The Secret Life of Steve Rogers (page 1)
Story Info
Title: The Secret Life of Steve Rogers
Author: Del Rion (delrion.mail (at) gmail.com)
Fandom: The Avengers & Captain America (MCU)
Timeline: before “Captain America: The Winter Soldier”
Genre: Drama
Rating: T / FRT
Characters: Bruce Banner (Hulk), Clint Barton (Hawkeye), J.A.R.V.I.S., Steve Rogers (Captain America), Natasha Romanoff (Black Widow), Tony Stark (Iron Man). Also: James “Bucky” Barnes, James “Rhodey” Rhodes (War Machine).
Summary: The life of Steve Rogers is often a complicated affair. He’s still coming to grips with the modern world, but there are some struggles that go further than that.
Complete.
Warnings: Language, social drinking, possible PTSD & psychological trauma, canonical violence.
Disclaimer: Iron Man, Avengers, and Marvel Cinematic Universe, including characters and everything else, belong to Marvel, Marvel Studios, Jon Favreau, Joss Whedon, Shane Black, Joe Johnston, Louis Leterrier, Paramount Pictures, Walt Disney Studios Motion Pictures, and Universal Pictures. In short: I own nothing; this is pure fiction created to entertain likeminded fans for no profit whatsoever.
Beta: Mythra (mythras-fire)
About The Secret Life of Steve Rogers: This story was loosely (or not so loosely) inspired by a post on The Avengers Headcanons (Tumblr), and three separate prompts on avengerkink (LiveJournal):
#2447: When Steve wakes up in the morning, one of the first things he does is check the date. It’s become an obsessive habit. He is paranoid about falling asleep for too long again. (submitted by i-had-him-on-the-ropes)
Steve Rogers: Pool Hustler (submitted by anonymous)
Obsesses over simple training mistake [TW: PTSD] (submitted by anonymous)
Steve thinks he’s “out of time” again (submitted by cameron_mckell)
Story and status: Below you see the writing process of the story. If there is no text after the title, then it is finished and checked. Possible updates shall be marked after the title.
The Secret Life of Steve Rogers
~ ~ ~
The Secret Life of Steve Rogers
Every morning, Steve wakes up before the alarm clock on the bedside drawer can make a sound. The Tower is silent, so it isn’t any kind of noise that drives him out of his sleep. In fact, the Tower is too silent, soundproofed for inhabitant comfort no doubt, but Steve’s used to hearing his neighbors moving around two floors away even when he was pretty much deaf in one ear.
Here, any sound he can pick up is distant, sheltering them from the rest of the world. Some might consider it an attempt to place the occupants of the top floors in a world of their own, far away from the reality awaiting outside.
Steve never forgets what awaits outside. Not even if he wanted to.
This isn’t his world… but it’s the hand he’s been dealt, and he’ll have to adapt to it.
Just like every morning, he reaches out for his phone. Most people today would check their messages and missed calls, maybe get a glimpse of the news and their email account.
Steve only checks the date, then returns the phone to its place by the alarm clock.
“The time is 5:57 am, on November 16th, 2012,” Tony’s AI, J.A.R.V.I.S., informs him before he can ask; after he requested the time and date on two consecutive days, the AI has since taken up the habit of notifying him of said information moments after he wakes up - regardless of whether Steve has already checked it for himself, because that’s how he did it on the first few days, too.
J.A.R.V.I.S. never asks why he needs the confirmation of where he is. Steve doesn’t offer an answer. He knows it’s a habit he would do well to grow out of, but…
Like most things he does, it is for a reason.
Just like when he dresses and heads out for his morning run, alternating his route but always making sure to go past one of the newsstands, corroborating that it is, without a doubt, the day after tomorrow.
Sometimes in his head, he recounts all the days since S.H.I.E.L.D. released him out into the world after his awakening from the ice. It’s an ever-increasing number of days, but his memory hasn’t failed him yet.
Steve will never admit to anyone that he’s paranoid of falling asleep and waking up farther in the future than he already is, but after he’s gone through his morning routine, he feels a certain calm take over him.
He knows for sure where he is - when he is.
The only thing that remains to figure out is what to do with his life from here on out, when all the things he knew are a thing of the past. However, usually by the time he returns from his run - if not before, because he always has his pager on him - there’s some new mission from S.H.I.E.L.D. or a small-scale Avengers op needing to be dealt with.
It keeps making him feel useful, and that in turn helps him to get out of bed every morning.
Not that he would know how to quit even if he tried.
- - -
Over seventy years in the ice, and some things don’t change: the air might smell different, the cars, people, and the language have evolved, but as the tip of the cue puts the rock in motion, followed by a snap and clink of the other balls striking each other as they collide and roll away from the impact, that is still the same.
Sure, the materials have developed a bit, but the corners are still the same, and after a few experimental shots the first time someone put a cue in his hand after the ice - it was Tony - Steve’s got it down.
That is something Colonel James Rhodes is swiftly coming to understand.
The man is frowning as Steve calls the shots and keeps emptying the table, one ball at a time. Rhodes isn’t bad at this, but Steve is better.
“Come on, man,” Rhodes complains as Steve calls yet another shot, a rather complex one, and nails it after both the cue ball and his intended target have sailed across the table several times, never touching one of the other balls. Rhodes looks accusingly at Tony - who is failing to hide his grin behind a glass of scotch. “You set me up,” Rhodes accuses. “You said he’s barely ever played pool.”
“He hasn’t played a lot after his little nap,” Tony corrects. “Mostly because he usually wants to play for money, and everyone here has learned from experience that he can’t be beat.”
Steve suppresses a smile as he aims, breathes, and makes the shot for the 8-ball. Nailed it, he thinks as it falls into the pocket he intended.
“This is not a victimless crime,” Rhodes claims as he reaches for his wallet and pays up.
“What did you expect?” Natasha drawls from where she’s sprawled across one of the couches. “You’ve seen him throw his shield around.”
“That’s a weapon,” Rhodes argues.
“It’s math,” Tony claims, almost proudly. “I mean, I kind of hoped it was something he got from the serum, but turns out he was hustling pool long before he ever signed up for the SSS experiment.”
“Please tell me you made Tony’s wallet at least a little lighter,” Rhodes says to Steve while he heads out to get himself another beer; he stopped drinking after realizing he was about to lose, but has clearly deemed this a proper time to continue.
“A bit,” Steve admits, joining Rhodes at the bar and grabbing a beer of his own. Just because he can’t get drunk doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy a few - even though he’s yet to find a beer that tastes the same as it used to. However, he’s found a few he maybe likes a bit more, from those microbreweries Tony likes to buy from, but he’s not about to tell anyone that.
