To Love Is To Destroy

Chapter 5

Stefan sighed and shuffled the papers in front of him. It was one thing to be told that the future was here; it was quite another to see your present become the past without you.

Howard's file was thick — he'd worked with the SSR from their inception all the way until they became SHIELD, the inventor pushing through breakthroughs that would allow the modern organization the edge it needed when fighting superpowers like AIM and HYDRA.

That was another thing. The good things had died, but the bad things had ways of coming 'round like bad pennies. The motto of “slay one head, two will take its place” was especially true of HYDRA. AIM appeared to be an offshoot. There were also mentions in the file of another group, the Ten Rings.

Cut off one head and it didn't die, it just split into three. Stefan sighed, feeling the tension ratchet up in his shoulders.

Stefan thumbed through Howard's folder again. He'd had a son, Tony. Looking at the file of his accomplishments, Stefan couldn't help but feel proud of Howard, at least a little bit. He'd liked the man, mostly.

His hand hovered over the next file, the one with Bucky's name on it.

Swallowing, he rested his palm on it. He'd asked for the files, but he wasn't sure he was ready for it. His allies, the commandos, they'd all split off when the war had ended. Without him, their job was done, and they'd been sent home.

Their files listed them as deceased. He'd never gotten to say goodbye. It had been so long...but for him it was a month ago. He'd been awake a month and already the future was bleak and full of false, bright promises.

What was he doing here? He should have been left in the ice. He certainly wasn't doing them much good here.

Stefan shook his head and rose, going for the coffee pot. One of the nurses had shown him how to work one, and one had come with his SHIELD-issued apartment. Much more efficient than the percolators of his time, although there was the slightly charred taste to the joe that he missed.

Not that the caffeine did anything for him. His brain was always on, always alert. Another perk of the serum. He couldn't say he liked the taste, but it held a lot of the comforts of home. His ma had splurged the fifty cents a week on their budget for it, and he always remembered the smell. It smelled like home.

He poured himself a mug and took a deep breath.

He knew he was being watched. There wasn't a day that went by that SHIELD didn't have him under observation. Stefan might have been born at night, but it certainly wasn't last night. Nick Fury was the type of man who kept his assets under tight rein.

He sipped his coffee and looked out the window. His kitchen window faced the tenement next door, a scant alley between the buildings for the fire escapes. He lived on the fourth floor, apartment F.

The irony didn't escape him.

His eyes roved over the rough red brick of the building and then fell on the window opposite. He turned around and considered. They'd be able to see almost the whole apartment, save the bedroom, and that faced the street, so they could likely spot that from a parked car across the street.

Turning back, he raised his eyebrows. The curtain was twitched shut over the windows where it had been open before.

He shook his head, not so much disappointed as he was expecting it. He was, after all, an unknown variable. He looked down at the files on the table and drained his coffee mug.

He felt the walls closing in on him, and he decided that going for a run would help him.

He went for runs often, jogging and letting his mind blank on the streets as he did. He was never mugged; he didn't know if it was his size or if it was the determination in his face, but when he got back to his apartment each morning, he was covered in sweat and breathing hard, the spare couple of dollars he kept on him for emergencies intact.

It took him six days to learn the layout of Brooklyn again. The city had been built and rebuilt so often that it was jarring. He kept expecting streets where there were none now, and the construction sites of his youth were taken over by tenements and bodegas. Dead ends where once there was an alley, alleys where streets used to cut through, and he retraced them all, learning the heartbeat of New York again.

He still wasn't used to the idea of glowing neon signs, and the ones from the street kept him awake at night like the trains never could. He found places he remembered, and discovered others he didn't.

He was still alone.

Not even his wrist was comfort. There was no name, but why should there be a name? If he had a soul mate, surely they'd died a long time ago. He'd long ago stopped looking at his wrist and...hoping. He felt an overwhelming sense of guilt that he wasn't able to meet the person he was intended for, and bond with them.

Then again, maybe the serum had changed his hormones enough that he'd never have met them anyway.

