All things taken into consideration, Steve finds himself relieved that super villians never rest. He is on mission after mission when he returns back to the tower. His team mates say nothing of the considerable lack of Skye. Well Stark tried and got an elbow into his gut by Barton before he barely got three words out. Steve tries not to care. It's hard not to care when he hears how this Kree tried to kill Skye or that Sif was insistent about her going to Asgard. But Steve does what he does best - putting on good guy Captain Roger's mask and pretending that he's alright.

At night when he isn't busy being Captain America or searching for Bucky, he sits on the couch, the blue couch, and nurses a nightcap that is really isn't a nightcap but more of the whole bottle. He wonders what's worse - that he can't be drunk when he so desperately wants to or that he's starting to get used to the burn down his throat and now has upgraded to the vodka that Barton swears never to touch again. The clawing void in him seems to flutter with every breath and the sound of his breathing seems to echo in the empty apartment. Steve knows it's only in his mind but the hollowness feels almost tangible.

He hates the lull more than ever. It used to be filled with Skye and him taking off to do stupid things like those locked door games. Skye would sigh with that look in her eyes and say 'no Steve, you're not going to use your super strength to pull the door open.' Picnics, dancing that was less dancing and more of them swaying on the spot with her head tucked into the corner of his neck, things that he can't do any more.

A hand taps him on the shoulder. "Steve?" It isn't Skye and he isn't sure if he is relieved that that pang of disappointment when he thinks of that has been subsiding. Part of him is scared that one day he would stop loving Skye the way she said he would.

"Barton?"

The blonde man sinks into the seat beside him and flips the lamp on. "What's that? The sixth bottle?" He points at the vodka bottle in Steve's hand. "Nat's gonna flip if she finds out that you've been drinking her secret stash." He takes a swig and grimaces. "Shit. The thing's as nasty as I remembered it to be."

"So is it the whole Bucky thing, Steve, or is it the whole Skye thing?" Barton arches an eyebrow and not too slyly pushes the bottle away from Steve. "You know you're gonna have to replace this right? Not sure how you'll be finding 'real' Russian Vodka." He air-quotes with a roll of his eyes.

Steve isn't sure if it's Bucky or Skye. Even when he had nothing, he had Bucky but even that has changed since he woke up in this century. He rests his palm against his forehead. It wasn't that everything had changed when he woke up, it was everything changed when he met Skye. If he had to pick between one of them, it would have been Skye every time. A sentiment that Bucky would have understood.

"Just not been my month." He replies at length. He leans his elbows on his knees, head pressing against his clasped hands. "Just so very tired."

"You know…" Barton starts and takes another swig of that vodka with a twist of his lips. "I think you might have been going about the wrong way." He cocks his head at him. "You keep acting like you're okay when clearly you're not. You need to acknowledge it before you can move past it."

"But I don't want to move past it," Steve snarls savagely.

"Then what? What is it you want? Out of life? Out of this?" He motions at the darkened room.

The room's in a mess, bottles scattered on the floor, bags tied with zip ties for throwing, even the books that he had once kept ordered preciously was strewn over the table and chairs. No, Steve doesn't want to live like this. He knows this is no way to live. He can't keep wasting away, waiting, and praying for her to come back, waiting for her 'space' to include him.

Three months.

It's been three months since he saw her. Just three months and shit, it feels like a damn eternity. Steve runs a hand down his face, his mind trying to fit things into an orderly manner.

"Okay." Barton interjects before Steve even gets a word out. "You can decide what you want to do. Whether you want to continue your search for your buddy or pining for the girl that isn't your soul mate any more. Whatever your decision is, you have my support." He squeezes his shoulder tightly, frowns then adds. "Though I wouldn't pine for Skye with you. It would be weird. Plus. Pining for a girl? Dude. Seriously?"

Steve chuckles weakly. "Thanks Barton."

"You've got to stop calling me Barton! Call me Clint already!"