“Did he make it weird?” Rhodes asks.
“It felt like a science experiment before long,” Steve agrees. “At first, he tried to beat me with math, but my hand-eye-coordination skills are not tied to how high the stakes are. If he’d found a way, he would have made me play against J.A.R.V.I.S.”
“Still working on it!” Tony calls out to them.
“In the end, I had to refuse to continue playing against him because he kept losing and I felt bad for taking his money,” Steve shrugs.
“Yeah, Tony can’t play without something at stake,” Rhodes agrees.
“It’s fortunate, then, that I have no qualms against taking Stark’s money,” Clint grins from his spot beside Natasha. “Would be unfair to not let him play.”
“You’re hardly the challenge you think you are,” Tony quips back.
“Beat you enough times to prove otherwise.”
“Which makes Cap’s win over you even sweeter,” Tony decides.
Clint frowns. “I’ll figure him out yet…”
“You’re not the first guy to say that,” Steve states as he and Rhodes join the others at the cluster of couches and chairs.
“Look at you, all cocky,” Natasha teases.
“Well, these days I don’t have to worry about a sore loser beating me up in the back alley of the bar for taking their money fair and square.” Back then, hustling pool had been an easy way to make a few extra bucks, because who was going to take Steve seriously? It was one of the few times Steve let it go, in favor of the payout at the end. Of course, some of the fellas hadn’t looked favorably upon that tiny deception, even though there was nothing unfair about it; Steve couldn’t help it if no one considered him a threat until it was too late.
After the serum, people took him more seriously at face-value. Hanging around the Howling Commandos, though… It surely brought some bad habits up to the surface.
He smiles to himself at the memory.
“Do share,” Tony requests.
Steve glances at his companions, all of them pleasantly buzzed - save for Bruce, who is quietly sitting on a pillow on the floor, drinking juice as far as Steve can tell. Still, he has joined them for a night of fun and games, which is good for the team.
Another thing that hasn’t changed over time…
“Back in the war, whenever we had down-time and got to stay in a city or a town… Sitting still didn’t really suit us, so the Commandos and I would find the local watering hole. There was always one to be found, no matter how small the community we were staying in.
“We would go there and sit down, drink all night, loud and obnoxious. It kept us busy only for so long, though, and just about every bar had a pool table. We would challenge locals, mostly to pay for more drinks. They always accepted, seeing how many I’d already had, but I couldn’t get drunk then any more than I can today.” Steve smiles fondly at the memory, recalling the cheering from the Howling Commandos, and Bucky’s knowing grin as the truth began to sink in for his challengers.
As long as they didn’t play for actual money, even the most disgruntled losers usually accepted to pay up in the form of drinks and not go looking for more trouble than they could handle. After all, getting into a bar fight was another way to let out steam, but Steve had tried to keep his men in line for the most part. They weren’t there to fight the locals, after all.
“The Surprisingly Dark History of Captain America: the Notorious Pool Hustler,” Tony samples it like a title of the next bestseller book. “Maybe we should call up the Smithsonian, tell them to adjust that upcoming exhibition of theirs.”
“I think some things are better left out of the history books,” Bruce argues softly.
“How can you say that?” Tony asks, pretending to be shocked. “If the historians of old had that attitude, everyone would think history so dull that no one would study it - and then someone would need to color things up a bit. Look at the old texts, like the Bible; they’ve got stuff going on.”
Bruce frowns, whereas Steve just lets out a tiny huff of amusement. Tony gets on his nerves a lot, just like his father did back in the day, being a very different person from Steve himself, but he also valued their friendship. Just like he finds himself valuing his new friendships every day, no matter all their differences.
It wasn’t as if he and the Howling Commandos had that much in common, either, except for trying to take down HYDRA and to help end the war. They bonded through hardships, just like he is bonding with the Avengers now, and while Steve still feels like the odd one out more often than not, he is adjusting.
After all, it’s not like he can go back in time, so the only way is forward, whether he likes it or not.
“How about we play again?” Clint suggests suddenly, jumping up from his seat and approaching the pool table. “Ten bucks for the winner.”
He acts cocky, as always. Talks big. Steve knows from experience that Clint’s aim is good, and if they were playing darts, the archer might actually win.
“You’re on,” Steve accepts, taking his beer with him because it doesn’t matter if he drinks or not.
Half an hour later, he’s ten bucks richer, and Rhodes seems to be in a better mood after seeing someone else share in his misery of losing.
- - -
They aren’t part of S.H.I.E.L.D., but occasionally they train with their people, or are given instructions for their own training regimen. For the most part those are considered helpful hints, because Steve finds that many of his teammates cannot be told what to do, especially by an agency they don’t answer to.
The Avengers are a private group, after all, no matter their affiliations and shared missions. For one, Tony and Bruce wouldn’t have it any other way.
While they’re out and about doing their own things, Steve finds it important for them to train together. That’s the only way they’re going to become a team, and surprisingly enough, the others agree. It doesn’t always go smoothly, and their timetables aren’t constantly in alignment, but when they get together, they try to be productive.
Between Tony’s suit, the Hulk, and Thor’s absence, there are things they can’t actually bring to every training session, but Steve still tries to find ways to make it work. He feels it’s his responsibility, as the unelected leader of the team - that’s what happened during the Battle of New York, and they’ve stuck to that, more or less. Tony calls it to question every now and then, but at the end of the day, he follows Steve’s lead - when it matters, at least.
Tony doesn’t always take their training seriously, perhaps because he relies on his suit to do the heavy lifting - literally. Steve can see he’s keeping himself fit, but compared to himself, Clint and Natasha, he’ll never be in the same league, and he knows it. Bruce doesn’t even try, seeing as his strength lies in very dangerous territory.
The Hulk doesn’t partake in training for safety reasons, although Tony keeps pointing out it might be beneficial for the team to interact with the ‘other guy’. He doesn’t push it, though, probably knowing that if something happens, containing the Hulk might become nigh impossible.
Steve agrees that it would be useful for the entire team to be there - the Hulk and Thor included - but safety needs to come first, theirs and everyone else’s. Silently, he leaves it up to Tony to devise a way for their powerhouse to train with them without putting everyone at risk, and maintaining Bruce’s peace of mind.
While there are training areas at the Avengers Tower that are quite adequate, they still use some of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s offered facilities as well. It usually depends on who is available to participate, and what they are intending to do; a group of superheroes have a lot of ground to cover in order to become a working unit, especially when their strengths and skillsets are so varied.
