Back to Gatefold
Issue #5 by Steve Crosby
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“SOME OF THEM WANT TO BE USED”
Somewhere nearby a car alarm was blaring. Frightened, the large rat that had set the alarm off ran scurrying into the sewer grate threw which it barely fit. Residents in the nearby buildings continued to sleep peacefully, used to the noise. Those awake simply turned up the volume on their television sets, mildly annoyed that they missed a punchline on their favorite sit-com.
One man, particularly annoyed, tore open the hood and violently disconnected the battery. Silence came, in New York City more deafening than any car alarm. Heavy military boots pounded the sidewalk. Another block the man walked, until he was almost directly across the street from his target. Ironically this put him right outside the building that he’d originally planned to visit.
As the man set his heavy duffel bag onto the sidewalk, he thought about how considerate it was for the target to move only a short distance. Other enemies to America should be so helpful. A yank of the zipper opened his duffel bag, and the man removed a small missile launcher. Calmly, he raised the weapon, aimed the sights onto a third-story window of the building, and prepared to fire.
It struck low, knocking his aim high at the last second. Flame erupted. The missile launched. Too high the delayed explosion came. Nothing would be damaged and no one would be harmed. Angrily the man whipped around as the useless missile launcher crashed by his heavy military boots.
Half a block down Captain America stood. The thrown shield had returned to his hand, and he held it down at his side. To the man that had dried to destroy his home he directed a hard stare. There was recognition in those eyes. Anybody could wear makeup, but the features underneath were those already known to Captain America. That the man should have been dead wasn’t a consideration.
“Take the pill,” Captain America ordered. “I want to see how close they came.”
Thick stubby fingers reached into a belt pouch. A red pill passed through cracked red lips. Soon the adrenaline would rush, and Nuke would prove himself the better Super-Soldier.
Faster than a drug-addled mind could follow Captain America acted. The distance between himself and Nuke was crossed quickly. A fist swathed in red connected at the solar plexus. Reflex forced that little red pill back up Nuke’s throat. Without the fix, he was only a regular man.
Under the chin went the second fist. Head back, Nuke was lifted off his feet. Onto the hard pavement he crashed. Not taking any chances, Captain America was upon him. Two more shots to the face. Each time Nuke’s head bounced against the pavement.
Lights appeared. Figures moved towards the scene. One was a female with long hair that shined golden. “That’s enough, Steve. Back away!”
Always the good soldier, Captain America followed orders. He immediately stepped back from Nuke, his arms raised. The beaten soldier’s face was a smear of colorful makeup and blood. Agent Thirteen spared him a glance before flinching away.
“Did you have to be so violent?” she asked Captain America.
“Soon he’ll go into withdrawal,” stated Captain America. His back was turned from Agent Thirteen as he bent to pick up the shield. “That will make him violent, and every bit as dangerous as if he’d taken that pill. Besides, you need to reconstruct his face anyway. Nuke is supposed to be dead.”
“Pump enough drugs into a man, they’re capable of anything,” Agent Thirteen replied. “That includes shutting down the body so that even a blind man would be convinced.”
“You still can’t control him.” Captain America rounded about to face the top-ranking SHIELD agent. “Or has our government decided I’m expendable now?”
Agent Thirteen shook her head. “Some idiot let that psycho look at a newspaper. He went off on a mission and disappeared on us. I assure you it won’t happen again.”
“You can’t make any assurances until he’s in a hospital recovering from whatever they did to him!” His voice was raised, but this didn’t shake Agent Thirteen. Against Captain America she stood her ground. “There are other people in that building. He was willing to kill all of them to get at me.”
# # # # #
“Not my call, Steve. He’s U.S. Military and I’m UN affiliated. You want the experiments to stop, write to your Congressman. As for this attack, there’s only one person we can blame for that.”
Hot breath struck Agent Thirteen’s face. Captain America glared at her.
“Pointing a finger at the victim got old a long time ago, Sharon. Place blame where it belongs. On those who pull the trigger.”