He found a gym close to his apartment, a real one, where there was a boxing ring and sandbags — places where people went to lift weights and put on muscle, not lose a couple of pounds for bikini season.

He joined, but the owner never asked him for dues. SHIELD had stepped in there, too. He didn't like the charity. It grated at him, raw like stomach bile in the back of his throat. SHIELD didn't just give away things. They would be expecting compensation.

He got checks for personal expenses, like groceries, all signed by Nick Fury. Initially, he'd gawked at the amount of money. When he'd seen how much something had cost at a restaurant, he'd understood. It had almost made him ill that first day, seeing all the food, for so much money.

There was more culture shock to be had, too. Stefan walked into a grocery store for the first time to pick up staples for his new apartment and about fell to his knees. There was more food there than he knew what to do with. Aisles and aisles of canned goods, baked goods, fresh meat at the back. And vegetables like none he'd ever seen.

There were fifteen types of bread. He'd never heard of such a thing. His mother had handmade soda bread, and he couldn't parse it. People paid so much for things now, without remembering how to use their kitchens. It made sense that there were people going hungry. No one should have to live on that kind of food budget.

He'd filled his cart with good things, things he remembered, and spent the rest of the time gawking at the assortments of sweets. Reading the labels, however, had made him wary. How many chemicals were there in these foods?

He looked through them, and then decided against it. He placed them all back and bought just plain things. Peanut butter, fresh vegetables, rice, potatoes. Things he could live on in bulk.

He'd paid what he considered an exorbitant amount for them, and then lugged them all home, his arms straining with a good ache as he jogged up the stairs. It was something he could...almost relate to, something vaguely of home.

The files still sat on his table, unopened.

The next month, in the heat of summer, he got permission from the super and started a rooftop garden. Every morning he toiled, lugging up potting soil and planting seeds, erecting a greenhouse, watering the slowly budding shoots. It gave him a purpose, and it made him remember the vacant lot across the street. His ma and their neighbors had turned it into a communal garden, pitching in their meager salaries for seeds and tools.

He and the other kids had plucked weeds for the promise of penny candy at the end of the week. Stefan had been happy to do it for the chance to be outside with his hands in the dirt and working hard. It was better than picking tin, sometimes. This was work he could do.

He leaned back on his heels, sweating in the hot August sun, and brushed off his hands. Tomatoes, cucumbers, even some bell peppers and green beans, all in neat little rows and growing well. He smiled. A little bit of old New York with the new. He tacked up the rest of the tarp to keep the heat in; he would replace it with glass tomorrow.

He tromped back downstairs to wash off the dirt and get something to drink. He drank at the sink, draining a large glass with his face still smudged and dirty. The faucet ran cold and clear, and he glanced out the window again as he filled his glass the second time. The curtain across the alley twitched shut, and Stefan shook his head.

“If you boys are going to watch me,” he said, his voice clear and distinct for their bugs. “You might as well come over for coffee.”

The next day, there was a knock at his door. He opened it to find a man standing there, a crisp black suit and a file folder proclaiming him to be SHIELD before he even flashed his badge.

“Captain Roosevelt,” he said, smiling and pocketing his aviators. “My name is Jasper Sitwell, and I'm going to be your handler for the foreseeable future.”

“Why didn't you tell me he was having problems adjusting?” Phil asked, watching Marcus brood from behind his desk over the videophone.

“Because you'd have run straight there and I need you where you are.”

“But...Jasper?”

“Agent Sitwell is just as qualified at Level Six as you are to handle Captain Roosevelt. He's got a good head for tactics and he's got an affable personality. Or did you forget the time you two spent together on Strike Team Delta?”

Phil sighed visibly, his shoulders slumping.

“It's not that he's not qualified. This was my project.”

“And now you're delegating. I don't remember you arguing this much when we took Wilson off your hands.”

“Wilson was a fluke.”

“Phil,” Marcus said, leaning forward and fixing him with a serious look. “I know you care a lot about the guy. He's a hero. I get that. Believe me, I heard enough about it in the Army to get sick of it.”

Phil frowned at him.

