The drive to Castle's place didn't last long, or maybe Steve had been too busy to notice. With Matt sprawled on the bench seat, Steve crouched next to him, his shield clinking against the roof of the truck as he moved. It took several attempts open the top part of Matt's suit and peel most of it away so he could provide first aid.

Steve grabbed the two t-shirts Frank had tossed at his head to use against the wounds Matt had ripped open. He applied pressure to the front of Matt's shoulder with one and used Matt's weight to stem the bleeding against the folded-up shirt to the larger wound in his back. Matt barely made a sound as he slid into unconsciousness.

Steve was glad his friend wasn't awake to feel what had to be an overwhelming amount of pain and stimuli, but seeing him so unresponsive made his pulse rate jump in worry.

The truck came to a screeching halt and Castle jumped out the front seat and ran over to yank open the back door. "I parked in the back of my place. It's a studio above a laundromat so no one's around to notice. Take him up the stairs; I'll get the things we need."

There wasn't time to be gentle, so Steve hauled Matt out of the back of the truck and carried him over his shoulder as he took the stairs leading up to Castle's place two at a time.

Castle's place was barren except for a cot, a kitchen table, and a series of police scanners and too many weapons and cases of ammo to count.

"You can put him on the bed roll," Castle said, carrying over a large medical case.

Steve laid Matt down, careful of his head. Then he finished removing the upper part of Matt's suit, freeing his arms from the sleeves. Digging around the case, Steve found some dressings, ripping them open with his teeth.

It was déjà vu all over again, except this time he had a full military-grade medical kit to work with. After putting on some gloves he found a package of quit-clot to help control the bleeding and an actual irrigation plunger with saline to clean out the wound.

Castle made himself useful by setting up an IV stand and sliding on a pair of latex gloves. Palpitating Matt's wrist, he found a vein and inserted the IV, then hung up a bag of fluids. Steve monitored his every move out of the corner of his eye.

With the bleeding under control, Steve began to remove the rest of the popped stitches.

There were large smears of blood staining the front of Matt's chest and Castle stared at them with a scowl, resting his fingers at the pulse at Matt's throat. "He needs volume."

Castle went to his refrigerator and returned with a package of blood plasma, cutting-off Steve's protest before he even had a chance to speak. "Don't worry, it's O-negative."

But that wasn't what bothered Steve. "You keep blood plasma in your kitchen?"

"Hazards of the job." Castle set-up a blood plasma IV and inserted the catheter on the inside part of Matt's elbow. "I've told Red he needs to stock up, too. Not that he listens."

"The two of you have a lot of late night conversations, do you?"

It was hard for Steve to picture the likes of Castle and Matt having much in common.

Castle snorted. "Something like that." But there was something about his tone of voice that made Steve wonder if he was wrong.

After irrigating the wound, Steve took a breath before grabbing the sutures. Looking down, he noticed Matt's eyes were hallway-way open, his fixed pupils staring vaguely in Steve's direction.

"Hey. You're awake."

Matt licked his lips, his voice whisper-thin. "Kind of." Then he sucked in a breath, panicked, and tried to sit up. "What about...the kids?"

Steve laid a hand on Matt's shoulder to keep him still. "Easy, they're safe. We got them all out."

Matt groaned, crumpling back against the bedroll, exhausted.

"Listen," Steve began, knowing he was in for a fight. "I've got to stitch you up. There's some pain killers here and –"

"No. Told you…don't use those."

"Stop being a pain in the ass and take the damn morphine," Castle grunted from the kitchen, where of all things, he'd actually started brewing coffee. "It'll make all our lives easier."

"You're…all heart, Frank."

Castle rolled his eyes while he poured the whole pot of coffee into a large thermos. "And you're acting like an idiot. Doesn't the Bible preach against masochism?"

