ＳＬＡＴＥ ◼ STEVE ROGERS◼

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This was the last thing she wanted to do right now.

Being alone, once again, in the Avengers Compound was something that Charlotte Watson was getting quite used to. But right now, not matter the fact that they weren't truly speaking to one another, all Lottie wanted was Tony.

When the mail came by early in the morning, Lottie hadn't thought much of it. Most of the mail was for Tony anyways, different documents that he needed to go through involving different aspects of their lives: Avengers, Stark Industries, the accords, and so on. All Lottie normally did was separate them into piles: most important to least. It was simple, normally only took her a few minutes.

Until today had hands landed on the blank white envelope that sat between two important bills. No return address, not even a stamp. Just one name: Lottie.

When her senses went off, when the hair on her arms stood up and her breath caught in her throat, she knew instantly what was in the envelop. But all she could do was stare at it.

Early evening had fallen as Tony rushed out the door of the compound, his briefcase that had his suit folded into it in his hand. Neither of them said a word. Lottie had already seen the damage on the screen, the ferry splitting in half right before their eyes. She wished that it wasn't Peter meddling in something that was taken care of, but she knew it was. She blamed Tony for not informing the poor kid they had already involved the authorities.

The second he was gone, Lottie fell apart.

Her back rested against the kitchen cabinets next to the sink. Four empty bottles of alcohol laid scattered next to her on the floor, and Tony had only been gone for twenty minutes. She knew, though, that alcohol held the strength she needed to open the envelop in front of her.

Her hands were shaky as she tore it open, a tear already slipping down her cheek at the sight of that oh so familiar hand writing.

Lottie,

I told myself I wouldn't do this. It's not healthy for either of us, but I couldn't stop myself. Not having you with me, not seeing your beautiful face, not being able to kiss the lips of the only woman I've ever loved...it's not easy. Then again, I guess I did this to us, huh?

Two months have gone by. For some reason, I wait every day for you to write a letter back to me, tell me you still love me and that maybe, just maybe, you forgive me. Natasha and Sam have to constantly remind me that I gave you no way to write back, no where to send your letter to, if you would even write back to me. Then, I get mad at myself. God, I really screwed us up, didn't I?

I'm not sure what I really wanted to say in this letter. I know I can't see you right now, maybe not even ever again, but I can't not write to you. These letters are the closest thing that I have to communicating with my beautiful fiance...if you even still wear your ring. God, I hope you do. I always knew you were gorgeous, but the moment we walked into the jewelers and picked that ring, and you slide it on your finger...I didn't think you could look anymore gorgeous then right then. Maybe seeing you in that white gown will beat that moment, if we ever get to have that. If you even still want that.