The slap was expected. His cheek still hurt from the other night, but Captain America gave no reaction to the blow. Without a word, Agent Thirteen turned around and walked off. Other agents had collected Nuke during the conversation.
Rather than watch Agent Thirteen leave or give any sort of response, Captain America bent down and picked up the piece of paper she’d dropped when she slapped him. As soon as he’d seen her, Captain America knew that Nuke had only been an excuse. Agent Thirteen had said it herself. Nuke was United States Military, and she was United Nations.
On the paper were an address, a time, and two initials.
N. F.
# # # # #
Late hours are common in government offices. So are early hours, though one o’clock in the morning was especially early for Jack Flag. Only one light was on when he stepped into the offices. Faint, under the door that led into the Congressman’s office. Working late himself, Jack thought. Likely touching up the same speech that Jack had come in early to work on.
Instead of turning on a light, Jack went for his desk, rifled for the notes he had written up. As long as they were both there, they may as well share ideas before the Congressman went home for the night.
A quick flickering of light under the door caught Jack’s attention. The lamp, or the desk under it, had jostled. Something heavy could be heard falling to the floor. Immediately concerned, Jack moved to the door, opened it without any warning.
Jack immediately noticed several things. The door into the office wouldn’t open all the way. Blood spotted the floor and the desk. Slumped into a chair on one side of the desk was the Congressman, and as far as Jack saw there was no blood on him.
Without thinking, Jack took one step into the office, where a small patch of blood lay splattered.
“Sir, I heard a noise. What is…?” Jack’s vision shifted down, to where the door was blocked. A leg that ended in a woman’s shoe was visible. His breath caught mid-sentence. “Oh my god…”
At hearing Jack, the Congressman looked up, apparently still in some kind of daze. “You need to help me Jack. I’ve done a terrible thing.”
# # # # #
Smoke hung heavy in the air, mixed with the smells of cheap beer and dried blood. Men of a specific sort filled the bar. Three pool tables had separate crowds, the dartboards couldn’t be seen past the rows of spectators and every chair or stool was occupied.
Steve Rogers knew of the place, so he had arrived prepared. The man also known as Captain America didn’t stand out in the crowd, with his denim and worn brown leather. By contrast, the man Steve Rogers had gone there to meet did stand out, if only because he was the hardest man in a crowd of hard men.
Colonel Nicholas Fury was at the pool table, and cue in his hands and a cigar in his mouth. Ashes drifted onto the felt that had ceased to be green years ago. In a game of solids and stripes, he was either way behind or one shot from victory.
“Corner pocket to my left,” the Colonel growled. A hard strike to the cue ball, and it bounced off the edge to strike the 8 ball from behind. It was a straight shot into the pocket Fury had called. He won. Money exchanged hands. Sticks were passed. The victorious Colonel passed easily through the crowd towards the Captain.
“Steve, glad you could make it.”
Strong hands embraced. Thick Cuban smoke forced its way into Steve’s nostrils. He inhaled deep, blew the recycled smoke out through his mouth. “I almost didn’t get your note. She’s losing her touch.”
Fury grinned around the cigar. “Yeah, riding a desk would do that. If you weren’t yanking me. Come on, let’s take a seat.”
At Fury’s approach, a table quickly emptied. The men just got up and walked away, leaving three chairs vacant. The Colonel and the Captain each took their seats. The third chair remained empty. Somehow, two shot glasses full of liquor appeared on the table. Fury took his glass and slammed it, that eye not once leaving Captain America’s face.
“Drink up. We both know you can take it.”
Steve took his glass and took a long sip, leaving the glass empty in less than a minute. Then he made a face. “That’s the whole point. This tastes awful and does nothing for me. Why bother?”
More shot glasses appeared. Fury chuckled as he drained two more. “It’s a damn shame you don’t know how valuable that is. Get a man drunk enough, and he’ll tell you everything. Get him drunker still, he’ll do anything. But most important, make him passed out drunk and he’ll wake up believing anything.”