It took all of Steve's patience not to go over and smack Castle with his thermos, instead he spoke to Matt. "We found Gina, she's safe. Her friends are safe. Karen's safe. There isn't anything else for you do tonight. You're not going to protect this city if you don't recover properly."

Matt closed his eyes and swallowed hard. "Yeah, okay."

Steve was surprised at how quick Matt accepted his advice, solidifying a hard-fought trust.

Castle walked over with an ampoule of morphine and stabbed it in Matt's bicep without warning. Matt flinched at being injected and weakly swatted at Castle, his response time compromised by his injuries. But as the drug took effect, the pain lines in Matt's face slackened and his whole body went lax against the bedroll.

"Now we can all have some peace and quiet," Castle mumbled.

"You know, you're a real jackass," Steve growled at Castle while he started re-stitching the first wound.

Castle laughed. "That's an improvement; most people think I'm an asshole."

Steve paced back and forth trying to figure out to contact Karen, realizing he didn't even have her phone number of a way to call her. He looked over at Matt who slept on the bedroll, hooked up to blood and saline, blissed out on morphine. Steve went over and dropped a blanket on top of Matt to help keep him warm since he was still wearing only the lower half of his suit.

"Looks like you made the news," Castle spoke from where he sat in front of his kitchen table. He turned his lap top around to show him the screen. "Very heroic."

Steve watched a video of him emerging from the burning building, carrying the little girl whose name he didn't know. The headline above the streaming news report read: Captain America Rescues Kidnapped Children from Devastating Fire.

"It was like something out of the movies," a young teen exclaimed excitedly. "Who knows what would have happened if Captain America wasn't there."

There were more eyewitness reports, people praising his and Daredevil's efforts, calling them heroes. Karen appeared on screen, giving an incredible account of the rescue, two dozen reported flocked all around her.

He felt a little relief seeing that she was safe and that the children were all receiving treatment at the local hospital. Steve would try to find a way to send her a message in the morning to let her know he and Matt were okay.

Castle sat at his kitchen table, searching the internet, taking notes in a yellow paper pad. Steve wandered the sparse studio, noticing a bulletin board hanging on the wall with surveillance pictures of various people, dates, times, and other information written next to each person's face.

"How did you know to come to the factory?" Steve asked, studying the intel.

"It was always on my agenda; I just got a little sidetracked on the other side of town."

Steve stared at Castle with dawning realization. "You're the one who blew up that warehouse a few minutes before Matt and I went into the factory."

"It was already rigged to explode. I let it blow-up after I interrogated some of my targets."

"Your targets?"

"Scum in a rival gang. I've been trying to figure who's been yanking their chain."

Steve didn't want an elaboration on his methods, but he was curious if Castle had learned anything useful.

"Do you know who was behind it? Those bombs were sophisticated and not cheap to make."

"Same mysterious person who bombed the warehouse tonight. Someone's trying to take out the competition." Castle propped up his feet on the table. "When I got to the factory it was already on fire. I figured it was Red causing problems; it wasn't until Karen almost ran me over with her car trying to get my attention that I found out you guys were trapped inside." He laughed, taking a sip from his thermos. "Imagine my surprise to hear The Devil's of Hell Kitchen was teaming up with Captain America."

"Life's full of surprises," Steve commented.

Castle took out his M9 Berretta and checked the chamber, acting fidgety. "I didn't think the choir boy could find an even bigger do-gooder. Guess I was wrong."

Steve had been ridiculed by people far worse and more vindictive than Frank Castle.

"For the record, he took a bullet in an ambush meant for The Punisher," Steve growled, jerking his head where Matt slept, a rare anger simmering to the surface. "You murdered a bunch of gang-members and their buddies went out for blood. Yet he stuck around, not wanting you to walk into a trap."

Castle swung his feet off the table, resting his weapon on the table to gawk at Steve in the face. "I kill those who need to be taken out. You either destroy the enemy or they destroy you. That's something you should know a lot about."

"Don't compare my military service to the crimes you commit," Steve said with barely-contained irritation.