Steve is nothing but inventive, though, and as far as it goes with Clint and Natasha, who are the most willing participants when it comes to regular training; they have a wide variety of things they can do, from sparring to gymnastics and finding ways to combine their skillsets in mission-like situations.
Seeing as it is still rare to see all the Avengers deployed as one, Steve tries to make do with the likeliest scenarios they might face on the battlefield. Having each other’s backs is important, and while Tony will shrug it off and say he has the aerial back-up covered, Steve doesn’t want to rely on just that - knowing that Tony may be backing them up one second and then flying off to either save or fight someone in the next.
So, those of them bound to earth and usual means of transportation need to get a little inventive, and seeing as Steve’s the enhanced one of the three of them, he’s more than happy to give the other two a boost.
That is how they end up practicing mid-jump catches and lifts. Clint is the one usually perched high enough to get a good look around, but it also means he sometimes has to vacate his spot with minimal warning - and relocate to another vantage point as needed.
The exercise itself is simple: Steve takes off from one raised platform, jumping down onto another. At the same time, Clint takes off from a level above Steve’s starting point, running in fast. Clint has to jump towards Steve, but not far enough to hit the ledge, so that Steve will catch him by the arm mid-air and then swing him up onto another platform above them.
On all the flat surfaces, there are thin, padded gymnastic pads to prevent injuries and soften landings, and while they have no such luxury out in the field, there’s no reason to play it realistically until absolutely necessary. Clint and Natasha share Steve’s mentality on playing it as real as possible, not depending on ‘safety nets’, as Clint calls them, but seeing as Steve is the only one who can take a dive to the actual floor without a fear of lasting injuries, they keep some minimum safety measures in place; they could set up wires to make the jumps and catches safer, but they find them a bit too restrictive.
Besides, Steve has always appreciated the pounding of adrenaline in his veins, the thrill making him perform with a singular focus to the task at hand. He doesn’t necessarily classify himself as an adrenaline junkie, although there have been people who’ve stated otherwise - people who knew him very well.
So far, none of his new teammates have brought it up, although sometimes Natasha gives him that look, like she’s onto him.
Steve doesn’t think he’ll ever admit to it, whatever conclusion she reaches.
They keep timing their approach and jumps for several minutes, getting to know each other’s rhythm and movements. Each of them is a quick study, and Natasha keeps throwing in comments to improve their performances, not sparing them from criticism when it’s due.
“Let’s do it!” Clint calls over to him. “I’m ready,” he adds, shaking himself all over as if his muscles need the extra wake-up.
Steve nods and backs up to his starting point. He goes over the motions in his head one more time, picturing the flurry of motion, the strain on his body, the weight of Clint’s body swinging forward and then up, and the exact moment when he’ll let go to allow him to climb onto the ledge above. They’ve pieced it together, one move at a time, and they are as much in synch as they can be.
“Ready?” Natasha confirms.
“Call it,” Steve orders, bracing himself, still able to hear Clint’s breathing above him, though he cannot see him.
“Go!” Natasha calls out sharply, without a countdown, and Steve can hear Clint springing into action, feet hitting the thin mattress of the platform in a steadily increasing rhythm as he prepares to launch.
Steve hurries to catch up, knowing he’s faster, making the jump across the space to the opposite ledge a little less than a second ahead of Clint reaching the end of his. He knows that he has no time to spare, but if he puts a bit more force into his movements, he’ll have more time to get into position to catch Clint.
He lands harder, which he can take, but suddenly realizes he didn’t account for the shift in the mattress; as soon as he lands and starts rolling onto his feet, the mattress shifts ever so slightly, upsetting his balance. Before, when he was more careful with his landing, it didn’t happen, but now he has to reach out to steady himself.
At the back of his mind, he knows he has lost the time he tried to gain, and swiftly forces his body to lunge forward, thighs pumping hard as he rushes back to the edge to meet Clint half-way as the other man jumps and reaches his hand out towards him.
Steve dashes forward, right arm outstretched, fingers wide open to clasp Clint by the forearm in a move they have practiced a lot, but an instant later he realizes he’s not going to make it. He tries to reach, almost tipping his body over the edge of the platform as he follows Clint’s perfectly aimed jump, but his fingers barely graze against Clint’s hand before the man is falling down.
The drop is long enough to cause minor injury, but with the thicker padding softening the landing to the floor, all that happens is Clint lets out a winded oof and settles down with a wheeze and a groan.
Steve remains frozen on the edge of the platform, his hand still outstretched, fingers tense as they flex in mockery of finishing the failed maneuver.
“Well, that went according to plan,” Natasha comments dryly. “Want to try again?”
“Give me a minute,” Clint calls from below.
Just then the door opens and Tony walks in. “There’s dinner,” he calls out. “We got some Chinese take-out.”
“I could eat,” Clint decides. “We can continue this at a later date.” He rolls to his side, wincing a bit, then slowly gets to his feet.
“New move?” Tony asks.
“Needs some more work,” Clint shrugs.
Natasha starts moving towards the ladder that leads back to the floor-level, then stops and glances back at Steve. “You coming?” she asks.
Slowly, Steve pulls himself a bit further from the edge, drawing his arm to his body. “I’ll be a bit longer,” he replies, wondering if she can hear the thudding of his heart from where she’s standing.
Apparently not, because Natasha nods and descends gracefully, catching up to Clint and Tony. It doesn’t appear like Clint is actually hurt, but the fall obviously had an impact because he’s moving a bit slower. He’ll be laughing it off soon enough.
Steve isn’t laughing, though. Once the door closes, he tries to even out his breathing, but all he can think of is missing his timing and not being able to grab Clint in time, his body plummeting down.
Down into the icy ground below.
Steve shakes his head and forces himself onto his feet, taking a surprisingly unsteady step backwards. His mind attempts to connect the dots, combining Clint’s startled expression with the horror on Bucky’s face as the metal gives and he plummets down, Steve’s hand unable to reach him in time.
He can almost feel the wind on his skin again, icy and painful, yet his body is going numb from shock.
Another step and he almost falls down, knees weak. He wants to throw up and sag down, but forces his leg muscles to hold his body upright. Weakness will lead to failure, and failure…
Steve looks out towards the edge of the platform, trying to remind himself of where he is and that there was never any real danger in Clint’s fall. Minor discomfort, perhaps, but nothing else.
They played it safe.
However, out in the field in the midst of a battle, there will be no padded mattress catching his fall. If Steve can’t catch him, the next time might leave Clint falling to his death.
He can’t have that again. Not only because his teammates depend on him - like Bucky did… Well, that is the only thing that counts, isn’t it? Steve’s psychological struggle is his own private issue. The only thing his fellow Avengers are concerned about is Steve playing his part. As long as he manages to do that, the rest won’t matter.