“That explains some of the war stories I’ve heard.” Steve downed a second glass in two gulps. “Is this about what happened?”
“Yeah, but it’s not what you think.”
“I drove him to it,” Steve told the fellow war veteran. “Nothing you say will convince me otherwise.”
“Maybe I can.”
A third man took the chair between the Captain and the Colonel. His war-lined faced made the face covered with an eye patch look soft. At once, Captain America recognized the man, a fellow veteran from another conflict altogether. In his hand was a full pitcher of beer that he drank straight from. Thick foam dripped onto the table.
Colonel Fury turned his fifth empty shot glass upside down and slid it towards the newcomer. “Captain, you’ve met Frank.”
“Not formally,” replied Captain America. His eyes were locked onto a killer’s eyes, a man personally responsible for more deaths than most armed conflicts. “But yeah, we’ve crossed paths.”
A spent cigar was snuffed out in a shot glass. One eye alternated between two soldiers from very different conflicts. “Neither of you had better make me regret this meeting.”
“I don’t have any problem.” The Punisher’s eyes were fixed on Captain America’s. “One of those thugs died in prison two days ago. Bled out slow from what I heard. My way would have been quick.”
“You’re way leave no room for redemption,” Captain America said icily. “That boy died knowing he did the right thing.” He next addressed Colonel Fury. “I’m fine until this man decides to kill somebody in my presence.”
“And what if I did?”
“I’d stop you.”
“And if you failed?”
“I wouldn’t.”
“Five pieces of trash were thrown into the dumpster on my way here. What are you going to do about that?” The tone of challenge built up in the Punisher’s voice.
A sudden calmness became evident when Captain America replied. “Nothing. The worst I would do is send you into prison. For you that just means more bodies, until the government decides that you use you. I understand that’s happened before, and it’s not worth my time.”
The glass in Steve Roger’s hand was drained in one slam. For the first time his eyes deviated from the Punisher. “Once, I was helping the police track down a man that had jumped bail. A bounty hunter had found him first, brought him in dead. Two other people had died in the shootout, innocent bystanders. The bounty hunter walked.” Steve Rogers raised his eyes. “However many criminals you’ve murdered, there have never been civilian casualties. As long as it stays that way, I have no reason to cross paths with you.”
“Even if you did have a reason, what would that accomplish?” Nicholas Fury had lit another cigar. Thick smoke was spreading among the three men. “You just said it yourself, Castle would just be approached by people that would want to use him.”
“Don’t talk like you’re not one of them,” Punisher added quietly.
Fury nodded in concession.
“Fair enough. But unlike those pencil-pushing pricks I’m up-front about it. The fact is, Rogers, that you’re willing to turn the other way.”
“Up to a point. I’ve told you my boundaries. If I had to sit in that cell, you would serve your time without killing anybody else.”
“I’ve already made those boundaries. Nothing you’d think of would compare to what I plan if they are ever crossed.”
“Suicide isn’t an option.”
“You really think it’s an escape? I call it scum saving me the trouble.”
Wood scraped against cement. One soldier towered over another, heat in those blue eyes.
“Did you have anything to do with that?”
The Punisher gave no sign that he was intimidated. “Maybe I paid him a visit, made it clear what was in his future, and his buddies’. Maybe it was me that pushed him over the line, to the point where he even left a note to ensure his pals would never meet me. Not you.”
“Steve,” Colonel Fury cautioned.
Captain America looked down to see that he’d been ready to throw a punch without realizing it. The Punisher had seen, though, and he hadn’t flinched. Slowly and carefully, Steve Rogers lowered himself into his seat.
“Consider yourself exonerated,” the Colonel told the Captain. “Move on.”
“You’re bastards,” Steve Rogers whispered. Another glass of liquor was in his hand. “Both of you.” One slam emptied the glass. Something cold inside of Steve Rogers warmed slightly. “God help us all, you’re both necessary.”
