Little Wars ☆ Steve Rogers

01

"I grow old... I grow old...
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled."
TS Eliot, The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock

★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★

THERE WAS NO better word for it: Steve Rogers was depressed.

When the epiphany struck him, he stumbled out of a full sprint, caught himself on a bent street lamp, caught his shield on its return flight, and said aloud, "I'm depressed."

He was also out of breath. And covered in blood, sweat, and dirt. He stared at the ground a few feet ahead, frowning down at it as if a clump of grayish snow or torn up pavement had just broken the news to him.

"Steve, did you not know that?" Natasha asked over the comms.

The mission was over; the objective was reached. As always, adrenaline depleted, Steve was left feeling like his body had given up on him. His limbs felt heavy. His muscles burned. His nerves had all snapped at once, and now they sparked and dangled, limp and useless.

"Shit, Cap, I'm depressed too," Clint said.

"Are we all sharing now?" Tony asked. "Sometimes I feel like a lonely little astronaut up here, drifting—"

Steve yanked out his earpiece. He ran the cleanest section of his sleeve over his face. It didn't make his face feel any cleaner, but his sleeve still managed to come back grimier somehow.

He suddenly became aware that his hands were cold. He popped his knuckles and curled them into fists for warmth as Sam swooped out of the air and landed smoothly next to him.

"You okay?" he asked.

Before Steve could decide, Natasha tumbled out of the first floor window of a nearby wall (a solitary wall; there was no longer a house attached to it).

"You wanna talk later?" she asked.

Then Wanda approached from the rubble behind Natasha, dusting off her jacket. She tilted her head at him when they made eye contact, a silent question.

Wanda's eyes were lined darkly with smudged make up, but squinting in a kind, inquisitive way. That look on her face snapped him out of it. He didn't want to burden the team.

"I'm fine," Steve decided. He chuckled and ran his hand over his face, exchanging grime between each surface, smearing it around unproductively. "I don't know why I said that."

Then he was directing them all toward the Quinjet and offering good natured assurances in response to each concerned glance or pat on the back.

"Do you need to take some time off?" Tony asked under his breath when the rest of the team had boarded.

"I'll be fine," Steve said, eyes sweeping over the rubble they were leaving behind. It wasn't the worst he'd ever seen.

"We can manage without you for a while."

Steve shook his head. "What would I do with time off?"

"Nothing?" Tony suggested. "People say it's good for you."

★☆★☆★☆★☆★

STEVE DIDN'T WAIT for the Quinjet to land before jumping out of it and landing neatly on the rooftop tarmac. He was itching out of his skin for a shower, jogging toward the big glass doors that led inside to one of the uppermost floors of the Avengers Tower.

It was dark out, a late winter evening. As he slowed to a brisk walk and scanned a keycard for entry, he thought about his flannel pajama pants. He would put them on after his shower. And he'd crank the heat up.