Chapter Twenty:

"Steve?" The man didn't answer. He flipped through another file, his head bowed low and eyes soaking in the words. "Steve, come on. You've been at this for weeks." Someone tried to pull the papers away, but Steve's hand pressed down on it.

He raised his head to see Tony standing over him, one hand on his hip, the other on the table. Steve couldn't help but see Howard in his features, gruffy but concerned, always keeping an eye out for the reckless boy Steve was ― that he still was.

"I don't know what you want, but unless it's helping me find Blue, then leave me alone," Steve said coldly, yanking the papers away. One of then tore down the middle, the sharp ripping didn't seem to resonate with Steve, not for a few moments.

"Steve, come on. It's been nearly a month. You told us that Blue said that if he went back he would be. . ." the end of his sentence hung in the air, ready to slip and fall with the full meaning of the word. Tony instead, cleared his throat. "There's no way. We don't know who they look like. We don't know where they are. All we know, is that there is a major corporation funding the dozens of littler ones. If we take down the big one, the little ones close their doors ― they go into hiding. They'll probably kill or move the kids overseas or some shit like that. Blue will actually be gone."

"If we can figure out which smaller organization took him," Steve said. He's been saying this for weeks. He's been explaining this to whoever listened, whoever would help. Clint joined on for a while before having to go overseas for a mission. Natasha took his place, but even with an ex-Russian assassin and a Man-Out-Of-His-Element, no new leads presented itself.

The crash had been clean, efficient. No working cameras on the street, the partial license plate that he saw and eventually figured out was in stolen from some guy in Vegas. No fingerprints. No trails. Nearly half of the Police force were either moved or dead within the week that Steve and Tony were in the hospital.

This included the Sheriff that Steve had coaxed Blue to come away from his mother's body on his behalf. He was the first to die ― shot in the head and left for dead in a gutter. Somebody did not want this information leaked. Somebody did not want him to find Blue.

"We can't hone in on something we can't find," Tony said, trying to sound gentle. Steve wanted to punch him in his 'gentle' nose. "Let him go, Steve. We're all upset by it, but. . . we need to move on."

Steve glared at the man in front of him, his anger, frustration and grief all mixed in one, solid glare. For what it was worth, on anything, anyone else, it would have burned them from the inside of their heart, out.

Too bad Anthony Stark didn't have a heart.

"If you're done pouting," Tony said, crossing his arms. "Then, Fury's here to see you." Steve rose an eyebrow. Fury? "JARVIS, let Fury know that Steve's ready to talk."

"Right away, sir," the disembodied A.I. replied.

"Talk to the man. I don't like him, either, but whatever he's here for, he's here for you. Get your mind off of a ghost and live in the present." Steve crossed his arms and rolled his eyes ― admittedly, like a huffy teenager. Tony didn't mind and patted his cheek. "There's the fun-hating Capsicle I know." Tony grinned before the door opened.

He stepped away as Fury approached. His long coat shimmering as he walked. His hands clasped behind his back like a soldier. "Fury," Steve greeted, shaking his hand politely. "What brings you here?"

"I could ask the same for you," Fury replied and a frown tugged at the end of his lips. Before Blue, Steve would be in his apartment the majority of the time. Now, it felt empty and lonely ― two things he certainly did not like ― but he wasn't about to do go back to it any time soon. Tony didn't mind his staying here, as long as he didn't put the coffee grounds in the sink ― that he sometimes did on purpose just to annoy the guy.

"Is there a reason for you coming here?" Steve asked, wanting to get on topic ― wanting to finish this conversation so he could go back to Blue.

"I am well aware of your recent loss." Steve was going to kill Tony ― Blue wasn't dead! "I have a job for you. I was hoping it would work as a. . . distraction from your loss."

"Blue isn't dead," he reminded the man, who nodded, obviously not agreeing, but nodding.

"We have a Black Ops team, called STRIKE. They recently lost a man too, someone very important and strong. I was wondering if you would be willing to fill the hole, Captain Rogers." Steve frowned at the use of his title. "Ms. Romanoff will be joining you as well, if it means anything."