Frank Castle drained his pitcher of beer. “If God had anything to do with it, we wouldn’t be necessary.”
# # # # #
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Bernadette Rosenthal was in the bathroom, brushing her teeth when her husband had spoken from where he lay in bed. She looked at him in the mirror, spat into the sink, and turned around.
“Not really. I’d rather just forget about it.”
“Seeing him again, after all this time…”
Bernadette cut her husband off. “That wasn’t the same man I knew. At first he tried to be that guy, talked me into helping him. Even before he talked that man into suicide I knew he’d changed though.” As she was talking, Bernadette had walked over to the bed and bent down over her husband. “That’s a broken man, and I’m through trying to fix things. That’s why I keep you around the house.”
Happy and without a thought wasted on Captain America, Bernadette and her husband kissed.
It wasn’t until late morning when Steve Rogers approached his building. Despite the sleep deprivation and the alcohol he’d consumed, Captain America appeared as steady and sober as ever. The night had also been filled with conversation; words exchanged that Steve had planned to think over. If anything those words were having more of an effect on his mind than any liquor would have.
She sat on the building’s front stoop, apparently waiting for somebody. At Captain America’s approach she got up quickly, hinting that she’d waited for him. Immediately Steve Rogers recognized Priscilla Lyons. He didn’t change pace as she started towards him, but when Priscilla was almost in front of him and slowed down, Steve Rogers sidestepped to avoid her and kept right on walking.
“Steve, wait!” The young woman who went by the name of Vagabond grabbed Captain America by the arm. “Please, I want to talk.”
Truth be told, she expected him to strike her in response, or at least to yell at her. All Captain America did, however, was pause and turn his head to look Vagabond on the eye. There was no accusation, anger or even pity in those eyes. All Steve Rogers gave Priscilla Lyons was an indifference that struck her more deeply than any physical blow could have.
“Please, Steve,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
Steve flicked his gaze to the hand on his arm, and then he met Priscilla’s eyes again. “Dane Whitman. Edwin Jarvis. Marcus Daniels. They’re the ones you should apologize to, along with thousands of others that have suffered because of him. Clint said it was originally a scheme against me.” He looked away from her. “I’m past caring about that.”
Priscilla didn’t let go. “A lot of people are alive because of what I did. If I hadn’t agreed, hadn’t joined the Avengers…”
“Was that why you accepted his offer?” Captain America asked flat out.
Vagabond struggled for a reply, and eventually could only say the truth. “Before I met Jack and Dennis, met you, I was a nobody. I was even worse off when Zemo found me. Steve I, I just couldn’t go back to what I was before.”
“When Jack met you, Priscilla, you were hitch-hiking to Florida to stop your brother from making a terrible mistake. So Nomad helped you, and when you were worried about his safety, you went to me for help. You didn’t need powers to care, Priscilla, or to make a difference. And if that was the only reason you made a deal with Baron Zemo, I obviously never knew you at all. Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s been a long night. I need to get some sleep.”
That first time when Steve Rogers pulled away from Priscilla Lyons, she didn’t hold on. Her limp arm fell and she watched in quiet shame as one of the few men who had ever treated her with any respect walked away.
When Steve Rogers closed the front door behind him, he didn’t let any emotion out. When he entered the stairwell and walked up to his apartment, he didn’t release any feelings. Not even when he was safe inside the walls of his home did Steve Rogers express what he felt.
The simple answer to this is that Steve Rogers just didn’t feel anything. He knew that Zemo would have likely killed Vagabond had she refused him. He wondered if she knew that, whether at the time or at any point after. If she had known, there was some respect that she didn’t try to hide behind it, that she was upfront about her motives.
Unfortunately those weren’t motives that Captain America could respect. Priscilla Lyons was just another person that had allowed herself to be used by others. All night, Captain America had encountered that sort, as well as those that refused to be used by anyone.
If Steve had dwelled on it, he may have come to understand, and decided to forgive Priscilla. So he decided that he wouldn’t dwell on it, wouldn’t dwell on anything he’d been through that night. His mind was already clear when Captain America fell into bed.