His inner struggle can’t affect the outcome.
Squaring his shoulders, Steve faces the edge and jumps, reaching up with his arms to catch the platform above. He pulls himself up effortlessly and returns to the spot where he started from, once again picturing the next series of motions in his mind. It’s all crystal clear to him, and after a steadying breath, he turns and dashes to the edge, jumping down, then rolls to his feet and takes the two quick steps to reach the edge, arm outstretched, fingers reaching for air where Clint should be dropping towards him from his own jump.
Without the other man there, Steve can’t actually tell how close his timing truly is. It might be he would have easily caught him this time - or missed again.
It is the latter option he fears, and that prompts him to return to his starting point, executing the jump, roll and reach again - and again. His body is beginning to beg for respite, but he is determined to fix his mistake, to never allow it to happen again.
In the absence of a sparring partner, Steve cannot be sure his actions are fast enough. He starts counting seconds after four repeats, trying to get to the edge faster and faster. Trying to break the record is hard, though, because rushing his drop-and-roll to the lower platforms tends to lead to the padded mattress shifting, which upsets his balance and slows him down more than the faster approach saves him time.
A couple times he tries jumping directly into position on the edge of the platform, but he just ends up going over the side, unable to catch his balance in time, getting a taste of how Clint must have felt when he fell.
Instead of actually taking the hint, his failures make Steve’s brain work twice as hard. He’s aware that time is passing, his body thrumming with exhaustion. His stress-levels keep him going, though, because he can envision an actual failure to save his teammate all too easily, and if a few more hours of practice can minimize that danger even a little bit…
He climbs back up to the highest platform, going over the same set of moves another ten times before selecting different platforms to use for a very similar approach. He envisions Clint or Natasha coming from a different direction, going over their imaginary movements in his head before attempting to catch them mid-jump.
Over and over, he feels like he’s failing; he’s a fraction too slow, losing his footing or missing the perfect landing by a tiny margin, which results in disaster. Sure, it’s all in his head, but it can too easily be translated into actual events. So far they’ve all gotten lucky…
“Steve?”
He blinks and freezes mid-climb to the highest platform, looking down.
Tony and Natasha are standing there, and Clint is slowly making his way over, a big plastic bag dangling from his fingers. Steve thinks he can smell food all the way to where he’s climbing.
“Are you still working out?” Tony calls out, and Steve’s enhanced vision makes out the frown on his face.
“It’s been hours,” Clint chimes in. “We thought maybe you had hit the showers and got lost, getting pulled into another crowd or something.”
It happens, sometimes, with S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel chatting him up. Steve’s polite, and he works with these people often enough to want to show some interest in their work and personal lives.
“I just… wanted to brush up on a few things.”
“For three hours?” Natasha’s comment is deadpan, like she isn’t going to buy any of the excuses Steve lets loose from his lips.
Steve debates finishing the climb, then drops down to the platform beneath him instead. His feet shake with the effort of keeping him upright, but his enhanced stamina doesn’t betray him just yet. However, exhaustion is starting to finally rear its ugly head in a way that Steve cannot ignore.
“I’m fine,” he calls out to his teammates. “Super-soldier, remember? I can keep it up for a few extra reps.”
“You look like you’ve done more than a few extra,” Clint informs him.
Steve doesn’t buy it without looking in a mirror, so he admits nothing.
“What’s the point of training by yourself?” Tony asks. “Are the rest of us holding you back?” He doesn’t mean it exactly as he says it, because Tony rarely participates in training regimens where his performance hinders someone else’s. Sure, he’s done his share of lifts with the three of them, in the event they need Iron Man to offer them a ride on the battlefield, but he’s yet to drop any of them; the difficulties are more related to him not hurting his passengers, either with excess force or thruster-related burns.
Still, there is Clint and Natasha to take into consideration; they will never admit to slowing Captain America down, but they might feel like they do when the going gets exceptionally tough and Steve stops holding back.
“It was something I needed to do, after today’s training,” Steve replies. “To hone my own moves.”
“Is this about you dropping me?” Clint asks, not sounding at all worried that it happened.
Steve’s muscles tense up involuntarily. His mind revisits Clint’s fall, and then automatically jumps further back to Bucky’s.
“It happens,” Clint speaks up. “That’s why we practice, so that it hopefully doesn’t happen in the field, where there’s no padding to soften the fall.”
“I know,” Steve says. He knows that. If he were able to think only that far, and no further, it would be okay and he wouldn’t have felt the need to hang back, going over his mistake and analyzing every little thing that contributed to him missing his mark.
Just thinking about it makes his chest tighten, his body almost vibrating as exhaustion battles the need to do it right. To not repeat the mistake.
Natasha gives her companions a look, then sets forward, nimbly climbing up to the first level of the platforms. Steve can see what she’s trying to do and meets her half-way, not forcing her to come all the way to him.
“You need to pull your head away from the memory,” Natasha tells him once they’re on the same level. It shouldn’t surprise Steve that she knows, or at least pretends to know, but it still does. As much as people know about his life, they sometimes forget it’s real to him, instead of something in history books and old news reels.
For him, it hasn’t been all that long.
“Is that what’s driving you up the wall?” Clint calls out, shamelessly eavesdropping. “I can imagine it being a problem.”
Steve almost argues that it isn’t the problem, but would he be lying if he did that?
“It’s tough when you fear you’ll repeat such an impactful mistake,” Tony speaks up. “However, you’ll have to trust yourself not to go down that road again when it counts the most - and have a little faith in your team, because we’re very resourceful people,” he adds. “It’s not all on you all the time, Cap.”
“Coming from you, that’s hardly sound advice,” Steve declares, even though he does appreciate Tony trying to cheer him up.
Tony shrugs, clearly not taking it as a personal attack. “I’m just repeating what I’ve been told.”
Clint snorts. “Well, there’s some truth in it, which you could both consider every once in a while.” He lifts the hand that is carrying the bag of leftovers. “There’s some food left, if you’re hungry,” he calls out directly to Steve.
“I am,” Steve admits.
“Need to feed that crazy metabolism,” Tony observes. “We might have to stop by another restaurant on our way to the Tower.”
As Steve and Natasha climb down, no one speaks again of Steve’s obsessive behavior. He’s glad, because nothing they say is likely to change how he feels, and he’s not in a mood to actively pretend nothing’s wrong. Just because they know it bothers him doesn’t mean they understand just how bad it is, sometimes, and Steve would rather keep it that way.
He doesn’t see a way to make it better, other than attempting to keep another one of his friends from falling to their death just because he isn’t good enough to stop it.
