It's been two months since 'The Battle of New York'. Eight weeks since we found out definitively that we aren't alone in the universe. Fifty-six days since my mom died.

We held her funeral a couple of weeks after I returned to the city. It took a while for the hospital to sort everything so that I could claim her. It was a small service in the cemetery where my dad is buried. They're lying next to each other again. Jenny couldn't afford to pay for the tickets or take the time off of work to make it out. But Steve was able to come with me. He said he didn't want me driving myself. A couple of Marines from my dad's old unit came. They said others wanted to come, but were unable to due to their current positions. The two that did make it were only able to be there because they now have some high-up desk jobs in D.C.

**flashback**

"Annie." Bentley crushed me into a hug. His voice gruff. He was remembering Dad's funeral and who knows how many of his other friends'. He stepped back after a moment and looked me straight in the eye.

"You need anything, anything at all, you know how to get ahold of us."

"So long as you aren't busy," is what I wanted to say. I just nodded instead. Saying anything is all but impossible at this point.

"Do you have any friends in New York? I know some people I-"

I cut Carter off before he can finish. "No," my voice broke. "I'm okay. Thank you."

Bentley sighed and dropped his head a couple of inches to match my eye-line. His now silver buzz cut glinted in the afternoon sun. "You shouldn't be alone. Don't close yourself off to people who want to help you."

"They can't help," I wanted to say. I shook my head instead, a few tears fell as I did.

Carter and Bentley understood. They've been through this too. But they wouldn't let this go. "You're as stubborn as your daddy. We promised each other a long time ago to look after each other's families. You gonna make us break that promise to Johnson? To your daddy?"

Bentley fights awfully dirty. I shook my head again, this time in defeat. I choked out, "I'm not all alone." Not like my mother was.

Steve came back and handed me a glass of water. I accepted it with small, quick smile as a thank-you. Seeing the men in front of me, Steve put an arm on my shoulder. I wasn't sure if it was out of protectiveness or comfort, but I appreciated it either way.

I looked back to my dad's friends to introduce them, "Carter, Bentley, this is my friend, Steve Rogers."

They snapped to attention in a small chorus of, "Sir!"

'What's going on?'

I turned to Steve, hoping for an explanation. He looked at me in slight distress before addressing the Marines. "At ease. Please, not here," he told them quietly with a glance back at me.

Bentley and Carter glanced at me with understanding and relaxed.

"Does someone want to explain?" I really was not able to deal with a mystery at my mother's funeral.

Bentley glanced at Steve before saying, "Captain Rogers did a lot for our country during eh, during the war."

I was a little surprised they'd know someone from another branch of the military well enough to be able to say this. I didn't remember hearing his name on the news or anything. But since they're in D.C. working behind the scenes they might've known about Steve if he was in the Special Forces or something.

I turned back at Steve.

"It isn't something I really like to talk about," he said apologetically.

'Guess I don't know him as well as I thought. But I can understand from my dad how hard it can be to talk about the war. I don't blame him for not wanting to talk to a civilian about it.'

I nodded and gave him a small smile to show that I understood.

"I see now that we don't have to worry about you not having any good friends in New York," Carter said, appeased.

Bentley pat my shoulder and said a few words before they left to speak with another of their mutual friends.

I stood with Steve as I think about what Bentley had told me. He didn't tell me I would get over it. He told me I would get through it.

**flashback end**

That was a month and a half ago. It's gotten a little easier, I suppose. Not better, no, but I guess I've gotten a bit more used to it. I know both my parents are in Heaven and perfectly happy. I can't feel sorry for them. But that doesn't make me miss them any less. And I can't find it in me to forgive myself for letting my mom die alone. Not yet.

Since then, and this is a small concern, almost nothing, but since The Battle of New York, Steve has been going on a lot of trips; sometimes for only a day, sometimes for several. He says it's for his job, but he never tells me what that is.

The city has rebuilt itself faster than I would've thought possible. It isn't where it was before, of course, but the worst of the damage has been cleaned up. The most vital public structures repaired first; like the subways and hospitals. Unfortunately, the library is still in disrepair. One of the wings partially collapsed and a fifth of our books was lost.

But that's what tonight is for. Mr. Stark is holding a gala fundraiser for the biggest remaining repairs that still need to be made. The library is one of those repairs and in addition to being the Chairwoman of the library's board, Mrs. Harrison is also quite the socialite. She also happens to be on the guest list. She's my direct boss and one of the very few people who knows my whole story. I think she wants to mother me. Because of this, she holds more sympathy for me than she should. This has led her to somehow getting me and a plus-one into the gala. She had said to consider it an early birthday present, which would be quite early since my birthday is in February. I almost turned it down, but I knew she would be really insulted. It must've taken some major string pulling to get two extra tickets to a shindig being thrown by Tony Stark.

'Look at that, I remembered his first name.'

