Through, Together (A Romanogers Fanfiction)

Mixed Signals

Steve watched Natasha go and lingered around the coffee pot for several minutes after. He looked out one of the large windows facing the woods that bordered one side of the complex. Even without being able to hear it, he knew things were quiet outside. Unnervingly so. The base had been barely occupied before everything that happened with Thanos. Now that one-half of all life on earth had been wiped out with the literal snap of a finger, everything felt like a ghost town. Or, more aptly, a graveyard. A graveyard without any bodies, but filled to the brim with grief and loss.

He was no stranger to loss. Steve had outlived mostly everyone he'd ever known in his time. Bucky, due to his own extraordinary circumstances, had been the only one to make it into this day and age with Steve. He was the only one who really understood what it was like to be here, now. The only one who could truly relate. Beyond that, Bucky was Steve's best and oldest friend. Losing him had made things that just more difficult to handle.

But that wasn't all.

Steve had made new friends along the way. People that stood by him without flinching in some of the toughest of times. Sam Wilson, T'Challa, even Nick Fury, though they'd had their differences, would by missed by the Captain. Strong, resilient men and women the world over were gone without a trace. It was impossible to say if they were even dead. After all, what word did you use for someone who turned to dust right before your very eyes? Steve had seen many, many strange and terrifying things in his time, but what happened that day in Wakanda had been the worst, by far.

He released a heavy sigh and rubbed at the growth on his chin. He'd grown his beard out over the recent years to better disguise himself from the world authorities that were looking for him. Most of those world authorities were gone, now. Steve supposed that meant he didn't need the beard anymore. He wondered if Natasha had similar thoughts about her blonde hair. He wondered if she'd grow it out, back to those long, brilliant red locks. He wondered if she cared. Did the small things even matter anymore? The things that used to be normal now seemed strange and foreign in a world that had been so drastically changed by the snap. The "culling", the "incident", it had a lot of different names. None of them were good. They all served as chilling reminders of the tyrant who had come to their planet, killed half its inhabitants, and then left, all in a matter of minutes. Evil like that made some of the other things Steve had seen look like child's play.

Steve set his empty coffee cup back in the cupboard and left the room.

Rhodey would be connecting with what remained of the Council at 0800 hours. That gave Steve about forty-five minutes to prepare himself. He went back to his room, shaved, showered, and emerged a new man. The dark growth on his face was completely gone, leaving a smooth, chiseled jawline beneath. He pulled on a simple gray t-shirt and a pair of jeans. His suit, what was left of it, was hanging on the back of the bedroom door. It needed sent off for cleaning or repairs or a complete torching, but he didn't know if there was even anyone around to do that sort of thing. There was a good chance that there were more suits on backup in one of the equipment rooms, but Steve hadn't felt compelled to go searching. A new suit meant a new fight, and he wasn't feeling up to fighting just yet.

He left his room and took a right, heading to a flight of stairs that took him down to the main level of the building. Straight from there and then left, and Steve found himself before the large, open space that served as the building's main meeting room. It was surrounded by glass walls, suggesting transparency, with one panel serving as a door. Steve opened the lightweight door and stepped inside.

Rhodey was standing at the right side of the large, oval-shaped table inside. He had one arm across his chest, the other bent, so he could cup his hand over his mouth. He was staring at the many screens on the table's glass surface; thinking. The former Air Force pilot had been hard at work handling the political side of this mess... as much as he possibly could, anyway. He had no real title or jurisdiction, but most of those things had gone to the wayside in the last few days, anyway. What he did have was grit, resolve, and determination. Those were far heavier currencies, now, than they ever had been. Still, every man, even a man as good as James Rhodes, had their tipping point. There were walls that everyone ran into.