A/N Hello hello lovely readers! So... how awesome was Agents of Shield?! amiright?! Sorry off topic but I really really enjoyed it which if you follow me on tumblr I'm sure you've already figured out... lol

ANYWAYS... This chapter is brought to you by the special features on the Captain America and Avengers blu-rays and their deleted scenes sections. As I'm sure you will all notice this chapter borrows heavily from the source material and I'm not going to claim any of those elements as my own, just the V is for Victory twist I give them that I hope you all enjoy :)

Also! As always I have to give many many thanks to Merideath for being a beta and cheerleader extraordinaire! Through the grace of time zones she often gets a dose of my 2 am crazy with her morning coffee, and I don't know why she puts up with me but I'm grateful that she does :P


Schmidt was dead, but his job wasn't done just yet. He still had a plane with enough firepower to take out the eastern seaboard to take care of. Running over to the flight chair, Steve took in the situation and started going over his options. None of them looked good.

"Come in this is Captain Rogers, do you read me?" He heard Morita reply only to be interrupted by Agent Carter.

"Steve is that you, are you alright?" she asked over the radio.

"Schmidt's dead," he informed her first.

"What about the plane?"

"That's a little tougher to explain," he admitted flipping switches, trying to get the plane's autopilot to respond, to no avail. It seemed he only had rudimentary control, but nothing was going to divert the aircraft from its locked-in target.

"Give me your coordinates, I can find you a safe landing site."

"There's not going to be any safe landing. But I can try to force it down."

"I'll get Howard on the line, he'll know what to do."

"There's not enough time. It's moving too fast and headed straight for New York." He sighed, wishing there was another way, but he could only see one option. "I got to put her in the water."

"Please, don't do this. We have time, we can work it out," she tried to reason with him.

"Right now I'm in the middle of nowhere, if I wait any longer a lot of people are going to die," he paused, he didn't have to mention that Darcy would be in New York by now as well. "Peggy, this is my choice."

"No, Steve, you can't!" Peggy pleaded. "What about Darcy?!"

Steve's heart clenched painfully as he pulled his compass out of his pocket. Pulling the picture away from the inside cover he read the engraving one last time.

Dearest-

They say that home is where the heart is.

Don't get lost bringing mine back to me.

Yours always,

-Darcy

He said a silent apology, bringing the compass to his lips for a moment before tucking it into his uniform, close to his heart. Then he tucked the picture he had removed into the plane's console, so he could see his love's smiling face as he pushed the controls forward and began his downward decent. He was doing this for her. "Peggy, please tell Darcy that I love her and that I'm sorry, but this something that I had to do."

"Steve you promised her you'd come back! I promised her you'd come back!"

"She'll understand," he said surely, he had to believe that, he wouldn't be able to go through with this otherwise.

"No, you don't understand!" Peggy shouted beseechingly into the com desperate to do anything to change Steve's mind. "You have to come back because you're going to be a father!"

"A FATH-"

And then everything went black.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

The world came back to Steve slowly.

Curve ball, high and outside for ball one. So the Dodgers are tied, 4-4.

Sound was first. It started with an awareness of white noise that he was soon able to distinguish as the sound of a radio playing somewhere inside the room.

And the crowd knows that with one swing of his bat, this fellow's capable of making it a brand-new game again.

Touch was next. He was on a bed in a cool room, the air circulating as if there was a window open with a gentle breeze.

Just an absolutely gorgeous day here at Ebbets Field. The Phillies have managed to tie it up at 4-4. But the Dodgers have three men on.

Opening his eyes was a little trickier. His eyelids were heavy, but after several failed attempts he forced them open. Blinking rapidly against the harsh light of the room, he took in his surroundings. On the surface everything appeared normal, but his instincts screamed to the contrary. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

Swinging his feet to the floor he sat up, his brow furrowing as took a moment to listen to the game.

Pearson beaned Reiser in Philadelphia last month. Wouldn't the youngster like a hit here to return the favor? Pete leans in. Here's the pitch. Swung on. A line to the right. And it gets past Rizzo. Three runs will score. Reiser heads to third, Durcher's going to wave him in. Here comes the relay, but they won't get to him.

His attention was pulled away from the broadcast when the door slowly cracked open admitting a young woman in a WAC uniform.

"Good morning, or should I say afternoon," she greeted pleasantly.

"Where am I?" he asked suspiciously, his whole body tense and ready to make a move at any moment.