- - -
PAGE 2
Title: The Secret Life of Steve Rogers
Author: Del Rion (delrion.mail (at) gmail.com)
Fandom: The Avengers & Captain America (MCU)
Timeline: before “Captain America: The Winter Soldier”
Genre: Drama
Rating: T / FRT
Characters: Bruce Banner (Hulk), Clint Barton (Hawkeye), J.A.R.V.I.S., Steve Rogers (Captain America), Natasha Romanoff (Black Widow), Tony Stark (Iron Man). Also: James “Bucky” Barnes, James “Rhodey” Rhodes (War Machine).
Summary: The life of Steve Rogers is often a complicated affair. He’s still coming to grips with the modern world, but there are some struggles that go further than that.
Complete.
Warnings: Language, social drinking, possible PTSD & psychological trauma, canonical violence.
Disclaimer: Iron Man, Avengers, and Marvel Cinematic Universe, including characters and everything else, belong to Marvel, Marvel Studios, Jon Favreau, Joss Whedon, Shane Black, Joe Johnston, Louis Leterrier, Paramount Pictures, Walt Disney Studios Motion Pictures, and Universal Pictures. In short: I own nothing; this is pure fiction created to entertain likeminded fans for no profit whatsoever.
Beta: Mythra (mythras-fire)
About The Secret Life of Steve Rogers: This story was loosely (or not so loosely) inspired by a post on The Avengers Headcanons (Tumblr), and three separate prompts on avengerkink (LiveJournal):
#2447: When Steve wakes up in the morning, one of the first things he does is check the date. It’s become an obsessive habit. He is paranoid about falling asleep for too long again. (submitted by i-had-him-on-the-ropes)
Steve Rogers: Pool Hustler (submitted by anonymous)
Obsesses over simple training mistake [TW: PTSD] (submitted by anonymous)
Steve thinks he’s “out of time” again (submitted by cameron_mckell)
Story and status: Below you see the writing process of the story. If there is no text after the title, then it is finished and checked. Possible updates shall be marked after the title.
The Secret Life of Steve Rogers
~ ~ ~
The Secret Life of Steve Rogers
Every morning, Steve wakes up before the alarm clock on the bedside drawer can make a sound. The Tower is silent, so it isn’t any kind of noise that drives him out of his sleep. In fact, the Tower is too silent, soundproofed for inhabitant comfort no doubt, but Steve’s used to hearing his neighbors moving around two floors away even when he was pretty much deaf in one ear.
Here, any sound he can pick up is distant, sheltering them from the rest of the world. Some might consider it an attempt to place the occupants of the top floors in a world of their own, far away from the reality awaiting outside.
Steve never forgets what awaits outside. Not even if he wanted to.
This isn’t his world… but it’s the hand he’s been dealt, and he’ll have to adapt to it.
Just like every morning, he reaches out for his phone. Most people today would check their messages and missed calls, maybe get a glimpse of the news and their email account.
Steve only checks the date, then returns the phone to its place by the alarm clock.
“The time is 5:57 am, on November 16th, 2012,” Tony’s AI, J.A.R.V.I.S., informs him before he can ask; after he requested the time and date on two consecutive days, the AI has since taken up the habit of notifying him of said information moments after he wakes up - regardless of whether Steve has already checked it for himself, because that’s how he did it on the first few days, too.
J.A.R.V.I.S. never asks why he needs the confirmation of where he is. Steve doesn’t offer an answer. He knows it’s a habit he would do well to grow out of, but…
Like most things he does, it is for a reason.
Just like when he dresses and heads out for his morning run, alternating his route but always making sure to go past one of the newsstands, corroborating that it is, without a doubt, the day after tomorrow.
Sometimes in his head, he recounts all the days since S.H.I.E.L.D. released him out into the world after his awakening from the ice. It’s an ever-increasing number of days, but his memory hasn’t failed him yet.
Steve will never admit to anyone that he’s paranoid of falling asleep and waking up farther in the future than he already is, but after he’s gone through his morning routine, he feels a certain calm take over him.
He knows for sure where he is - when he is.
The only thing that remains to figure out is what to do with his life from here on out, when all the things he knew are a thing of the past. However, usually by the time he returns from his run - if not before, because he always has his pager on him - there’s some new mission from S.H.I.E.L.D. or a small-scale Avengers op needing to be dealt with.
It keeps making him feel useful, and that in turn helps him to get out of bed every morning.
Not that he would know how to quit even if he tried.
- - -
Over seventy years in the ice, and some things don’t change: the air might smell different, the cars, people, and the language have evolved, but as the tip of the cue puts the rock in motion, followed by a snap and clink of the other balls striking each other as they collide and roll away from the impact, that is still the same.
Sure, the materials have developed a bit, but the corners are still the same, and after a few experimental shots the first time someone put a cue in his hand after the ice - it was Tony - Steve’s got it down.
That is something Colonel James Rhodes is swiftly coming to understand.
The man is frowning as Steve calls the shots and keeps emptying the table, one ball at a time. Rhodes isn’t bad at this, but Steve is better.
“Come on, man,” Rhodes complains as Steve calls yet another shot, a rather complex one, and nails it after both the cue ball and his intended target have sailed across the table several times, never touching one of the other balls. Rhodes looks accusingly at Tony - who is failing to hide his grin behind a glass of scotch. “You set me up,” Rhodes accuses. “You said he’s barely ever played pool.”
“He hasn’t played a lot after his little nap,” Tony corrects. “Mostly because he usually wants to play for money, and everyone here has learned from experience that he can’t be beat.”
Steve suppresses a smile as he aims, breathes, and makes the shot for the 8-ball. Nailed it, he thinks as it falls into the pocket he intended.
“This is not a victimless crime,” Rhodes claims as he reaches for his wallet and pays up.
“What did you expect?” Natasha drawls from where she’s sprawled across one of the couches. “You’ve seen him throw his shield around.”
“That’s a weapon,” Rhodes argues.
“It’s math,” Tony claims, almost proudly. “I mean, I kind of hoped it was something he got from the serum, but turns out he was hustling pool long before he ever signed up for the SSS experiment.”
“Please tell me you made Tony’s wallet at least a little lighter,” Rhodes says to Steve while he heads out to get himself another beer; he stopped drinking after realizing he was about to lose, but has clearly deemed this a proper time to continue.
“A bit,” Steve admits, joining Rhodes at the bar and grabbing a beer of his own. Just because he can’t get drunk doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy a few - even though he’s yet to find a beer that tastes the same as it used to. However, he’s found a few he maybe likes a bit more, from those microbreweries Tony likes to buy from, but he’s not about to tell anyone that.