“Don't you look at me in that tone of voice. I know his stats like the back of my hand thanks to you.” Marcus leaned back. “Look, I know that Director Carhold put you in charge of this. Meanwhile, I got reports of a meteorite wrecking s**t in New Mexico, and Stark's acting up again, because we know s**t's gone down in Monaco. So. You have things to do. You know it, and I know it. I can't have you babysitting Captain America.”

Phil sighed. He knew Marcus was right.

“At least make sure Sitwell knows that he won't take kindly to lies. We saw how well that charade went down. I told you.”

“Already done. You should check in with Nan.”

“I'll do that on the drive to New Mexico. We have Romanoff in place with Stark, right?”

“She's reporting directly to me, yes.”

“Good. I'll make sure to touch base with her periodically.”

“Then I'll handle the Stark problem until we can nail down exactly what the hell touched down in New Mexico.” Marcus looked at Phil for a moment. “I need my one good eye, more than ever. So you keep s**t in line, hear me?”

“Loud and clear, boss,” Phil said, rubbing his forehead. “If Jasper calls, permission to shaving cream his locker?”

“So long as s**t doesn't get out of hand.”

“I knew I was friends with you for a reason.”

Phil pressed his Bluetooth and made the call as he passed into Kansas. The car rolled through the dark, his Audi's headlight beams cutting swaths through the night. He reached up and flicked his high beams down so as not to blind a truck on the opposite side.

The call picked up and his music on the radio turned down.

“Hello, boy.”

“Director.”

“I'm hardly Director anymore, Phillip.”

“I'm hardly a boy anymore, Director Carhold.”

“And yet you still whined to Marcus when you were reassigned to New Mexico instead of New York.”

He frowned at his steering wheel. “He's not adjusting well.”

“I didn't think he would. But you know that he's going to have trouble. He needs the time. Jasper will see to it. You trust him to, don't you?”

Phil drummed his fingers against the steering wheel.

“Yes, ma'am, but—”

“No buts, Phillip. You know that he is the best for the job right now. Right now, you have bigger concerns than Stefan's comfort. I know that you care, you were chosen for that infinite capacity to care. But Jasper is where he needs to be, and you are where you need to be.”

He sighed. “I know. I didn't question the orders, exactly.”

“Marcus seemed irritated enough when he touched base with me.”

“He would, he's always irritated.”

“How is the drive?”

“Boring. I just crossed into Kansas. It's flat and unentertaining.”

“Stefan said the same thing when he played Topeka.”

He chuckled. “Are you filling me full of war stories to soothe the sting of being passed over?”

“You weren't passed over, you were chosen to do something bigger. If Jasper's needed, he'll come with you, and another agent will keep an eye on Stefan in his place. It's also important to remember that smothering Stefan is the one thing you don't want to do. He's fiercely independent, was even before the serum.”

“I never even got a chance to introduce myself.”

“You will.”

“I sure hope so. I headed the damn project.”

“And it's not been forgotten.” He could hear the smile in her voice, and ached to fly out to Surrey. He missed her. She was almost like having his own mother back, and it was heartening to hear from her. “Will you be okay out in New Mexico?”

“You worry too much, Nan,” he said.

“You and Marcus with that stupid nickname,” she groused. “If I were there—”

“You'd have me by my ear, faster than I could blink, and that's why I'm here in the car in the States and you're sitting down to breakfast in Surrey,” he said, laughter in his voice. “Go on and have your cuppa, Director. I'll keep you briefed on the situation as it develops.”

“Good boy,” she said, and he could hear the fondness seeping through the line. “Will you be visiting after your mission?”

“Depends on who else pops up, but I'll certainly make the effort.”

“Very well. Don't eat too many donuts.”

“I won't,” he lied.

“I can tell when you're fibbing.”

“Debatable.”

His Audi cut through Kansas like an omen, delivering him closer to the strange thunderstorm and what he hoped lay within it. It had been building for several days, outlining the town in an almost perfect circle, and he intended to know what it was.