Castle sat back in his chair, nonchalant. "I don't waste my time comparing myself to anyone. I do what I think needs to be done. So do you, so does Red. I don't agree with your weak-ass methods; you don't agree with mine."

He shrugged and stared at his Berretta, his voice taking on a far distant, reflective tone. "I don't claim to be the smartest man around, but there's one thing I'm sure about. There's no shortage of assholes out there and that's why I'm here." He looked over at Matt and shook his head, his voice filled with grudging respect. "I told him once that he was one bad day from becoming me. I still think he'll cross that line, when all the pain and anger become too much to control anymore. But you know what? I kind of hope I'm wrong."

Castle spun the laptop around, showing tonight's headline about a drive-by killing of a mother and her child. "See, I think this world needs The Punisher; it needs someone who'll dispense pain." Then he scrolled down, the screen displaying pictures of Steve from tonight with the children that he and Matt saved. "But the world also needs people like you and him. They need their heroes and they need their hope, even if it's fleeting."

Steve stared at Castle, his words a punch he hadn't seen coming.

Castle loaned Steve a black thermal shirt and jeans to change into, then cleaned up his place. Steve spent the rest of the night and morning studying the notebooks Castel had compiled on every gang, crime organization, and vigilante in New York; some of the man's observations were oddly intriguing.

Thankfully, even Castel required sleep, leaving Steve alone with his thoughts and hundreds of news articles regarding last night's events.

He stopped reading after the tenth opinion piece and started eyeing all of Castle weapons, wondering how many were unregistered, when he realized Matt was moving around.

Steve wandered over where Matt had propped himself against the wall, looking groggy but alert. "Morning. You slept for over eight hours. How are you feeling?"

Matt stared up at him, his hair ruffled in every direction, the blanket sliding down his shoulders. "I'm hungry."

Castle had gone to the corner store to grab something and never returned. Steve wasn't too heartbroken over it. There was a note on the bulletin board: Left the keys to the truck in the glove box, I'll find another ride.

"He'll return to grab his stuff and find another hideout. He has a dozen all over the place," Matt remarked.

Steve risked driving long enough to grab food before going to Matt's place.

Matt went into his bedroom while Steve carried a duffle bag he'd borrowed from Frank to carry the Daredevil suit. He set the duffle down and opened the closet door, pulling out the trunk and opening it.

Staring at the boxing memorabilia, Steve picked up one of the worn red gloves with great care. He'd only meant to make room for the suit, but now he couldn't help admiring the aged soft leather. It was over twenty years old and had been oiled and well taken care of.

Matt walked over after changing into a different hoodie. "That was what my dad wore during his last bout; he won by knockout."

"I imagine it was some fight," Steve said, putting the glove back.

"He was supposed to take a dive." Matt stared down at the floor, his voice a low quiver as he forced words past his throat. "But he didn't…he wanted me to hear him win."

"Did he tell you that?"

"He didn't have to."

"Maybe he wanted to win," Steve offered, standing up, opposite the smaller man.

Matt vehemently shook his head. "He put all his money on himself. Then he made sure it went into an account set up for me."

"His last act in the ring was of a father, not a boxer. It was his choice, Matt. You're not responsible for his death."

"It…it doesn't make the pain go away."

Steve swallowed against the familiar grief, realizing that perhaps he'd always wanted to help Matt, to fix him when he couldn't with Buck. But now Steve realized in satisfaction, he'd made a true friend.

Steve wrapped an arm around Matt's good shoulder and held onto him as years of sorrow gave into full body trembles of grief. "It never does, buddy," Steve said, supporting his friend through far too much regret. "But it's what we do with it that really matters. You've taken that hurt and gone out there and laid it all the line to help others."

"Sometimes I'm not sure if it really makes a difference," Matt whispered into Steve's collarbone.