“Did he make it weird?” Rhodes asks.
“It felt like a science experiment before long,” Steve agrees. “At first, he tried to beat me with math, but my hand-eye-coordination skills are not tied to how high the stakes are. If he’d found a way, he would have made me play against J.A.R.V.I.S.”
“Still working on it!” Tony calls out to them.
“In the end, I had to refuse to continue playing against him because he kept losing and I felt bad for taking his money,” Steve shrugs.
“Yeah, Tony can’t play without something at stake,” Rhodes agrees.
“It’s fortunate, then, that I have no qualms against taking Stark’s money,” Clint grins from his spot beside Natasha. “Would be unfair to not let him play.”
“You’re hardly the challenge you think you are,” Tony quips back.
“Beat you enough times to prove otherwise.”
“Which makes Cap’s win over you even sweeter,” Tony decides.
Clint frowns. “I’ll figure him out yet…”
“You’re not the first guy to say that,” Steve states as he and Rhodes join the others at the cluster of couches and chairs.
“Look at you, all cocky,” Natasha teases.
“Well, these days I don’t have to worry about a sore loser beating me up in the back alley of the bar for taking their money fair and square.” Back then, hustling pool had been an easy way to make a few extra bucks, because who was going to take Steve seriously? It was one of the few times Steve let it go, in favor of the payout at the end. Of course, some of the fellas hadn’t looked favorably upon that tiny deception, even though there was nothing unfair about it; Steve couldn’t help it if no one considered him a threat until it was too late.
After the serum, people took him more seriously at face-value. Hanging around the Howling Commandos, though… It surely brought some bad habits up to the surface.
He smiles to himself at the memory.
“Do share,” Tony requests.
Steve glances at his companions, all of them pleasantly buzzed - save for Bruce, who is quietly sitting on a pillow on the floor, drinking juice as far as Steve can tell. Still, he has joined them for a night of fun and games, which is good for the team.
Another thing that hasn’t changed over time…
“Back in the war, whenever we had down-time and got to stay in a city or a town… Sitting still didn’t really suit us, so the Commandos and I would find the local watering hole. There was always one to be found, no matter how small the community we were staying in.
“We would go there and sit down, drink all night, loud and obnoxious. It kept us busy only for so long, though, and just about every bar had a pool table. We would challenge locals, mostly to pay for more drinks. They always accepted, seeing how many I’d already had, but I couldn’t get drunk then any more than I can today.” Steve smiles fondly at the memory, recalling the cheering from the Howling Commandos, and Bucky’s knowing grin as the truth began to sink in for his challengers.
As long as they didn’t play for actual money, even the most disgruntled losers usually accepted to pay up in the form of drinks and not go looking for more trouble than they could handle. After all, getting into a bar fight was another way to let out steam, but Steve had tried to keep his men in line for the most part. They weren’t there to fight the locals, after all.
“The Surprisingly Dark History of Captain America: the Notorious Pool Hustler,” Tony samples it like a title of the next bestseller book. “Maybe we should call up the Smithsonian, tell them to adjust that upcoming exhibition of theirs.”
“I think some things are better left out of the history books,” Bruce argues softly.
“How can you say that?” Tony asks, pretending to be shocked. “If the historians of old had that attitude, everyone would think history so dull that no one would study it - and then someone would need to color things up a bit. Look at the old texts, like the Bible; they’ve got stuff going on.”
Bruce frowns, whereas Steve just lets out a tiny huff of amusement. Tony gets on his nerves a lot, just like his father did back in the day, being a very different person from Steve himself, but he also valued their friendship. Just like he finds himself valuing his new friendships every day, no matter all their differences.
It wasn’t as if he and the Howling Commandos had that much in common, either, except for trying to take down HYDRA and to help end the war. They bonded through hardships, just like he is bonding with the Avengers now, and while Steve still feels like the odd one out more often than not, he is adjusting.
After all, it’s not like he can go back in time, so the only way is forward, whether he likes it or not.
“How about we play again?” Clint suggests suddenly, jumping up from his seat and approaching the pool table. “Ten bucks for the winner.”
He acts cocky, as always. Talks big. Steve knows from experience that Clint’s aim is good, and if they were playing darts, the archer might actually win.
“You’re on,” Steve accepts, taking his beer with him because it doesn’t matter if he drinks or not.
Half an hour later, he’s ten bucks richer, and Rhodes seems to be in a better mood after seeing someone else share in his misery of losing.
- - -
They aren’t part of S.H.I.E.L.D., but occasionally they train with their people, or are given instructions for their own training regimen. For the most part those are considered helpful hints, because Steve finds that many of his teammates cannot be told what to do, especially by an agency they don’t answer to.
The Avengers are a private group, after all, no matter their affiliations and shared missions. For one, Tony and Bruce wouldn’t have it any other way.
While they’re out and about doing their own things, Steve finds it important for them to train together. That’s the only way they’re going to become a team, and surprisingly enough, the others agree. It doesn’t always go smoothly, and their timetables aren’t constantly in alignment, but when they get together, they try to be productive.
Between Tony’s suit, the Hulk, and Thor’s absence, there are things they can’t actually bring to every training session, but Steve still tries to find ways to make it work. He feels it’s his responsibility, as the unelected leader of the team - that’s what happened during the Battle of New York, and they’ve stuck to that, more or less. Tony calls it to question every now and then, but at the end of the day, he follows Steve’s lead - when it matters, at least.
Tony doesn’t always take their training seriously, perhaps because he relies on his suit to do the heavy lifting - literally. Steve can see he’s keeping himself fit, but compared to himself, Clint and Natasha, he’ll never be in the same league, and he knows it. Bruce doesn’t even try, seeing as his strength lies in very dangerous territory.
The Hulk doesn’t partake in training for safety reasons, although Tony keeps pointing out it might be beneficial for the team to interact with the ‘other guy’. He doesn’t push it, though, probably knowing that if something happens, containing the Hulk might become nigh impossible.
Steve agrees that it would be useful for the entire team to be there - the Hulk and Thor included - but safety needs to come first, theirs and everyone else’s. Silently, he leaves it up to Tony to devise a way for their powerhouse to train with them without putting everyone at risk, and maintaining Bruce’s peace of mind.
While there are training areas at the Avengers Tower that are quite adequate, they still use some of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s offered facilities as well. It usually depends on who is available to participate, and what they are intending to do; a group of superheroes have a lot of ground to cover in order to become a working unit, especially when their strengths and skillsets are so varied.
