall. People were transient, he knew that. The family that was supposed to love him had seen fit to abandon him. The majority of the family he'd found had vanished.
In this life, I only have myself to rely on.
He knew this was a sad way of looking at things, but it was true in his mind. He had to defend himself from feeling that ache again. And while he knew that Jean, Lorna, Scott and Hank were still alive and well, he told himself this was a tenuous thing. If one good thing came out of the blip it was the realization that people he cared about could be taken from him in the blink of an eye.
He lost himself in his education. He attended every class and filled his days and nights with his studies. He was ravenous in his pursuit of learning, but not just because he wanted knowledge; he needed to distract himself. He would go hours at a time with his gaze fixed on his laptop screen. He would read until his eyes burned. Sometimes he would be so consumed in studying that he wouldn't realize he'd not eaten until his stomach would loudly declare its hunger.
But there were times when restlessness would prompt him to come up for air. During these times, he would walk. He would walk around campus, taking in all of the sights and sounds, grateful for the distraction they gave him. But sometimes even this couldn't block the stream of consciousness that always took him back to that day of dust.
"Kyle," Kurt gasped as he stopped kicking the soccer ball and raised his hand. And Kyle saw it then- Kurt's hand was fading to dust.
"No," Kyle muttered under his breath. "No. Not this."
He picked up his pace and entered the nearest building. It was fairly quiet as he walked down the hall, with only the faint sound of voices in the distance. But as he progressed, he could hear the voices more clearly and recognized what it was.
A group therapy session.
He paused and listened despite the sense that he was eavesdropping.
"I haven't tried dating anyone since I lost Ashley in the Blip," a young woman's voice said. "But I finally worked up the courage and have a date with a girl named Tanya this weekend."
The sound of applause rose up and Kyle felt even more like a voyeur. He quickly turned away to walk back the way he came. As he spun around, he suddenly collided with a figure that had somehow managed to come up behind him without his noticing it. In his haste to steady himself, he lost his balance. That was when a strong pair of arms encircled him, stopping his fall.
At first he could see only the chest of his savior. It was a man- a very muscular man. He was wearing a snug, light blue sweater and smelled fresh and clean. As Kyle's eyes moved up the broad chest and looked into his face, he was met with the shocking realization that Captain America was currently cradling him on his arms. And that he was far more handsome in person.
His features were clean cut, with a strong and defined jaw. His pale skin was smooth, aside from the day-old stubble, and he had classically handsome features that instantly gave Kyle pause. He had thick blond hair that was cut short and parted, with the bangs brushed back from his smooth forehead. His nose was straight and dignified, and he had full, pillowy lips that were currently parted in an expression of concern. The man's blue eyes were equally concerned as they searched Kyle's face, clearly looking for signs of distress.
"Sorry about that," the man said in a gentle voice. "I didn't mean to startle you."
After succumbing briefly to the arresting beauty of the man, Kyle found his voice again. "It's okay. I should have been paying attention to where I was going."
It was at that moment that Kyle realized that this man was holding him as if they have been dancing. He also noticed that he had instinctively reached out when he'd been falling and was currently clutching his firm chest. Warmth radiated from the man, and Kyle suddenly felt very hot. "Sorry," he stammered as he quickly pulled out of his arms and took a step back.
"No worries," the man said with tone of voice and a smile that conveyed a kindness that made Kyle feel immediately at ease. "I'm Steve," he said as he extended a hand.
"I know," Kyle said as he slowly reached out and accepted the handshake. "I'm Kyle," he offered in a tone that sounded more clipped than he intended. Steve's hand closed around his, larger and very warm.
I wonder what those hands can do.
"It's nice to meet you, Kyle." Steve looked over Kyle's shoulder and down the hall. "Were you thinking about going to group?"
Kyle adamantly shook his head. "No. No, I was just walking around on a study break. I'm a student here."
Steve lifted an eyebrow and smiled. "Students don't need therapy?"
"I mean, I'm sure some of us do," Kyle said, stammering once again. "But I was just wandering around."
Steve studied his face and Kyle felt like he was an open book before this man. "You know, when I first came to group I had a similar situation."
Kyle waited for Steve to elaborate, watched how his blue eyes became reflective. "I changed my mind about attending. I was turning around to leave and I bumped into one of the members on her way in."
Kyle slowly nodded, unable to think of anything to say.
"Anyway, she could tell I needed to be here and that I was hesitant. Nervous. She put me at ease and invited me in." He paused and smiled and Kyle appreciated how the smile touched his eyes. "So I kind of see all of this deja vu as a sign that you're meant to come back to group with me."
Well, you wanted a distraction, Kyle thought to himself. Here he is. A very, very hot distraction.
"I'm not nervous," Kyle said despite being immediately conscious of just how incredibly nervous he sounded as Steve smiled knowingly. "And I'm not hesitant about anything. Just...wandering. That's all."
Steve nodded and jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "Well, I guess not all who wander are lost, right?"
Kyle folded his arms over his chest. "Right."