"It does." Steve gripped Matt by his upper-arms, pulling him back into a full standing position so he could speak to him face-to-face. "It has to all those people you've saved from harm. It comes from putting people like Wilson Fisk behind bars and believing that even Frank Castle deserves a fair trial and that kids like Gina Murphy get a chance to grow up."

Matt looked at him, listening, and Steve made sure every word counted. "But you have to be careful. I've seen what pain can do, how twisted up inside it can make you. It can push you into some pretty dark corners."

Guilt and regret created people like Baron Zemo, a man so consumed he'd set out to destroy the Avengers, killing dozens of innocent people, and emotionally torturing Bucky. The same thing had almost consumed T'Challa andfilled Tony with so much pain. Vengeance was a soul killer.

Matt shook his head. "I put on a uniform that looks like the devil…."

"Putting the fear into bad guys can be a good thing, but when all the pain gets too big, it can be blinding." Matt quirked an eyebrow at his choice of words, but Steve couldn't help thinking about Frank Castle. At the genuine fear he had about Matt one day losing himself in all that anger. "I'm just saying that sometimes even good people can get lost in their grief and make poor judgment calls."

Matt stepped back, his posture calmer and his voice steady. "I won't."

"You went in the boxing ring with me with the intent of trying to goad me into a real fight."

"I don't know what my true intent was that night."

"Exactly my point," Steve said. Matt didn't even recognize his own behavior. "Boxing is fought one-on-one. Like I said, you don't have to follow in your dad's footsteps. We worked well last night. As a team." He quirked his mouth into a thin smile. "Although we could improve on the whole communication thing some more."

Matt matched Steve's grin. "I'll be sure to work on that for next time."

Steve gladly didn't point out the slip in Matt's words.

Matt went over and finished putting his suit away, closing the lid. Steve helped him slide it back into the closet.

"I can stay here a few hours," Steve said. "It's not problem."

"All I'm going to do is meditate."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," Matt said, sounding as tired as he looked.

Steve debated arguing with him, but he knew there was something to Matt's mediation techniques and his ability to heal. And despite wanting to ignore the thoughts in his head, Steve probably need to regroup and think.

Matt walked over and rummaged through a drawer in his kitchen and returned with a cheap cell phone. "I have an extra burner. My number is already programmed into it."

When Steve left Matt's apartment he drove around the city once before abandoning the truck near an overpass. It felt good to walk, even if Steve wasn't sure where he was headed; it was nice not hear any sirens for the rest of the night.

Steve returned to where he'd previously buried his shield and opted to take the Asgardian chest with him to his place. He was certain that SHIELD had already sent out agents looking for him after that news report—Steve was sure he spotted a few of them walking near one of the subway entrances—so he'd rather keep things close by. He found a rusty grocery cart to carry it in to keep up appearances. He pulled up the hood of a jacket Matt had given him and blended into the background of people the average person ignored.

Steve passed several newsstands and bought a few different papers using the quarters he found in the jeans he'd borrowed. Steve mainly wanted to have something to read, but with a slim hope that the police had discovered something regarding the bombings.

But the only thing the articles were focused on was the daring rescue, one headline catching his attention: Are Captain America and Daredevil the Avengers of Hell's Kitchen?

Rubbing a hand over his face, Steve stared at the chest where his shield was now stored, still unsure where he stood in a world that changed faster than he could keep up with.

His burner phone rang three days later; it was Karen. Gina's grandmother wanted to speak to him. Steve couldn't say no.

Steve wondered if meeting people in alleyways would become a norm in his life as he walked behind a local grocery store that had closed an hour ago. He'd spotted a black SUV a few blocks away, but the driver had been going in the opposite direction. Steve knew Hell's Kitchen would soon be filled with agents, all seeking a single target.

He heard Gina's grandmother approach, her heels clicking on the ground as he came around the corner clutching her purse. She wore a flowered dress and a light green sweater, looking like she was headed to church. He couldn't help the warm feeling in his heart knowing she had dressed up to come here.