Steve is nothing but inventive, though, and as far as it goes with Clint and Natasha, who are the most willing participants when it comes to regular training; they have a wide variety of things they can do, from sparring to gymnastics and finding ways to combine their skillsets in mission-like situations.
Seeing as it is still rare to see all the Avengers deployed as one, Steve tries to make do with the likeliest scenarios they might face on the battlefield. Having each other’s backs is important, and while Tony will shrug it off and say he has the aerial back-up covered, Steve doesn’t want to rely on just that - knowing that Tony may be backing them up one second and then flying off to either save or fight someone in the next.
So, those of them bound to earth and usual means of transportation need to get a little inventive, and seeing as Steve’s the enhanced one of the three of them, he’s more than happy to give the other two a boost.
That is how they end up practicing mid-jump catches and lifts. Clint is the one usually perched high enough to get a good look around, but it also means he sometimes has to vacate his spot with minimal warning - and relocate to another vantage point as needed.
The exercise itself is simple: Steve takes off from one raised platform, jumping down onto another. At the same time, Clint takes off from a level above Steve’s starting point, running in fast. Clint has to jump towards Steve, but not far enough to hit the ledge, so that Steve will catch him by the arm mid-air and then swing him up onto another platform above them.
On all the flat surfaces, there are thin, padded gymnastic pads to prevent injuries and soften landings, and while they have no such luxury out in the field, there’s no reason to play it realistically until absolutely necessary. Clint and Natasha share Steve’s mentality on playing it as real as possible, not depending on ‘safety nets’, as Clint calls them, but seeing as Steve is the only one who can take a dive to the actual floor without a fear of lasting injuries, they keep some minimum safety measures in place; they could set up wires to make the jumps and catches safer, but they find them a bit too restrictive.
Besides, Steve has always appreciated the pounding of adrenaline in his veins, the thrill making him perform with a singular focus to the task at hand. He doesn’t necessarily classify himself as an adrenaline junkie, although there have been people who’ve stated otherwise - people who knew him very well.
So far, none of his new teammates have brought it up, although sometimes Natasha gives him that look, like she’s onto him.
Steve doesn’t think he’ll ever admit to it, whatever conclusion she reaches.
They keep timing their approach and jumps for several minutes, getting to know each other’s rhythm and movements. Each of them is a quick study, and Natasha keeps throwing in comments to improve their performances, not sparing them from criticism when it’s due.
“Let’s do it!” Clint calls over to him. “I’m ready,” he adds, shaking himself all over as if his muscles need the extra wake-up.
Steve nods and backs up to his starting point. He goes over the motions in his head one more time, picturing the flurry of motion, the strain on his body, the weight of Clint’s body swinging forward and then up, and the exact moment when he’ll let go to allow him to climb onto the ledge above. They’ve pieced it together, one move at a time, and they are as much in synch as they can be.
“Ready?” Natasha confirms.
“Call it,” Steve orders, bracing himself, still able to hear Clint’s breathing above him, though he cannot see him.
“Go!” Natasha calls out sharply, without a countdown, and Steve can hear Clint springing into action, feet hitting the thin mattress of the platform in a steadily increasing rhythm as he prepares to launch.
Steve hurries to catch up, knowing he’s faster, making the jump across the space to the opposite ledge a little less than a second ahead of Clint reaching the end of his. He knows that he has no time to spare, but if he puts a bit more force into his movements, he’ll have more time to get into position to catch Clint.
He lands harder, which he can take, but suddenly realizes he didn’t account for the shift in the mattress; as soon as he lands and starts rolling onto his feet, the mattress shifts ever so slightly, upsetting his balance. Before, when he was more careful with his landing, it didn’t happen, but now he has to reach out to steady himself.
At the back of his mind, he knows he has lost the time he tried to gain, and swiftly forces his body to lunge forward, thighs pumping hard as he rushes back to the edge to meet Clint half-way as the other man jumps and reaches his hand out towards him.
Steve dashes forward, right arm outstretched, fingers wide open to clasp Clint by the forearm in a move they have practiced a lot, but an instant later he realizes he’s not going to make it. He tries to reach, almost tipping his body over the edge of the platform as he follows Clint’s perfectly aimed jump, but his fingers barely graze against Clint’s hand before the man is falling down.
The drop is long enough to cause minor injury, but with the thicker padding softening the landing to the floor, all that happens is Clint lets out a winded oof and settles down with a wheeze and a groan.
Steve remains frozen on the edge of the platform, his hand still outstretched, fingers tense as they flex in mockery of finishing the failed maneuver.
“Well, that went according to plan,” Natasha comments dryly. “Want to try again?”
“Give me a minute,” Clint calls from below.
Just then the door opens and Tony walks in. “There’s dinner,” he calls out. “We got some Chinese take-out.”
“I could eat,” Clint decides. “We can continue this at a later date.” He rolls to his side, wincing a bit, then slowly gets to his feet.
“New move?” Tony asks.
“Needs some more work,” Clint shrugs.
Natasha starts moving towards the ladder that leads back to the floor-level, then stops and glances back at Steve. “You coming?” she asks.
Slowly, Steve pulls himself a bit further from the edge, drawing his arm to his body. “I’ll be a bit longer,” he replies, wondering if she can hear the thudding of his heart from where she’s standing.
Apparently not, because Natasha nods and descends gracefully, catching up to Clint and Tony. It doesn’t appear like Clint is actually hurt, but the fall obviously had an impact because he’s moving a bit slower. He’ll be laughing it off soon enough.
Steve isn’t laughing, though. Once the door closes, he tries to even out his breathing, but all he can think of is missing his timing and not being able to grab Clint in time, his body plummeting down.
Down into the icy ground below.
Steve shakes his head and forces himself onto his feet, taking a surprisingly unsteady step backwards. His mind attempts to connect the dots, combining Clint’s startled expression with the horror on Bucky’s face as the metal gives and he plummets down, Steve’s hand unable to reach him in time.
He can almost feel the wind on his skin again, icy and painful, yet his body is going numb from shock.
Another step and he almost falls down, knees weak. He wants to throw up and sag down, but forces his leg muscles to hold his body upright. Weakness will lead to failure, and failure…
Steve looks out towards the edge of the platform, trying to remind himself of where he is and that there was never any real danger in Clint’s fall. Minor discomfort, perhaps, but nothing else.
They played it safe.
However, out in the field in the midst of a battle, there will be no padded mattress catching his fall. If Steve can’t catch him, the next time might leave Clint falling to his death.
He can’t have that again. Not only because his teammates depend on him - like Bucky did… Well, that is the only thing that counts, isn’t it? Steve’s psychological struggle is his own private issue. The only thing his fellow Avengers are concerned about is Steve playing his part. As long as he manages to do that, the rest won’t matter.