"You're in a recovery room in New York City."

The Dodgers take the lead, 8-4. Oh, Dodgers! Everyone is on their feet. What a game we have here today, folks. What a game, indeed.

"Where am I really?" He wanted to ask where Darcy was, and Agent Carter or Colonel Philips. If he was really in New York one of them would be on hand when he woke up, but since he didn't believe that he was actually in New York for a minute, he didn't want to give too much away.

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

"The game, it's from May, 1941. I know because I was there." The look on the woman's face changed and Steve knew he had her. "Now, I'm gonna ask you again. Where am I?"

"Captain Rogers."

"Who are you?" he demanded taking several steps towards the woman and the only way out of the room, only to have the doorway bottlenecked with men in black uniforms that didn't resemble anything he had seen Hydra or the SS wear. He was prepared to fight his way out of the room, but when a well placed punch sent two of the mystery soldiers through a wall revealing that the so called recovery room was actually a carefully created set to make him believe he was back home in New York City. He took advantage of the hole in the flat and made a run for it. Without knowing who or what he was up against, he knew the best idea was make his escape and regroup.

"Captain Rogers! Wait!"

All Agents code 13. I repeat all Agents code 13.

With that one announcement over the PA system he had everyone in the building after him. But he was faster and stronger, and it didn't take him long to fight his way out onto the rain soaked streets. But what he found out there didn't help his confusion. As he ran down the middle of the street, he was passed by cars unlike any he had ever seen, there were lights flashing everywhere and billboards with moving pictures. Everything was bright and loud, the cacophony assaulting his senses. At a complete loss of where he was and what he should do, he slowed to a stop and let the black cars surround him.

"At ease soldier!" A man in a long black coat and an eye patch climbed out of one of the cars and approached him with the swagger of a man who held a position of power.

"Who are you?" he questioned, hoping for more answers than the woman inside had given. He may have been confused and backed against a wall, but he wasn't about to give up.

"Colonel Nick Fury, Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. You would have known us as the Strategic Scientific Reserve."

"Where am I?" he questioned again.

"46th and Broadway," Fury answered almost flippantly.

46th and Broadway? Steve had been in Times Square, he was not in Times Square, but something told him that this man wasn't lying to him. He couldn't really be home in New York City. Could he?

"Look, I'm sorry about that little show back there," Fury continued, "but we didn't know what your mental state might be, so we thought it best to break it to you slowly."

"Break what?"

"You've been asleep, Cap. For almost seventy years."

He took a long beat to let that sink in as he looked around again. Seventy years. It was impossible, but it was also the only thing that made any sense. The cars, the lights, and the changes to Times Square which he now recognized in the bones of the buildings around him. "How am I alive?"

"Well to be honest with you, we don't really know," he told Steve frankly. "My docs say it was suspended animation. Could be Dr. Erskine's formula, the extreme cold. I don't know."

"What about the war? Did we win?" He was grasping at straws trying to piece things together, asking the first questions that popped into his mind.

"Hell yes. Unconditional surrender. Taking down Hydra was a big part of that," Fury assured him, knowing the sacrifice Steve had made. "But the world hasn't changed all that much. There's still a lot of work to be done. A soldier's work. The world can still use a man like you, Cap."

Fury extended his arm, and Steve only hesitated for a moment before taking it in a firm hand shake.

"There's a place here for you." Fury assured him.

Steve wasn't so sure, his mind spinning in a hundred different directions as he tried to reconcile everything he was just told.

"You gonna be okay?" the Colonel asked.

No, he was not okay. He wasn't sure he would ever be okay again. "Yeah…" he muttered instead, "yeah, it's just… I was going to be a father…"

"What was that Rogers?" Fury asked, sure he had heard him wrong.

"Nothing sir," Steve said quickly, he wasn't about to share any details about Darcy with these people when he didn't even know who they were.

"Let's go back inside," Fury replied, clapping Steve on the shoulder. "We have a lot to catch you up on."

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

It was several days or maybe it was weeks, it all blended together in a haze, later, after endless tests, briefing and debriefings that Steve found himself wandering down the familiar yet unsettlingly foreign New York City streets. SHIELD had released him until further notice, but that left him at a loose end. It was still early in the day, but Steve didn't want to go back to his apartment just yet. It was only filled with ghosts that he wasn't quite ready to face, the specters of his past. Unfortunately for him, fate had a cruel sense of humor and as he walked downtown, there in front of him was STARK, emblazoned on top of one of the ugliest buildings he had ever seen.