Next Issue: Captain America goes to Europe, and sees enemies around every corner. Has HYDRA infiltrated the European Union, or has stress finally caught up with Steve Rogers?
One man, particularly annoyed, tore open the hood and violently disconnected the battery. Silence came, in New York City more deafening than any car alarm. Heavy military boots pounded the sidewalk. Another block the man walked, until he was almost directly across the street from his target. Ironically this put him right outside the building that he’d originally planned to visit.
As the man set his heavy duffel bag onto the sidewalk, he thought about how considerate it was for the target to move only a short distance. Other enemies to America should be so helpful. A yank of the zipper opened his duffel bag, and the man removed a small missile launcher. Calmly, he raised the weapon, aimed the sights onto a third-story window of the building, and prepared to fire.
It struck low, knocking his aim high at the last second. Flame erupted. The missile launched. Too high the delayed explosion came. Nothing would be damaged and no one would be harmed. Angrily the man whipped around as the useless missile launcher crashed by his heavy military boots.
Half a block down Captain America stood. The thrown shield had returned to his hand, and he held it down at his side. To the man that had dried to destroy his home he directed a hard stare. There was recognition in those eyes. Anybody could wear makeup, but the features underneath were those already known to Captain America. That the man should have been dead wasn’t a consideration.
“Take the pill,” Captain America ordered. “I want to see how close they came.”
Thick stubby fingers reached into a belt pouch. A red pill passed through cracked red lips. Soon the adrenaline would rush, and Nuke would prove himself the better Super-Soldier.
Faster than a drug-addled mind could follow Captain America acted. The distance between himself and Nuke was crossed quickly. A fist swathed in red connected at the solar plexus. Reflex forced that little red pill back up Nuke’s throat. Without the fix, he was only a regular man.
Under the chin went the second fist. Head back, Nuke was lifted off his feet. Onto the hard pavement he crashed. Not taking any chances, Captain America was upon him. Two more shots to the face. Each time Nuke’s head bounced against the pavement.
Lights appeared. Figures moved towards the scene. One was a female with long hair that shined golden. “That’s enough, Steve. Back away!”
Always the good soldier, Captain America followed orders. He immediately stepped back from Nuke, his arms raised. The beaten soldier’s face was a smear of colorful makeup and blood. Agent Thirteen spared him a glance before flinching away.
“Did you have to be so violent?” she asked Captain America.
“Soon he’ll go into withdrawal,” stated Captain America. His back was turned from Agent Thirteen as he bent to pick up the shield. “That will make him violent, and every bit as dangerous as if he’d taken that pill. Besides, you need to reconstruct his face anyway. Nuke is supposed to be dead.”
“Pump enough drugs into a man, they’re capable of anything,” Agent Thirteen replied. “That includes shutting down the body so that even a blind man would be convinced.”
“You still can’t control him.” Captain America rounded about to face the top-ranking SHIELD agent. “Or has our government decided I’m expendable now?”
Agent Thirteen shook her head. “Some idiot let that psycho look at a newspaper. He went off on a mission and disappeared on us. I assure you it won’t happen again.”
“You can’t make any assurances until he’s in a hospital recovering from whatever they did to him!” His voice was raised, but this didn’t shake Agent Thirteen. Against Captain America she stood her ground. “There are other people in that building. He was willing to kill all of them to get at me.”
# # # # #
“Not my call, Steve. He’s U.S. Military and I’m UN affiliated. You want the experiments to stop, write to your Congressman. As for this attack, there’s only one person we can blame for that.”
Hot breath struck Agent Thirteen’s face. Captain America glared at her.
“Pointing a finger at the victim got old a long time ago, Sharon. Place blame where it belongs. On those who pull the trigger.”
The slap was expected. His cheek still hurt from the other night, but Captain America gave no reaction to the blow. Without a word, Agent Thirteen turned around and walked off. Other agents had collected Nuke during the conversation.