Steve kept frowning, his arms crossed. He glanced back at the files. There were several boxes that weren't even open, weren't even glanced at. It would take him a year to go through everything thoroughly. A year without Blue, who at that point could be anywhere. A year and he would practically be clutching straws.

"If it sweetens the deal," Fury continued. "I'll put a team together, people who can help you find the boy Tony told me about." Steve frowned, "They'd be able to garner a lot more information than just you. They would give the boy a fighting chance."

Steve looked down, ran a hand through his hair, and let out a deep, involved, sigh. "This isn't permanent."

"Alright," he said.

"I want updates on Blue's search."

"Naturally," Fury replied.

"And, I get to pull out whenever I want," he finished. "No strings attached."

Fury hesitated, before saying, "Okay, deal. Is that all?" Steve nodded, he had no other requirements that he could think of. Fury gave a wry kind of smirk ― Steve didn't think the man could smile. "Good. You start on Monday. I'll see you in D.C., Rogers." And with that, the director turned and left the Tower.

Three days later, so did Steve.

k•é•k

Steve didn't exactly enjoy his time with the STRIKE unit, but he also didn't hate it as well. According to the research team, they were using whatever resources SHIELD had to track Blue down and bring him home. In the meantime, he and Natasha worked covert assassination, rescue missions, and taking down small tyrants in third-world countries. According to Fury, they were causing issues for SHIELD. Natasha said that they were going to use the power vacuums and seize the area, and exploiting the resources.

Despite the work, he was grateful for the distraction. The researchers seemed to have found the faint breeze of a lead and were pushing to see what they could do about it. When he heard the news, he was, admittedly, excited, but immediately pushed it away. He didn't want to get his hopes up until they had concrete evidence that Blue was still alive ― or at least successfully found his body. Blue might not have seen himself as a person, but if he was dead, he wanted to give him a proper burial, preferably next to his mother.

Steve had also got an apartment in D.C., it was closer to the SHIELD headquarters, so if he was called on with sudden missions, he didn't have to travel too far. He didn't want to at first ― if Blue came home, he wanted to be there if he needed to find him. But, after a bit of arguing back and forth with Natasha and Tony, he finally agreed to get the apartment in the city ― on the condition that if Tony saw anyone who even looked like Blue, he would call him.

The apartment was a bit smaller than the one in Brooklyn, but it was home. At least, it was until his neighbour, a pretty blonde woman named Kate Walker, made a comment about him leaving his stereo on while he was out.

Except, Steve didn't own a stereo.

Steve entered the apartment precariously, grabbing his shield off the wall, ready to attack anyone waiting to get the jump on him. He hoped Kate was already in the basement, the further from a fight, the better. Steve stepped into his living room, and relaxed. Sitting in a corner on his armchair, playing music on a small speaker, was Nick Fury.

"I don't remember giving you a key," Steve said, still gripping his shield in his hand. Why the hell was he here?

"You really think I'd need one?" Nick let out a small scoff. "My wife kicked me out."

This warranted an eyebrow raise from Steve. "Didn't know you were married."

"A lot of things you don't know about me," Nick replied, as annoyingly vague as ever.

"I know, Nick," Steve frowned. "That's the problem," He stepped forward, about to turn on the lamp. He could at least get the man a cup of coffee. When he flicked the light on, he stared, shocked.

Nick Fury was completely banged up. His lip was busted and a ugly purple bruise swelled on his cheek. He was bleeding from a deep gash in his forehead. His right arm was wrapped around his mid-section, probably from bruised, or broken, ribs. His lips were stained red from spitting up blood that had probably infected his lungs.

Nick gave a small smirk, and leaned over with a small grunt, turning the lamp back off. He pulled out his phone and typed with one hand before showing it to Steve.

EARS EVERYWHERE

"I'm sorry to have to do this," Nick continued, as if Steve hadn't discovered his bloody, broken form in his living room. He began to type again. "But I have no place else to crash." He showed Steve again.