He had heard of the building before, there being a certain amount of buzz about it with the agents at SHIELD, something about being completely self sustaining and green (something Steve didn't quite understand since looking at the structure now, there didn't seem to be anything green on it). And through his eavesdropping, he had gathered that it did not belong to his old friend, but to his friend's son. He wasn't sure how long he was standing there before a young woman approached him.

"Did you need a table?" she asked with a friendly smile.

"What?"

"You waiting to be seated?" she asked again, one eyebrow quirked.

It was then that he realized he was standing next to a café, and that his rather unappetizing SHIELD cafeteria breakfast had been a long time ago.

"Yes, please," he said politely. "Thank you, ma'am."

The waitress simply quirked her brow again and led him to a table. "You've still got a good view of the tower from here, if you're waiting on the big guy," she said misinterpreting his reason for staring at the building before.

"Ma'am?"

"Iron Man," she clarified leaving a menu on his table. "A lot of people eat here just to see him fly by."

"Right," he nodded taking his seat, letting her believe that was the reason the tower had captured his attention. "Maybe I'll get lucky."

"Alright then, can I get you started with something to drink?"

"Coffee's fine, thank you."

"You got it hon," she said with a friendly smile. "If you have any questions my name is Beth and I'll be back for your order in a bit."

Looking over the menu he once again had to remind himself how dramatic inflation had been over the last seventy years, to keep himself from going into shock over the price of a club sandwich. A ceramic mug clinking against the stainless steel table top made him realize just how long he had been starring unseeingly at the list of lunch options.

"Did you decide or did you need another minute?"

"Oh, um…" Not wanting to make the waitress have to come back, he glanced down at the menu and ordered the first thing his eye landed on. "I'll take the Cobb salad please."

"You got it."

She grinned again, taking the menu and walking towards the kitchen to put his order in. Leaving Steve to contemplate his twelve dollar salad, his thoughts going against his will to how much he paid for the last Cobb salad he ate, and of course who he shared that meal with.

Trying to keep his mind from going down that path, he pulled a ball point pen out of his pocket and started sketching Stark Tower, which just like the waitress promised was still fully visible from where he was seated, in the upper right hand corner of his paper placemat. But after a moment, like his hand had a mind of its own, he shifted to the opposite corner and started sketching Darcy as he remembered her that night at the Brown Derby.

"Wow, you're really talented," Beth announced herself, looking over her his shoulder, salad in one hand, carafe of coffee ready to refill the mug he had been absently sipping from in the in the other.

Steve jolted slightly, having been lost in his own world, mentally scolding himself for allowing himself to be snuck up on. "Thank you ma'am," he said graciously.

"Someone special?" she probed curiously, having noticed the intensity with which he was sketching, from across the patio.

"She is… was my girl," he answered haltingly.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Beth apologized. "Bad breakup? I've been there," she sympathized.

"No, we didn't break up…" he cleared his throat. He didn't know why he was correcting her. "I… lost her. There was a plane crash." Of course he was the one on the plane, but there was no way to explain that without sounding like he needed to be sent out to Kings Park State Hospital.

"Oh my god," Beth said, eyes wide, clearly horrified at herself for prying. "I am so sorry, I shouldn't have said anything. My friends always tell me I talk too much."

"It's okay, you were just being friendly," Steve assured her, equally as embarrassed at himself for saying more than he intended. "Actually, can I get this packed up to go?"

"Please don't leave, I can get you another waitress if you'd like," she offered.

"No, it's not you," Steve promised, already pulling his money clip out of his pocket. "I just… have to go." He had completely lost his appetite, and the very sight of the Cobb salad was making him nauseous. "I'm sorry."

Folding up the placemat and shoving it into his pocket, it didn't seem right to leave it behind, he gulped down the rest of his coffee and threw a twenty down on the table as Beth practically came running back out from the kitchen with his meal in a plastic to go box. He barely remembered to thank her, and apologize again for his abruptness, before he was gone, walking down the street towards Grand Central. He needed to get out of midtown. Away from buildings that had his long deceased friend's names plastered across the skyline. He only paused long enough to give his untouched lunch to a homeless man sitting outside the train station, before he was on the 5 on his way out to Brooklyn.