Steve's smile deepened. "But, if you ever find yourself lost after all, you're always welcome. We meet every week around this time."
Kyle nodded briskly, conscious of how tempted he was to go with Steve. He felt annoyed that all it took was handsome face- a very handsome face- to tempt him to leave the very structured regimen he'd established for himself. "Thanks. I'll think about it."
Steve nodded. "Well. Enjoy the rest of your study break."
With a tight smile, Kyle quickly walked away.
Steve remained in the hallway for just a little while longer and watched as Kyle retreated. He'd felt guilty for accidentally starling the younger man and nearly causing him to fall and hurt himself. He felt even more guilty for the discomfort he'd clearly caused by inviting him to group. He'd seen something in the younger man though. Something that reminded him of his first time attending group. He read the reluctance and sadness in him. Although sadness wasn't entirely unusual these days, his gut told him that Kyle's went a little deeper than that.
Reign it in, hero. He said he didn't want to. You offered if he changed his mind. End of story.
But as Steve took a seat once more, he found himself hoping that this wasn't the end of the story. All through the rest of group and even afterward, he found his thoughts were circling Kyle. As he drank coffee with some of the group at the nearby cafe- as was a custom for their group- he kept picturing Kyle standing there in the hallway. He was of medium height and leanly built- the body of an athletic runner. He had been dressed in jeans and an ESU sweatshirt. From behind, Steve could see that his hair was light brown and cut short. But when Kyle had unexpectedly spun around and hurried back the way he'd come they'd collided and Steve was able to see his face. Momentarily captive in Steve's arms, he was given the chance to study the beauty of Kyle's features.
Deep green eyes were the first feature Steve noticed. He practically drowned in them upon first seeing them. He took in the tan of Kyle's skin and a face that possessed a striking beauty that would instantly set Kyle apart in a crowd.
Guilt hit him like a truck as soon as he realized where his head was going. Bucky was dead. And although he knew he'd eventually have to find some way to move on, the pain of losing him was still too fresh. He had loved Bucky. His former friend turned lover. The man who'd always looked out for him when he was too frail to do it himself. The man who had died before his eyes only to resurface decades later as a slave to Hydra. A man he needed to rescue. A man he needed to save.
In that moment, Steve found himself faced with something unsettling. He contemplated the caramel-colored surface of his coffee as the question suddenly struck him like an atom bomb.
Did I feel obligated or was it love that made me do those things for Bucky?
He clamped down on that thought, stifling it as soon as it surfaced. Of course he loved Bucky.
Kyle exited the building as if it were about to explode.
I just fell into Captain America's arms and he invited me to group therapy.
Group therapy wasn't exactly something new to Kyle. When he'd first arrived at the mansion, Xavier had explained to him that all of the students were encouraged to meet regularly.
"Talking is optional," Xavier had said. "But, at the very least, I think listening might help you."
Though resistant to the idea of sharing with others, he had felt he owed his benefactors for their kindness. Kyle had been a lost and confused thirteen year old homeless boy. A filthy penny that the professors had picked up and polished. He'd gone from sleeping wherever was dry and safe to having a real bed of his own. And food he didn't have to steal.
And so, sitting among the others, he listened to their stories and learned more about them. He learned that he wasn't alone in his feelings. He learned that there were others who had experienced similar traumas and fears. When he was finally ready to share with the group it had been like a drug. Kyle had never partaken in that sort of thing- though the streets were teeming with it- but he imagined that what he felt at the time was the nearest thing to addiction. He found he couldn't stop. Inspired by the openness and the sense of understanding, he became so open with the others that bonds began to form.
When he'd first arrived, he attended class and adhered to the rule of everyone eating in the dining hall. Beyond that, he stuck to his room. But after he started to speak up? He found himself immersed in friendships he'd never imagined he could have. Alongside Jean, Scott, Hank, Bobby and Warren, he'd formed what Xavier and Lensherr fondly referred to as their first class.
Soon they were joined by more students. More castoffs, frightened of their mutant powers and in need of safety. Kyle had welcomed them all with open arms. The family he'd finally found was so vital to his existence. And it had all truly started with group therapy.
That's why you won't do it, he told himself as he walked through the big green space in the center of campus. You're afraid you'll find it again and it'll be taken from you. He clenched his jaw in frustration and shoved the thought aside. He didn't need to remind himself.
A large memorial loomed ahead and he paused in front of it. In the center of a big circle of concrete there stood a large, abstract statue that had been sculpted to honor the dead. Hundreds of candles burned around and on it. The sight of letters taped to its pedestal, teddy bears and flowers brought tears to his eyes.
Scott had suggested a memorial service for the dead. Standing in front of the large memorial, Kyle understood now, more than ever, why he couldn't take part in that. He didn't want to believe that they were gone. Going to a memorial would feel like closing the book on their lives.
"You're not gone," he whispered into the night. "I refuse to believe you're gone."
But the the wind howled through the trees as if to tell him "you're a fool."