“Yes, sir, understood.” Jasper set his cards down and Stefan leaned back in his chair. Whatever it was, it seemed important. He rubbed his jaw, focusing his attention away from the phone call.

He'd learned early on that if he listened, he would hear it, especially with the new technology of today. Not that he minded; he would rather communication be global.

He thought a lot about his time in the trenches, and seeing guys miss home so bad there often were talks of what they'd do when they got back. Jasper had introduced him to the concept of Skype, and seeing how soldiers could see their loved ones even in the field made him...happy.

Sometimes he'd wished he'd been able to see Patricia's face, and then wondered if it would have hurt more.

The file still sat unopened on his desk, and he hadn't touched it in months.

Jasper had introduced his niece over the internet, and Stefan had liked talking to the little girl. She was about eight, and Stefan had always had a soft spot for kids. So, it seemed, did Jasper — at least for his sister's kids if the pictures in his wallet were any indication.

Jasper swiped his phone shut, and Stefan picked up his hand of cards again.

“Fury again?” he asked, careful not to cut too close. While he could consider Jasper a companion at least, Stefan wasn't quite sure he could consider him a friend yet. He glanced down at his hand.

“Yes. After this hand, I need to cut out. Looks like I'm needed in New Mexico.”

“New Mexico?” Stefan asked. “What's out there?”

“It's classified,” Jasper replied, selecting another card. “But Agent Coulson needs a hand, and he and I work well together.”

“Wait...Phil Coulson?” Stefan asked.

“Yes?” Jasper raised a brow. “How do you know him?”

“He was the agent that supervised my recovery. All the reports are signed by him,” Stefan said. “A lot of the research, too. Did he do it all by himself?”

“Mostly,” Jasper answered. “He was the only one who thought you were still out there. Director Carhold put him in charge personally.”

“Patricia Carhold?”

“Yeah,” Jasper said. “She was Director when Director Fury joined SHIELD with Phil at the same time. They called her the Iron Lady of SHIELD.”

Stefan's lips quirked. “She probably hated it.”

“I wouldn't know. I joined soon after Director Fury assumed the role. He always spoke fondly of her. To be fair, she apparently pushed the organization into the finely oiled machine you see today,” he said, licking his thumb and fanning his cards out again. “She's legendary in SHIELD. From what I understand, she took over when Howard Stark was still running R&D, but the whole thing was called something different.”

“The Strategic Scientific Reserve,” Stefan said, studying his hand. Jasper nodded. “They were behind Project Rebirth.”

“That's it. Anyway, Phil's a good guy, really big fan of yours,” he said. His smile was a little crooked. “I hear there's a shrine.”

“A shrine?” Stefan asked.

“Yeah, the guy talks about you a lot,” he said, quirking a brow. “He knows you down to the last detail. Stuff no one else knows.”

Stefan's brows knit. He didn't know if he was comfortable with that.

“Relax, Stefan,” Jasper laughed. “He's a good guy, consummate professional. It's just...trying, sitting on a week-long stakeout with him. He really likes the Captain America mythos.”

Stefan rolled his shoulders, a knot of nervous tension forming. “Guess that's why he was so dedicated in finding me.”

Jasper shook his head. “Director Carhold handed him that mission personally. He worked it off and on since...Jesus, 2001? Sounds about right, he met Clint and Natasha about a year prior...”

“That long...?” Stefan asked.

“Yeah, he worked nights and weekends trying to pinpoint the Valkyrie's landing site,” Jasper said. “I went with him when we pulled you up. But he spent countless unpaid hours poring over maps and stuff. At one point I brought him breakfast and found him asleep, hunched over a box of old SSR missives. He wasn't obsessed so much as he was determined. I've seen him do it to other things, too.”

Stefan laid out his hand. “Gin.”

Jasper groaned. “Damn it, that's the fourth time.”

Stefan grinned. “I was a bit of a card shark in the army.”

“Now,” Jasper said, glancing at him as he gathered the cards up and put them away before pulling on his coat. “That's something I bet Phil didn't know.”

Stefan wondered if that was a note of triumph in Jasper's voice.