Normally on the ride out to Red Hook, he passed the time reading a newspaper in an attempt to catch up on current events. Sometimes he people watched, but quickly tired of the pastime after he discovered that most people these days spent their idle time focused on their phones and tablets. He wasn't sure if he would ever get used to the fact that even groups that were clearly together chose to ignore each other in favor of the electronic devices in their hands. Frankly he found the lack of personal interaction appalling.

But today he didn't pause to buy a two dollar paper and he couldn't even muster a mild indignation at his fellow commuters' blatant disregard of human contact. Instead he stared blankly at the bright yellow sign that demanded that if he should 'see something' he should 'say something'. He made his connection on autopilot and his mind didn't reengage until he was letting himself into the apartment SHIELD had procured for him. He tossed his keys into the bowl on the table by the door that he kept there for that reason.

He crossed directly to the cardboard file box he had brought home from SHIELD last week and then purposely ignored. The box full of information about everyone he had known and loved before he went into the ice. He had blatantly disregarded its existence up until now, some small illogical corner of his mind holding onto hope that maybe if he didn't have any concrete facts, that just maybe he could still wake up one morning to discover that this had all been a terrible nightmare.

But now he had to know. It wasn't a want, but a burning need.

Pulling the box out from underneath the coffee table, where he had stashed it out of sight and out of mind, he brought it over to the dining table and sat down. Taking a deep breath he lifted the top of the box and placed it on the chair next to him before reverently pulling the files and setting them on the table.

He took another moment to steel himself and then picked up the first aged manila folder, and began to read.

He took his time combing every word of every file of his old team, and was saddened, but not surprised to find that they had all passed away. He was grateful, however, to see that with the exception of Howard Stark, they all passed from natural causes. At least he knew that they had long, and he could only hope, fulfilling lives.

Peggy Carter was still alive, however, retired in her home country. He glanced at the phone number on the profile and then at the phone sitting in the corner, but ended up putting her file aside with the others for the time being. He continued to look through the files, until he realized there was no information on the person he wanted to know most about.

There was not a single mention of Darcy anywhere.

Snatching the box he peered inside to make sure there was nothing he had missed, his brow furrowing when he confirmed it was indeed empty. SHIELD had thought to include a dossier on Howard's son, but didn't bother to include anything on the love of his life and mother of his child?

He raked his hands through his hair in impotent frustration until he remembered the internet, an innovation he had just learned of the day before. Just like the junior agent had showed him, he opened up Google and typed her name into the search bar, on the hunt for any information on what became of her and the child that he didn't even know existed until the moment before he plunged into the ice.

The first link was for an IMDb. Not knowing what that was, he moved on to the second, a Wikipedia page. Recognizing the site as the one the agent, who had explained how the internet worked to him, recommended as a good place to start when wanting to find out information on anything he didn't understand. He clicked on the link. Steve's breath hitched when the page loaded and there in the top right hand corner was the same publicity still that she had given him a copy of the day they met. Reaching out with a shaking hand he traced the lines of her face, snatching his fingers back when the image on the screen rippled from too much pressure. Ripping his gaze away from her image he began to read.

Date of Birth: December 21st 1921

Date of Death: Unknown

Unknown? How could it be unknown? He continued to read, desperate for more answers. He skimmed past the sections discussing her early life and rise to fame, as well as her war efforts until he reached a section entitled disappearance. He read the section over and over again, but couldn't seem to make sense of it. How could she have just disappeared? He closed the site and instead searched 'Darcy Lewis disappearance'. He clicked on site after site, but there was never any new information. They all did seem to agree that her disappearance and presumed death was on the list of greatest Hollywood mysteries, along with women named Marilyn Monroe, Natalie Wood and someone called the Black Dahlia. He didn't care about these women though, he just wanted to know what happened to his girl.

The prevailing theory on the sites he had read was that during her time on the USO tour she served as a spy for the allied forces and that she was discovered and captured by the Nazi's. But he knew that wasn't true. Bucky and Peggy might have joked about it, but for all that she was a great actress, she wasn't a spy. He would have known if she was, he was Captain America after all. She would have told him, wouldn't she?

His head was spinning as he read all this information, so much of it contradictory, he didn't know what to believe. Of course! He thought, as he looked at the file he had tossed aside earlier in the evening, there was one person who might have the answers he wanted, no, needed.