Rather than watch Agent Thirteen leave or give any sort of response, Captain America bent down and picked up the piece of paper she’d dropped when she slapped him. As soon as he’d seen her, Captain America knew that Nuke had only been an excuse. Agent Thirteen had said it herself. Nuke was United States Military, and she was United Nations.
On the paper were an address, a time, and two initials.
N. F.
# # # # #
Late hours are common in government offices. So are early hours, though one o’clock in the morning was especially early for Jack Flag. Only one light was on when he stepped into the offices. Faint, under the door that led into the Congressman’s office. Working late himself, Jack thought. Likely touching up the same speech that Jack had come in early to work on.
Instead of turning on a light, Jack went for his desk, rifled for the notes he had written up. As long as they were both there, they may as well share ideas before the Congressman went home for the night.
A quick flickering of light under the door caught Jack’s attention. The lamp, or the desk under it, had jostled. Something heavy could be heard falling to the floor. Immediately concerned, Jack moved to the door, opened it without any warning.
Jack immediately noticed several things. The door into the office wouldn’t open all the way. Blood spotted the floor and the desk. Slumped into a chair on one side of the desk was the Congressman, and as far as Jack saw there was no blood on him.
Without thinking, Jack took one step into the office, where a small patch of blood lay splattered.
“Sir, I heard a noise. What is…?” Jack’s vision shifted down, to where the door was blocked. A leg that ended in a woman’s shoe was visible. His breath caught mid-sentence. “Oh my god…”
At hearing Jack, the Congressman looked up, apparently still in some kind of daze. “You need to help me Jack. I’ve done a terrible thing.”
# # # # #
Smoke hung heavy in the air, mixed with the smells of cheap beer and dried blood. Men of a specific sort filled the bar. Three pool tables had separate crowds, the dartboards couldn’t be seen past the rows of spectators and every chair or stool was occupied.
Steve Rogers knew of the place, so he had arrived prepared. The man also known as Captain America didn’t stand out in the crowd, with his denim and worn brown leather. By contrast, the man Steve Rogers had gone there to meet did stand out, if only because he was the hardest man in a crowd of hard men.
Colonel Nicholas Fury was at the pool table, and cue in his hands and a cigar in his mouth. Ashes drifted onto the felt that had ceased to be green years ago. In a game of solids and stripes, he was either way behind or one shot from victory.
“Corner pocket to my left,” the Colonel growled. A hard strike to the cue ball, and it bounced off the edge to strike the 8 ball from behind. It was a straight shot into the pocket Fury had called. He won. Money exchanged hands. Sticks were passed. The victorious Colonel passed easily through the crowd towards the Captain.
“Steve, glad you could make it.”
Strong hands embraced. Thick Cuban smoke forced its way into Steve’s nostrils. He inhaled deep, blew the recycled smoke out through his mouth. “I almost didn’t get your note. She’s losing her touch.”
Fury grinned around the cigar. “Yeah, riding a desk would do that. If you weren’t yanking me. Come on, let’s take a seat.”
At Fury’s approach, a table quickly emptied. The men just got up and walked away, leaving three chairs vacant. The Colonel and the Captain each took their seats. The third chair remained empty. Somehow, two shot glasses full of liquor appeared on the table. Fury took his glass and slammed it, that eye not once leaving Captain America’s face.
“Drink up. We both know you can take it.”
Steve took his glass and took a long sip, leaving the glass empty in less than a minute. Then he made a face. “That’s the whole point. This tastes awful and does nothing for me. Why bother?”
More shot glasses appeared. Fury chuckled as he drained two more. “It’s a damn shame you don’t know how valuable that is. Get a man drunk enough, and he’ll tell you everything. Get him drunker still, he’ll do anything. But most important, make him passed out drunk and he’ll wake up believing anything.”
“That explains some of the war stories I’ve heard.” Steve downed a second glass in two gulps. “Is this about what happened?”
“Yeah, but it’s not what you think.”