I, of course, asked Steve to be my plus-one. Like I know anyone else to invite. He was kind enough to accept. I'm not sure that this will be his kind of scene any more than it will be mine. I might have bribed him with some homemade brownies (not the funny kind) and vanilla ice cream once we got back to the building.

As a part of my 'present' Mrs. Harrison arranged to have a dress loaned to me from some fancy French designer whose name I cannot pronounce for the life of me. This is a very good thing since I have about two dresses in my closet and both of them are cotton sundresses. Not exactly formal. Anyway, the dress she got for me is a shimmering, dusky gold. It's spaghetti strap, floor length, and has unbelievable flow to it. When I put it on, it's like I'm wearing liquid metal. It's a lot flashier than what I'm used to, but I suppose that's the point.

I've arranged my hair in soft curls that frame my face and since I'm awful at make-up I just went for mascara and some eyeliner. I'd kill myself in heels, so I'm wearing black sandals instead, and I have a black clutch and black wrap that will work well enough with the dress.

It's just a few minutes before the taxi will be here to pick us up when I've finished and grabbed my accessories. Before I can make it to the door, I hear a knock. Opening it, I see Steve. In a suit.

'Goodness gracious, great balls of fire. It's like seeing him for the first time, all over again.'

I can't seem to remember how my mouth works, so Steve is the first to say something once he clears his throat.

"Anne, you look great." He smiles warmly. "Very, shiny."

"Oh." My voice is an octave higher than it should be. I cough and try again. "Oh, thank you. You look very, posh - 'No. What is wrong with you?'  - Mr. Bond - 'I give up' -  You should go to fancy parties more often." I'm not even sure anymore if I'm teasing or not.

He chuckles good-naturedly and offers me his arm. "Are you ready, ma'am?"

'His outfit must've brought back his introductory manners, like Pavlov's dogs and the bell. Curious.'

≈o≈

So. Many. People. Squished together, everywhere. There isn't an empty corner in the entire room. And the room is gigantic.

I'd promised Mrs. Harrison that I would say hello to her tonight so we can't leave until I do. Unfortunately I can't find her anywhere. We've been here for an hour and a half. It isn't so bad since I have Steve with me, but it would be infinitely better without all of these people. Pressing together, shifting against one another. I'm not claustrophobic, but this is almost enough to give me a phobia.

"How about him?" I ask Steve, gesturing to a thin, slouching man a ways in front of us. I pop a small square of cheese in my mouth as I await his answer.

"Grim reaper?" he suggests after thinking for a minute.

I chuckle. "He does kind of look like death. I was thinking more along the lines of that sadistic warden of the asylum in 'Beauty and the Beast'. That guy always gave me the willies."

Steve laughs. We just saw the Disney version of Beauty and the Beast a couple of nights ago, so this is a reference he understands.

"Hey, do you suppose such a swanky affair would serve soda?" I ask him with very little hope.

"I can check. I'm pretty sure I saw a bar over in that direction. You stay here, okay?" We're standing by a tall cocktail table near one of the walls. "I'm not sure I'd be able to find you if you don't."

I quickly agree. "I won't go anywhere."

Steve's been gone for about twenty seconds before someone starts talking to me. "You are much too pretty to be spending time with Gerry. Are you two related? Grandniece twice removed or something? Nah, you're too pretty for that too."

'Gerry?'

I look to my right to see a stranger about five feet away, looking me up and down. He has dark brown hair and a goatee. His tux probably cost him as much as my annual salary. A confident smirk paints his face, shouting that everyone knows exactly who he is. And I do. My stomach turns over. Tony Stark himself.

Strangers are one thing, famous strangers with the funds to completely rebuild the library several hundred times over are something completely foreign to me. I don't answer him but this doesn't seem to slow him down. He turns to the man next him and asks rather loudly, "You don't suppose they're actually dating, do you? He's way too old for her." Mr. Stark shudders while his friend, who looks like a surprisingly decent person, sighs in vicarious embarrassment for him.

"'Gerry'?" His friend asks the question I was wondering myself.

"Geriatric," Mr. Stark answers with a shrug.

'But Steve has to be about fifteen years younger than him...'

"Might not be the best thing to call him to his face," his friend suggests.

Mr. Stark thinks that over for about a second. "Noted."

Taking a step towards me, Tony picks up where he left off. "If you're hoping for some action with the Captain, you may need to take him in to the shop for a tune-up to make sure all the parts are in working order. Although some might be discontinued by now. But the warranty might still good, he's probably never been used. Anyway, who are you? I'm sure you know who I am."

"Tony!" This has apparently crossed a line with his friend.

Unfortunately, Steve has returned in time to hear this last jibe at his expense. I've never seen his jaw so tight. I can't tell if it's from anger or embarrassment, but it doesn't matter. His being upset in addition to my anonymity is enough to make me decide to do something entirely uncharacteristic of me.