Getting up to grab the phone he glanced at the time, it was very late in New York, but through the grace of time zones it was already early in England. He knew he should probably wait a few more hours before calling, since it was on just the wrong side of polite to be calling at this time, but he couldn't wait, and picked up the phone and dialed the seventeen digit phone number. It rang for what felt like an eternity, before a young female voice answered on the other end with a sharp hello in familiar crisp accent.

"Hi, yes, I'm looking for Peggy Carter."

"I'm sorry there's no one- oh wait you mean grandmum, the last name threw me. If you would hold for a moment I'll go see if she's awake."

Steve waited anxiously on his end of the line, unconsciously picking up a pencil and tapping it repeatedly on the table, a nervous habit he never managed to break. Of course she wouldn't be Carter any more, she had moved on with her life, gotten married, had children and now grandchildren evidently. He was glad for that.

"Hello."

His breath hitched in his chest, the voice was shaky and rougher than it once was, unavoidable damage caused by years of use, but it was still unmistakably Peggy.

"Hello, who's there?" she repeated when Steve didn't immediately reply.

"Hi, hello," Steve stuttered finding his voice. "It's Steve. Steve Rogers."

"Is this some sort of joke?" Peggy asked, anger developing in her tone. "How did you get this number?"

"No, no joke Ma'am," he assured her quickly. "I know how it sounds, but it's really me. They got me out of the ice. SHIELD that is. They tell me you helped found it? You and Howard both." He took her prolonged silence as continued disbelief and tried to think of something that would prove his identity. "You once asked me if I thought my only choices in life were to be a lab rat or a dancing monkey. Another time I told you that it was worth waiting for the right dance partner to come around. If you were to say 'lovely weather we're having today' I might respond 'that I always carry an umbrella,'" he added recalling the pass phrase from the old Brooklyn facility that hosted his transformation to Captain America.

"Steve, is it really you?" Peggy asked breathlessly, once she began to get over her shock. "How is this possible?"

"The serum I guess," he answered. "They were throwing the phrase suspended animation around a lot," he shrugged, even though Peggy couldn't see him.

"I don't know what to say, I admit this is more than a bit of a shock. I'm so glad you're alright. We looked for you, I hope you know that. Howard-"

"I know," Steve interrupted, not needing to hear her explanations. "I know." He was quiet for several long beats. "Peggy, I have to ask–" his voice cut off as his throat closed up.

"Darcy?" Peggy asked, knowing the brunette movie star would be at the forefront of his mind.

"What happened to her?" he practically pleaded. "There's so much on the internet thing but…"

"Yes, I've heard the spy theory," Peggy sighed deeply. Of all the things she regretted from her long life, she really regretted not having a different answer for the man on the other end of the line. Her memory of that time was still sharp despite the years that had passed. "The truth is, I don't know, Steve. Howard and I travelled all the way to New York to tell her what happened to you in person, but we arrived to learn that she had never checked into her hotel. We investigated further and discovered she never even got on her flight back to the States. They…" her voice faded, not sure if she should tell him the rest.

"Please, tell me," he prompted when he sensed her hesitation. "I have to know."

"They found her handbag abandoned in the women's powder room in the concourse, but no other trace of her. There was an investigation, but the final belief was that while we were in route to Hydra's base in the alps, Schmidt…" she paused again not wanting to reveal information that she knew would hurt her long lost friend, but also aware that he wouldn't stop until he get the information he was seeking. Knowing it would be best coming from her, she steeled herself and continued, "We believed that Schmidt discovered your relationship with Miss Lewis and sent Hydra operatives to abduct her, perhaps as leverage. After Hydra was decimated and you went into the water…" she trailed off again, not able to bring herself to finish her sentence. It didn't matter since she knew that Steve would come to the same conclusion they did. She would have been a liability that they no longer had use for.

Steve didn't say anything for a long time, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose as he processed what Peggy had just told him. The sound of his breathing was the only signal to Peggy that he was still on the line.

"One more question," he finally said softly. "Why didn't she tell me she was having a baby?"

"Oh Steve," Peggy said mournfully. "She wanted to; it's why she came to London. She didn't know about Sergeant Barnes until she arrived. She had to leave the USO tour because she knew that she was going to start showing soon, and she wanted to tell you before she went to New York for a meeting with her agent and someone from the studio to discuss how they were going to handle the press fallout."

"I would have done the right thing," he interjected, more sharply than he intended.

"Of course you would have," Peggy agreed immediately, not ever thinking he wouldn't have.