His inner struggle can’t affect the outcome.
Squaring his shoulders, Steve faces the edge and jumps, reaching up with his arms to catch the platform above. He pulls himself up effortlessly and returns to the spot where he started from, once again picturing the next series of motions in his mind. It’s all crystal clear to him, and after a steadying breath, he turns and dashes to the edge, jumping down, then rolls to his feet and takes the two quick steps to reach the edge, arm outstretched, fingers reaching for air where Clint should be dropping towards him from his own jump.
Without the other man there, Steve can’t actually tell how close his timing truly is. It might be he would have easily caught him this time - or missed again.
It is the latter option he fears, and that prompts him to return to his starting point, executing the jump, roll and reach again - and again. His body is beginning to beg for respite, but he is determined to fix his mistake, to never allow it to happen again.
In the absence of a sparring partner, Steve cannot be sure his actions are fast enough. He starts counting seconds after four repeats, trying to get to the edge faster and faster. Trying to break the record is hard, though, because rushing his drop-and-roll to the lower platforms tends to lead to the padded mattress shifting, which upsets his balance and slows him down more than the faster approach saves him time.
A couple times he tries jumping directly into position on the edge of the platform, but he just ends up going over the side, unable to catch his balance in time, getting a taste of how Clint must have felt when he fell.
Instead of actually taking the hint, his failures make Steve’s brain work twice as hard. He’s aware that time is passing, his body thrumming with exhaustion. His stress-levels keep him going, though, because he can envision an actual failure to save his teammate all too easily, and if a few more hours of practice can minimize that danger even a little bit…
He climbs back up to the highest platform, going over the same set of moves another ten times before selecting different platforms to use for a very similar approach. He envisions Clint or Natasha coming from a different direction, going over their imaginary movements in his head before attempting to catch them mid-jump.
Over and over, he feels like he’s failing; he’s a fraction too slow, losing his footing or missing the perfect landing by a tiny margin, which results in disaster. Sure, it’s all in his head, but it can too easily be translated into actual events. So far they’ve all gotten lucky…
“Steve?”
He blinks and freezes mid-climb to the highest platform, looking down.
Tony and Natasha are standing there, and Clint is slowly making his way over, a big plastic bag dangling from his fingers. Steve thinks he can smell food all the way to where he’s climbing.
“Are you still working out?” Tony calls out, and Steve’s enhanced vision makes out the frown on his face.
“It’s been hours,” Clint chimes in. “We thought maybe you had hit the showers and got lost, getting pulled into another crowd or something.”
It happens, sometimes, with S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel chatting him up. Steve’s polite, and he works with these people often enough to want to show some interest in their work and personal lives.
“I just… wanted to brush up on a few things.”
“For three hours?” Natasha’s comment is deadpan, like she isn’t going to buy any of the excuses Steve lets loose from his lips.
Steve debates finishing the climb, then drops down to the platform beneath him instead. His feet shake with the effort of keeping him upright, but his enhanced stamina doesn’t betray him just yet. However, exhaustion is starting to finally rear its ugly head in a way that Steve cannot ignore.
“I’m fine,” he calls out to his teammates. “Super-soldier, remember? I can keep it up for a few extra reps.”
“You look like you’ve done more than a few extra,” Clint informs him.
Steve doesn’t buy it without looking in a mirror, so he admits nothing.
“What’s the point of training by yourself?” Tony asks. “Are the rest of us holding you back?” He doesn’t mean it exactly as he says it, because Tony rarely participates in training regimens where his performance hinders someone else’s. Sure, he’s done his share of lifts with the three of them, in the event they need Iron Man to offer them a ride on the battlefield, but he’s yet to drop any of them; the difficulties are more related to him not hurting his passengers, either with excess force or thruster-related burns.
Still, there is Clint and Natasha to take into consideration; they will never admit to slowing Captain America down, but they might feel like they do when the going gets exceptionally tough and Steve stops holding back.
“It was something I needed to do, after today’s training,” Steve replies. “To hone my own moves.”
“Is this about you dropping me?” Clint asks, not sounding at all worried that it happened.
Steve’s muscles tense up involuntarily. His mind revisits Clint’s fall, and then automatically jumps further back to Bucky’s.
“It happens,” Clint speaks up. “That’s why we practice, so that it hopefully doesn’t happen in the field, where there’s no padding to soften the fall.”
“I know,” Steve says. He knows that. If he were able to think only that far, and no further, it would be okay and he wouldn’t have felt the need to hang back, going over his mistake and analyzing every little thing that contributed to him missing his mark.
Just thinking about it makes his chest tighten, his body almost vibrating as exhaustion battles the need to do it right. To not repeat the mistake.
Natasha gives her companions a look, then sets forward, nimbly climbing up to the first level of the platforms. Steve can see what she’s trying to do and meets her half-way, not forcing her to come all the way to him.
“You need to pull your head away from the memory,” Natasha tells him once they’re on the same level. It shouldn’t surprise Steve that she knows, or at least pretends to know, but it still does. As much as people know about his life, they sometimes forget it’s real to him, instead of something in history books and old news reels.
For him, it hasn’t been all that long.
“Is that what’s driving you up the wall?” Clint calls out, shamelessly eavesdropping. “I can imagine it being a problem.”
Steve almost argues that it isn’t the problem, but would he be lying if he did that?
“It’s tough when you fear you’ll repeat such an impactful mistake,” Tony speaks up. “However, you’ll have to trust yourself not to go down that road again when it counts the most - and have a little faith in your team, because we’re very resourceful people,” he adds. “It’s not all on you all the time, Cap.”
“Coming from you, that’s hardly sound advice,” Steve declares, even though he does appreciate Tony trying to cheer him up.
Tony shrugs, clearly not taking it as a personal attack. “I’m just repeating what I’ve been told.”
Clint snorts. “Well, there’s some truth in it, which you could both consider every once in a while.” He lifts the hand that is carrying the bag of leftovers. “There’s some food left, if you’re hungry,” he calls out directly to Steve.
“I am,” Steve admits.
“Need to feed that crazy metabolism,” Tony observes. “We might have to stop by another restaurant on our way to the Tower.”
As Steve and Natasha climb down, no one speaks again of Steve’s obsessive behavior. He’s glad, because nothing they say is likely to change how he feels, and he’s not in a mood to actively pretend nothing’s wrong. Just because they know it bothers him doesn’t mean they understand just how bad it is, sometimes, and Steve would rather keep it that way.
He doesn’t see a way to make it better, other than attempting to keep another one of his friends from falling to their death just because he isn’t good enough to stop it.
- - -
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