Chapter Text
The first thing Steve Rogers did in the 21st century was have a shower with water so hot it burned. It lasted thirty minutes and the hot water never ran out. He kept waiting for someone to comment on his wastefulness. They never did.
When he first woke up, he’d been on edge, waiting for the questions he knew must be coming. Questions about the plane and the ice; questions he wouldn’t be able to answer. Even after he’d realized what had happened, he was still waiting for them to ask. It wasn’t until Agent Coulson left that he began to comprehend. When he’d gone into the ice, he’d still been Steve Rogers. Now, everyone who’d known him was dead. Steve Rogers was dead. There will be no questions.
Before he went into the ice, he’d thought he was losing everything, including his life. Now he knows the only way to truly lose everything is to live to see it go.
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Being a weapon is better than being nothing at all, so he picks up the shield and trains. He is tired, always so tired, but he pushes it away. For a moment, when he meets Howard’s son, he feels a spark; a hope that maybe there is something of his life left to save. Instead, he is left with the bitter taste of ashes in his mouth. He can’t believe that after Bucky and Peggy this is what he’s left with.
It isn’t so hard, being alone. He finds Captain America is a mask he can hide behind as easily in real life as he did in film. It is easier this way; keeping everyone at arm's length. It isn't until Coulson dies that he discovers his arms aren't nearly long enough. Coulson was the only one who had told him the truth right from the start. The one person who had almost seemed to see him as human. It is too much. When the fight is over, he runs.
He runs all the way to Brooklyn, where he stands in front of the spot where his old building stood and cries the tears he hadn’t let himself cry before.
“You always were a shit actor.” Natasha leans up against the wall beside him.
“Yeah?” He doesn’t bother to wipe the tears away. He doesn’t know Natasha well, but he knows her well enough to know that there is no point in hiding from her.
“I watched some of your old films.” She isn’t looking at him, just leaning against the building, arms crossed. “Coulson used to wonder how you could get in so many fights. Patriotic Captain America, practically shining with virtue, getting into fights in back alleys.” She shook her head. “I asked him how he expected you to do anything else. It was right there in those tapes. All the simmering anger and righteousness. Even if I hadn’t know your history, I would have known from the first tape that you weren’t going to stick to the sidelines long.”
Steve doesn’t want to hear this. “I’m not that man anymore.”
“I know.” Natasha is looking at him now. “I know, because you’ve got that same mask on you used in the films. Only this time, you know what I see underneath?”
“No.” Steve looks away.
“Neither do I, ” Natasha admits. “Not yet.” She pushes away from the wall. “But I can tell you that I didn’t join the Avengers because of the the shield.” She flicks her fingers derisively against it where it sits on his back. “I joined to follow the idiot who got into fights he couldn’t win because it was the right thing to do. I joined to because of you , Steve Rogers.”
“Steve Rogers is dead.” Steve snaps.
Natasha shakes her head. “Not yet. Not if I have anything to say about it.”