The White Queen (S.Rogers)

Chapter 12

Steve Rogers would be the first to admit that he was an over achiever when it came to work. Preparation for missions, training (both solo and with teammates), the actual missions themselves, and the post meeting reports. He was more than happy to do them all, and more. So, after a semi-successful mission, in which they had been able to recover some of the missing SHIELD tech, as well as round up a few missing supposed SHIELD/HYDRA most wanted, he was never one to shirk his duty of writing up the battle report.

But today, after removing his battle suit, and taking a quick shower, he was sitting at his desk, in the glass paneled office Stark had built for him in the Tower, he noticed he was antsy to get it all over with, so he could leave without feeling like he was leaving something unfinished.

Steve checked his phone again, for the tenth time since the Quinjet had touched down, sighing as he realized that there were no new messages.

Brooklyn hadn't reached out, while he was gone.

She hadn't responded to the message he had sent. While putting his things away, after arriving back in New York.

Steve sighed again, and put the phone down, picking up the tablet on which he was currently typing up the mission report. Through the glass, he watched as the other Avengers went about their own post-mission rituals. Stark was in his lab, which overlooked the shared common rooms. Banner was walking up the stairs to join him. Romanoff and Barton were raiding the kitchen. And Steve was doing the paperwork.

The itching under his skin, the one he had only started to notice recently, returned.

The first time he had noticed it, it was after he had left the club, when discovering Brooklyn was working there. It had gone away, or so he thought, but it kept returning.

Today it was really annoying. It didn't make him feel like he was about to scratch his skin off, but rather, like he was tensing for something. He rolled his shoulders, trying to shake away the feeling. Standing up, he walked over to the window, that looked down over Manhattan. Propping his hands on his hips, he took deep breaths, trying to bring his body under control. It was just the jacked up excess energy, left over from the fighting, it had to be.

It was always the comedown, after a mission, after a fight. The excess adrenaline his body produced, to keep his senses and his reactions sharp. It helped him push his body to complete the mission put before him, to telegraph the messages to his muscles when to move.

It also allowed him to tap into that dark part of him, the one that took enjoyment in the smell and sight of battle. The part that made him want to snarl when delivering a blow. The one that he refused to let out unless there was danger. The one that he would even dare to compare to that of an animal.

That part of Steve was not a part of himself that he was proud of.

It was getting harder and harder to push that dark part of himself, that pit of darkness that sometimes crept up, and surprised even him, when it made its appearance.

Heaving a sigh, realizing that the feeling under his skin was still there, he rubbed his face with a hand, before returning to his pad. He had to get this report done, before anything else.

It took an hour, easy, before he was able to sit back, and check to see if he had missed anything, but the report was done. Saving it, he tossed the tablet down on the desk, and raised his arms over his head, feeling the stretch of his muscles. Steve considered going down to the gym and working out the excess energy that he could still feel, but that wasn't what he wanted to do.

He wanted to see Brooklyn.

The conversation they had had, while he was putting on his battle suit, before they had all left for the mission, had made him feel settled. She had agreed to let him be apart of Juliana's life. Steve was excited by the knowledge that the little girl, Bucky's little girl, was going to be allowed to be in his life. That he was going to be able to spend time with her, to see her grow up. Steve was going to be able to be the rock that that little girl could lean on, at least until he could bring her father home.