Stefan saw him to the door, his mind churning with thoughts of this faceless agent. Phil Coulson, huh. He had a feeling he'd be introduced sooner rather than later.

Phil stepped out of the Audi, his aviators on as he took in the tall, humanoid robot. He squinted at it, his fingers itching for his sidearm.

“Is that one of Stark's?” Jasper asked.

“How should I know?” Phil groused. “Guy never tells me anything.”

It definitely wasn't one of Stark's, the face plate falling back to reveal a glowing orange core. Phil dove away, shielding his eyes as his car went up in a molten fireball. Acrid smoke washed over his vision, and the agents scattered like ants as the Destroyer stalked toward town.

He crawled to where Jasper was sitting up, rubbing at his head. Phil tipped his head up and Jasper's eyes were unfocused. Concussion, possibly.

“Stefan Roosevelt is a card shark,” Jasper mumbled, and Phil raised a brow.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Bet you didn't know.”

“No, I didn't.”

Jasper grinned at him, loopy. “I win.”

“Not when you see the state of your locker on the helicarrier.”

“You son of a bitch.”

“It's just shaving cream,” Phil said, flippant as he pulled his glock. The med team was heading this way, and he signaled that there was a downed agent here. “Sit tight, medical's gonna check you out.”

“Fine, I'm fine,” Jasper said, shaking his head.

“You're not. Stay here. That's an order.”

“'Kay.” Jasper's head lolled, even as the medical team dropped their gear at his feet. Phil was moving, running to pursue the Destroyer, his heartbeat in his ears and adrenaline burning in his veins.

Stefan couldn't sleep. Not that this wasn't a common occurrence by now, he was just...not tired. His body was wired to run on very little sleep thanks to the serum, taking a precious few hours and squeezing every ounce of restorative power from it, just like his food intake.

He sat at his kitchen table, sketching. He was practicing with charcoal sticks, a gift from Jasper. He'd already rendered the agent and his niece, a gift for when he came back safe. Not that he minded his new handler, Agent Ramirez, but Jasper was around more, and Ramirez always seemed like he wanted to be somewhere else.

Now, however, the soft curls of his charcoal outlined the wisps of hair that framed Patricia's face, a smile forming as she looked up through her lashes. His heart clenched, and he smudged his thumb on the drawing, adding volume to her hair.

He glanced at his desk, where the files were still gathering dust. Letting out a sigh, he wrapped his charcoal and rose to wash his hands. He scrubbed the charcoal out from under his nails, cleaning up. Wiping his hands left thick black streaks on his tea towel, but he dampened it and wiped his face as well. Might as well, as there were streaks there, too, from where he'd touched his chin, cheeks, and nose.

Clean again, he padded to his desk and opened the folder for Bucky.

No new information, although the information the SSR had said Bucky's body had never been recovered. His grave in Arlington was empty, a headstone and an empty casket rotting in the ground. Stefan sighed and closed the folder.

Patricia's file was thicker, considering she'd done so much for the SSR during and after the war. He sat down in his armchair, crossing his legs at the ankle to read. Paging through her file was mention after mention of personal merit, but no personal information, like with Howard. Patricia had never married, never moved on after the war. Instead, she'd been married to her work, driving SHIELD to be the organization it was today.

Stefan blinked when he saw that she'd retired only twenty years ago, in 1991. Flicking through the file to her status, he stared.

She was still alive. Retired and living in Surrey, England.

Stefan did the mental math. Patricia had to be at least ninety-four by now. Paging through her contact information, he located the phone number.

He stared at the cordless phone for a moment, before he swallowed and dialed the number. It rang, and he realized he was calling at 3 am with no clear purpose. Then again, it was seven in the morning there, or so he figured.

“Hello?” Stefan sucked in a breath. She sounded just like her remembered — brisk and business-like, with no nonsense in her tone.

“Patricia?” he said, his voice almost giving out on him. “It...it's me.”

There was a brief silence.

“You're late.”

Stefan's eyes welled up. “I couldn't call my ride.”