"I asked her to marry me," Steve revealed in a near whisper. "That last night in London. Why wouldn't she have just told me then? Instead she put me off, said we'd talk about it when she was back in London."

"When Darcy arrived in London and found out about Bucky, and learned that we were going after Schmidt the next day, she decided to wait to tell you about the baby. She didn't want to distract you. At the time, I agreed with her decision," she admitted. "I couldn't tell you her exact thought process because she didn't tell me. But if I had to guess, knowing her, she didn't want to accept your proposal before you knew. She truly loved you and would never have wanted you to feel trapped or tricked."

"I wouldn't have…" Steve grasped at words that escaped him. "She should have known…"

"Don't be too hard on her Steve, it was a difficult and confusing time for everyone," Peggy said gently.

She was right, he had gotten her pregnant and she had had to shoulder that burden alone, while traveling through war torn Europe no less. And not only had she needed to worry about telling him like any woman would have, but she was no doubt concerned how it would affect her professional life as well.

"You're right." Steve said after a long pause. "Thank you for answering my questions," he continued his voice thick with emotion. "I have to-"

"I'm so sorry Steve," Peggy said, choked up herself. "Please don't hesitate to call again. And know you are welcome in my home should you ever find yourself in Winchester," she said, sincerely hoping he would take her up on both of her offers.

"Thank you, Peggy. Goodbye."

"Goodbye Steve."

Steve hit the end button on the phone and placed it gently back on the cradle on auto pilot. It was his fault. Hydra went after Darcy because of him. He was responsible for her death and the death of their unborn child. Their deaths weighed even heavier on his soul than Bucky's. At least Bucky was a soldier, he knew the risks he faced every time he went into the field. Darcy was not overseas to fight, she was an actress, she was there to bring joy to soldiers who had so little reason to smile. She was only guilty of being a kind and generous woman, who met a small and weak man in an alley one day and saw the best in him, in believing that he could change the world for the better. Her only crime was loving him.

The walls of his apartment were closing in on him and if he hadn't known that it wasn't physically possible for him anymore, he would have sworn he was having an asthma attack. Grabbing his keys and the small duffle bag he kept ready in the closet, Steve fled from his apartment, making his way to the small gym at the end of his block that allowed him to work out after hours.

Changing quickly, he hung a heavy bag from the rafters and tried to take the anger he felt at himself out on the bag. Hoping the sting in his knuckles would distract him from the pain that cut down to his very soul.

It didn't work. He worked the bag for what must have been hours, the sun was most likely close to rising, but even as his arms ached and the sweat dripped off his body his mind refused to go blank. Instead it bombarded him with images from the war, memories of men getting shot and dying, Bucky falling from the train just out of his reach, watching the ice rapidly approaching as he forced the plane into a nose dive. But the worst weren't memories; no, they were the images his imagination concocted of what Darcy must have gone through, each scenario more horrific than the last. The thought of Darcy begging not for her life, but the life of their unborn baby flashed before his eyes before he cocked his arm back and sent the heavy bag sailing across the room leaving a wave of sand in its wake.

He moved to replace the destroyed bag with another when a voice alerted him to the fact he was no longer alone.

"Trouble sleeping?" Nick Fury called across the gym.

"I slept for 70 years Sir, I think I've had my fill," he replied, using his dry humor to deflect from the real reason he was there.

"Then you should be out, celebrating, seeing the world," Fury said casually.

It took all of Steve's self restraint not to punch the director in the face. To suggest that he had anything worth celebrating for was the dumbest thing he had ever heard. Clenching his jaw he began to unwrap his hands, "When I went under the world was at war. I wake up and they say we won. They didn't say what we lost." For him, the answer was everything.

"We've made some mistakes along the way, some very recently," Fury admitted.

Steve managed to hold in a snort of derision, it didn't matter when mistakes were made, the ones he made 70 years ago would haunt him for the rest of his life, however long it may be. "Are you here with a mission, sir?"

"I am," the director confirmed.

He was glad to hear it. A mission meant focus. A mission meant he could be Captain America and turn off Steve Rogers, if only for awhile. "Trying to get me back in the world?"

"Trying to save it."


A/N And there we have it! We've just about come full circle to where we began :) Only two more chapters left after this one but still have a lot to get to so don't think we're winding down just yet! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter so let me know your thoughts, comments, concerns, and I'll see you all next time!