an aftermath [ +thisurlneedsmoreme ]
The results of his actions, Steve found, would not go without consequence, as obscure and minuscule as they may appear to those he entrusted with his personal life. A few weeks ago, SHIELD was decimated to it's roots. A few weeks ago, trust became a fickle thing of the past and HYDRA emerged from the waters unexpectedly, like an old tale checked out for far too long to be fined. Agents turned their backs on one another. Steve witnessed betrayal and had a taste of his own bitter interaction. Flashes of dark hair and empty stares plagued his memory, reflecting off his thoughts every time he managed to close his eyes.
If the board on his window and the barren living room (one of the first things he did was toss to the curb everything with Fury's blood on it) wasn't enough to tell him to vacate, the haunted thoughts that came with being alone certainly were.
Steve had only one place to turn. Natasha was AWOL of her own accord and the ex-Director was an option he had already opted away from. More than anything, he was looking to steer clear of mopping up any more messes. What he needed was a place to recuperate. To settle into feeling like a human being again - at least, as much of one he could bring himself to be with a super soldier serum running strong through his veins.
And where else but Tony Stark's humble abode in New York City did he find a place to stay. It wasn't his first choice, really. It was further down the list than he'd admit to the man to avoid hurting his ego. But when Banner checked out and the realization that no other citizen living quarters would suffice set in (too dangerous, too much of a risk of hurting civilians), he had no choice. He contacted Pepper, Steve's attempt in avoiding Stark directly, and inevitably it was Tony he had to give a brief explanation to. A conversation too awkward too recount and the soldier found himself here: a room not really his own.
The windows were currently shuttered, closing out the sun slowly sinking below the horizon, thin streams of orange lining his pale blue, cotton bedspread. His clothes remained packed in the suit case, open and discarded in the too large closet. The only thing hung up was the suit. He hadn't touched it past packing it and hanging it up since the downfall he and his team triggered amongst SHIELD and HYDRA operatives. For what felt like the tenth time in a half hour, Steve ran a hand through his hair, breathing out a heavy sigh. It was going to be a long, long process of trying to forget, of trying to ignore the flashes of battle. he may have fought in the war, but the trauma from those experiences was enough without the added flashbacks of the modern day outbreak. It wasn't properly evening and Steve knew that sleep would not come easy.
"Captain Rogers, miss Potts wanted me to inform you that leftovers are for dinner tonight. Would you like me to direct you to the kitchen?"
Steve started at the sudden interruption, rapidly searching for the source and landing on the small speaker and glowing blue screen next to the door. Jarvis. Shaking his head, as if the program could see (maybe it could), Steve cleared his throat, stepping away from the center of the room to the window where he could barely look through the blinds to observe the city skyline.
"No thanks, I'll uh, I'll pass." He flexed his fingers at his side. "Not hungry."