“I drove him to it,” Steve told the fellow war veteran. “Nothing you say will convince me otherwise.”
“Maybe I can.”
A third man took the chair between the Captain and the Colonel. His war-lined faced made the face covered with an eye patch look soft. At once, Captain America recognized the man, a fellow veteran from another conflict altogether. In his hand was a full pitcher of beer that he drank straight from. Thick foam dripped onto the table.
Colonel Fury turned his fifth empty shot glass upside down and slid it towards the newcomer. “Captain, you’ve met Frank.”
“Not formally,” replied Captain America. His eyes were locked onto a killer’s eyes, a man personally responsible for more deaths than most armed conflicts. “But yeah, we’ve crossed paths.”
A spent cigar was snuffed out in a shot glass. One eye alternated between two soldiers from very different conflicts. “Neither of you had better make me regret this meeting.”
“I don’t have any problem.” The Punisher’s eyes were fixed on Captain America’s. “One of those thugs died in prison two days ago. Bled out slow from what I heard. My way would have been quick.”
“You’re way leave no room for redemption,” Captain America said icily. “That boy died knowing he did the right thing.” He next addressed Colonel Fury. “I’m fine until this man decides to kill somebody in my presence.”
“And what if I did?”
“I’d stop you.”
“And if you failed?”
“I wouldn’t.”
“Five pieces of trash were thrown into the dumpster on my way here. What are you going to do about that?” The tone of challenge built up in the Punisher’s voice.
A sudden calmness became evident when Captain America replied. “Nothing. The worst I would do is send you into prison. For you that just means more bodies, until the government decides that you use you. I understand that’s happened before, and it’s not worth my time.”
The glass in Steve Roger’s hand was drained in one slam. For the first time his eyes deviated from the Punisher. “Once, I was helping the police track down a man that had jumped bail. A bounty hunter had found him first, brought him in dead. Two other people had died in the shootout, innocent bystanders. The bounty hunter walked.” Steve Rogers raised his eyes. “However many criminals you’ve murdered, there have never been civilian casualties. As long as it stays that way, I have no reason to cross paths with you.”
“Even if you did have a reason, what would that accomplish?” Nicholas Fury had lit another cigar. Thick smoke was spreading among the three men. “You just said it yourself, Castle would just be approached by people that would want to use him.”
“Don’t talk like you’re not one of them,” Punisher added quietly.
Fury nodded in concession.
“Fair enough. But unlike those pencil-pushing pricks I’m up-front about it. The fact is, Rogers, that you’re willing to turn the other way.”
“Up to a point. I’ve told you my boundaries. If I had to sit in that cell, you would serve your time without killing anybody else.”
“I’ve already made those boundaries. Nothing you’d think of would compare to what I plan if they are ever crossed.”
“Suicide isn’t an option.”
“You really think it’s an escape? I call it scum saving me the trouble.”
Wood scraped against cement. One soldier towered over another, heat in those blue eyes.
“Did you have anything to do with that?”
The Punisher gave no sign that he was intimidated. “Maybe I paid him a visit, made it clear what was in his future, and his buddies’. Maybe it was me that pushed him over the line, to the point where he even left a note to ensure his pals would never meet me. Not you.”
“Steve,” Colonel Fury cautioned.
Captain America looked down to see that he’d been ready to throw a punch without realizing it. The Punisher had seen, though, and he hadn’t flinched. Slowly and carefully, Steve Rogers lowered himself into his seat.
“Consider yourself exonerated,” the Colonel told the Captain. “Move on.”
“You’re bastards,” Steve Rogers whispered. Another glass of liquor was in his hand. “Both of you.” One slam emptied the glass. Something cold inside of Steve Rogers warmed slightly. “God help us all, you’re both necessary.”
Frank Castle drained his pitcher of beer. “If God had anything to do with it, we wouldn’t be necessary.”
# # # # #
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Bernadette Rosenthal was in the bathroom, brushing her teeth when her husband had spoken from where he lay in bed. She looked at him in the mirror, spat into the sink, and turned around.