I'm going to insult a billionaire.

"Oh, yeah, I know who you are!" I say with thickly false enthusiasm. "That 'Hunger Games' facial hair, too much money, and an ego as big as all outdoors- you're obviously Tony Snark."

Mr. Stark straightens in mild surprise.

"Stark," Tony cuts in, emphasizing the 't'. "It's Tony Stark. It's on my tower, for crying out loud."

"Was," I correct him. "And how did that work out for you; slapping a big, flashing target on your new building?"

Tony crinkles his forehead and turns to Steve. "She's too sarcastic for you, Capsicle. Where in the world did you find her?"

'Wait, he actually does know Steve? How?'

I turn to Steve in confusion. He stays looking at the men, though he has moved to my side. I notice, to my disappointment, that he doesn't have any soda with him. Ignoring Tony's question, he says to Tony's friend, "Good evening Doctor Banner," before giving a completely flat hello to Stark.

Tony's friend, 'Doctor Banner' apparently, smiles and responds with, "hello Steve."

'What am I missing that everyone knows Steve? Is he secretly famous? Is it possible to be secretly famous? Isn't that sort of a contradictory idea? And wait a second, is this Doctor Banner a psychologist or something? Why else would a doctor hang around Tony Stark?'

"Oh no, Old Man From the Sea, you're not getting away that easily. Who's your snippy friend? How did you even get in, anyway? I know you weren't invited and I have no idea who she is. And if she was anyone important, I'd remember her from other events; she's pretty enough to have stayed in my mind that way. How'd she get stuck with you?"

"You pompous little butt cheek!"

'Dead. You are so dead.'

All three men look at me with wide eyes. Although I think Doctor Banner is trying not to laugh. Most days, this would be enough to send me to the shadows of my room where I'd lock myself away for the rest of eternity with nothing but my books, Netflix, and ice cream. But today I'm running high on the fact that no one here knows my name - other than Steve, but he won't rat me out.

So I keep going.

"Firstly, who throws such an expensive party and doesn't bother including soda at the bar? I thought you were a genius. And secondly, Steve is the nicest person I've ever met and I know he's done nothing to deserve being treated this way!" I'm not yelling, but I'm might be growling. "Maybe if you took that silver spoon out of your butt for a minute, you could show some common courtesy to the people around you. But regardless," I huff and shave off a sliver of the anger in my tone, "this has been a beautiful party and thank you very much for your part in saving New York from the alien/robot things and not letting us all get blown to smithereens. That was very decent and brave of you."

Tony looks mystified.

"But you're still a butt cheek." I grab Steve's hand and start pulling him to where I hope the exit is. I'll just tell Mrs. Harrison the truth the next time that I see her at work; that I couldn't find her.

"Remember how you said that you'd pay me back in brownies?" Steve asks from behind me.

I nod, knowing that he can see me.

"Well, I think that that was payment in full," he finishes. I can hear his smile.

"That may be so, but I need chocolate and I wouldn't mind the company." And for once, I mean it.

≈o≈

Once we've made it back to our apartments and changed into more comfortable clothes, I dish up some dessert. We sit in companionable silence.

"Steve," I begin, looking at my ice cream. "How do you know Dr. Banner and Iron Man?"

He sighs and I hear him set his spoon down. I think he's been waiting for me to ask. "Anne, you know I would never do anything to hurt you, right?"

I nod, keeping my eyes down. "I know."

"Well, this is a part of that. Your not knowing is a part of keeping you safe. It isn't anything bad, I promise." He hesitates. "You trust me, don't you?"

I look up to find that the slight desperation that was in his words also streaks his eyes. I take his hand, squeezing it gently. "I trust you, Steve."

Relief immediately covers his features.

"Just please, be careful," I slightly beg as I let go of his hand.

I'm not stupid and the quiet drive home had given me plenty of time to put some pieces together. Bentley and Tony both called him 'Captain', I'd assumed because that was his rank in the Army. But how would Tony know him? He isn't rich or famous. Why would he start disappearing right after the invasion? He isn't gone consistently enough to be back on active duty.

He's either working part-time security in the private sector or he's working with the Avengers. That may sound like a bit of a leap, but he looks an awful lot like a certain Captain in particular who's been in the papers lately. Besides, I remembered something from my dad's stories. In what had been passed down to my dad from my grandpa was a name connected to Captain America from the Howling Commandos that worked closely with him: Steve Rogers. I don't know if it's actually him (or how that'd even be possible) or if that's just his alias, but it seems like too much of a coincidence to me.

I can't say that it doesn't hurt a little that he didn't tell me himself that he's Captain America, if he is (I'll allow myself a corner of doubt). But I know he thinks this is protecting me from harm and from worry. If thinking I don't know anything makes him happy and gives him one less thing to worry about whilst he's superhero-ing, then I'll play dumb. For now, at least.