SHIELD COMPROMISED

"Who else knows about your wife?" Steve asked carefully and he began to type again. He couldn't help thinking of how he always thought Fury was 'married' to his job.

Fury showed him the message.

YOU AND ME

"Just. . . my friends," He breathed.

"Is that what we are?" Steve couldn't help but sound skeptical. A man who ― as Tony once said ― his secrets had secrets. But, now, this man was in his house, asking for help, even though he never seemed willing to trust anyone. When he suddenly needed something done, they were 'friends'? Was Steve only a convenience for him, and a throw away at any other time?

"That's up to you to―" He didn't finish his sentence. The all-too-familiar sound of gunshots rang out from behind Fury. Steve ducked behind his shield as the bullets flew threw him. He heard three distinct, 'pangs' as it bounced harmlessly off the vibranium.

Steve quickly turned to the window, knowing he was wasting time, but he had to try to get a glimpse at the shooter. He didn't see anyone.

Fury was on the ground. Steve pulled him away, behind a wall in the kitchen, out of range from any more attackers. He got up to run again, but Fury grabbed his arm, keeping him in place. He pressed a flashdrive in his hand and breathed out an unsteady, "Don't. . . trust. . . anyone. . ." before his eyes closed finally.

Steve heard the door open and stood. "Captain Rogers?" Suddenly, Kate was standing in his living room, holding a handgun expertly. "Captain," Her voice had lost it's soft, southern appeal. It was harsh and in charge. "I'm Agent 13 of SHIELD Special Service." SHIELD? Kate was a SHIELD agent? Did Fury assign her to him? Was her name even Kate!?

"Kate?" Was all he managed to say, too stunned by the sudden shift in character.

"I am assigned to protect you," She said, confirming his thoughts.

Steve remembered Fury's last words, a zephyr in his ears. "Don't. . . trust. . . anyone. . ."

"On whose orders?" Steve demanded, he had to be sure. Kate stepped forward, and saw the body of Director Nick Fury on his kitchen floor.

"His," She said, also a bit shocked. She bent down and brought her wrist to his mouth. "Foxtrot is down, he's unresponsive. I need EMTs."

A voice crackled back, "Do you have a twenty on the shooter?" Steve turned, remembering the window. He caught a glimpse of movement on the roof across from his.

He grabbed his shield, "Tell him I'm in pursuit." Steve didn't wait for her confirmation. He ran at the window, smashing into it and leaping from the sill. He landed on the adjacent building in a roll and bean to run after the shooters. There were two men, both running at full speed, nearly as fast as him.

Steve flung his shield at him, and the first man turned, catching it. Steve stared at the man. Brown, cold eyes gleamed in the moonlight, with what looked like dirt smudged around them. His hair was a wild mess, tangled, dark, and unruly. He had a strange mask, covering his nose and the bottom half of his face. He was all bulk and armour and the hand that held his shield glinted silvery steel. His entire left arm was exposed as some kind of metal prosthetic.

The man flung the shield back at him, and Steve caught it, but not before the man had jumped off the roof.

The other one, however, was standing there, staring. He looked confused, his eyebrows thick and drawn together. His mouth exposed, but gagged, only allowing minimal movement and two long fangs to be released. Steve froze, staring at the man, and he finally saw the dark, dark blue eyes that shone back at him, glazed over and vacant.

A sharp whistle, and Blue turned. Before Steve could call out, Blue jumped off the building. His claws scraping along the side, softening his descent. Steve didn't run after him, his feet felt like they were hollowed out and filled with cement. That was Blue, he had the unmistakable eyes ― that was Blue! Blue was alive!

Steve heard the sound of helicopters overhead and turned. The noise shook him out of his thoughts. He remembered Nick Fury, prone on the ground, probably being moved to a hospital via helicopter as he stood there, allowing his attackers to escape.

They were probably long gone now. Steve would have no chance finding them on the streets. Steve turned and began to run back. He had to tell Natasha what happened, he had to let her know that he found him!