“Not really. I’d rather just forget about it.”
“Seeing him again, after all this time…”
Bernadette cut her husband off. “That wasn’t the same man I knew. At first he tried to be that guy, talked me into helping him. Even before he talked that man into suicide I knew he’d changed though.” As she was talking, Bernadette had walked over to the bed and bent down over her husband. “That’s a broken man, and I’m through trying to fix things. That’s why I keep you around the house.”
Happy and without a thought wasted on Captain America, Bernadette and her husband kissed.
It wasn’t until late morning when Steve Rogers approached his building. Despite the sleep deprivation and the alcohol he’d consumed, Captain America appeared as steady and sober as ever. The night had also been filled with conversation; words exchanged that Steve had planned to think over. If anything those words were having more of an effect on his mind than any liquor would have.
She sat on the building’s front stoop, apparently waiting for somebody. At Captain America’s approach she got up quickly, hinting that she’d waited for him. Immediately Steve Rogers recognized Priscilla Lyons. He didn’t change pace as she started towards him, but when Priscilla was almost in front of him and slowed down, Steve Rogers sidestepped to avoid her and kept right on walking.
“Steve, wait!” The young woman who went by the name of Vagabond grabbed Captain America by the arm. “Please, I want to talk.”
Truth be told, she expected him to strike her in response, or at least to yell at her. All Captain America did, however, was pause and turn his head to look Vagabond on the eye. There was no accusation, anger or even pity in those eyes. All Steve Rogers gave Priscilla Lyons was an indifference that struck her more deeply than any physical blow could have.
“Please, Steve,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
Steve flicked his gaze to the hand on his arm, and then he met Priscilla’s eyes again. “Dane Whitman. Edwin Jarvis. Marcus Daniels. They’re the ones you should apologize to, along with thousands of others that have suffered because of him. Clint said it was originally a scheme against me.” He looked away from her. “I’m past caring about that.”
Priscilla didn’t let go. “A lot of people are alive because of what I did. If I hadn’t agreed, hadn’t joined the Avengers…”
“Was that why you accepted his offer?” Captain America asked flat out.
Vagabond struggled for a reply, and eventually could only say the truth. “Before I met Jack and Dennis, met you, I was a nobody. I was even worse off when Zemo found me. Steve I, I just couldn’t go back to what I was before.”
“When Jack met you, Priscilla, you were hitch-hiking to Florida to stop your brother from making a terrible mistake. So Nomad helped you, and when you were worried about his safety, you went to me for help. You didn’t need powers to care, Priscilla, or to make a difference. And if that was the only reason you made a deal with Baron Zemo, I obviously never knew you at all. Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s been a long night. I need to get some sleep.”
That first time when Steve Rogers pulled away from Priscilla Lyons, she didn’t hold on. Her limp arm fell and she watched in quiet shame as one of the few men who had ever treated her with any respect walked away.
When Steve Rogers closed the front door behind him, he didn’t let any emotion out. When he entered the stairwell and walked up to his apartment, he didn’t release any feelings. Not even when he was safe inside the walls of his home did Steve Rogers express what he felt.
The simple answer to this is that Steve Rogers just didn’t feel anything. He knew that Zemo would have likely killed Vagabond had she refused him. He wondered if she knew that, whether at the time or at any point after. If she had known, there was some respect that she didn’t try to hide behind it, that she was upfront about her motives.
Unfortunately those weren’t motives that Captain America could respect. Priscilla Lyons was just another person that had allowed herself to be used by others. All night, Captain America had encountered that sort, as well as those that refused to be used by anyone.
If Steve had dwelled on it, he may have come to understand, and decided to forgive Priscilla. So he decided that he wouldn’t dwell on it, wouldn’t dwell on anything he’d been through that night. His mind was already clear when Captain America fell into bed.
Next Issue: Captain America goes to Europe, and sees enemies around every corner. Has HYDRA infiltrated the European Union, or has stress finally caught up with Steve Rogers?