Karen walked behind her unable to contain a smile. The older woman stood in hesitation and Karen placed a hand on her shoulder. "Julia, this is Captain Steve Rogers."

Before Steve could say a word, Julia ran toward him, her arms barely able to wrap completely around his waist. "Oh, bless you Captain Rogers; bless you for finding my granddaughter."

For such a tiny woman, Julia packed a lot into her hug. Steve embraced her slim shoulders as she buried her face into his hoodie as she thanked him over and over again. He held her as her words muffled into tears against his chest.

After a moment, Julia pulled away, wiping at her eyes. "Look at me, blubbering all over you. I'm sorry."

"Don't be, ma'am."

Julia stared at him as she pulled out a tissue and dabbed at her face. "I still can't believe you and Daredevil found her." She looked around the alley and back at Steve. "Is he around? I want to thank him, too."

"I'll be sure to tell him," Steve said, but suspected it wouldn't be necessary.

"Please do; please tell him I could never repay him. Gina is all I have left." Julia shook her head, upset, balling up the tissue. "I've bailed her mother out of jail, supported her through rehab, but drugs took her away from me a long time ago. I couldn't lose my grandbaby to them too."

"Do you know why Gina was taken?" Steve asked.

"To sell drugs on the street and pay off her mother's debts," Julia hissed. "Those animals." Composing herself, she smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress. "Thank you again, Captain Rogers. And thank Daredevil when you see him again. He may look like a demon, but he's a savior."

Julia went over to where Karen had waited a few steps way out of respect and the two of them walked away, Karen waving back at him.

Steve stood there until they were gone and turned around to face the shadows. "I really hope you're not suited up."

Matt walked around the corner. He was dressed in sweats, sporting his red glasses and gripping a cane in his left hand since his right arm was in a sling. "Not tonight."

"Are you actually going to take a week off?"

"Until my shoulder completely heals." Matt cleared his throat. "I promised Karen."

Steve could tell that Matt wasn't happy about it, but a good soldier was never satisfied about being grounded. Steve was hopeful that having one of Matt's friends back in his orbit would continue to have a positive influence. "Good. Because I know you overheard that conversation. You do amazing work, people need you, but not without support."

And even as he spoke his thoughts out loud, Steve realized he'd never be able back-up his own words. Not the way he could, or should, not when he had to meet any of his friends in secret.

"Speaking of support," Matt said. "I was wondering if you mind stopping by my place. There's someone I want you to meet later tonight."

Steve walked six blocks passed Matt's building with the intention of doubling back when he spotted two people scouting a nearby alleyway. He could tell they were agents by the way they walked with precise, rigid steps.

He didn't have Matt's level of hearing, but Steve could still listen to a conversation taking place across the street. Ducking into a bus stop shelter, he pulled out the burner phone Matt gave him and pretended to being playing on it.

"We've canvassed the city for the last week, he's probably skipped town by now," one of them said.

The second agent shrugged not persuaded. "Then we'll keep searching until we find something that tells us where he went."

Steve arrived at Matt's apartment a few hours later, unsure what to expect when he entered. Karen greeted him and Steve followed her toward the kitchen table where Matt sat in a chair across from a guy he'd never met before.

"Oh my God, he's here," the other man said, jumping to his feet.

Matt smirked then stood up; his arm held close to his chest by his sling. "Hey, thanks for coming." Then he waved at his eager buddy. "Steve Rogers, meet Foggy Nelson."

Steve was taken aback. So this was Foggy, Matt's only good friend until recent events. The man Matt didn't even like talking about with his co-workers at the community center. The fact that Matt had reached out to bring Foggy here was a big deal.

Foggy bounced up and down on the balls of his feet, sporting a huge grin as he nervously pushed back the long hair that kept falling in his face. "Hi, you're Steve Rogers, which of course you're aware of, being Captain America and all."

Steve held out his hand for Foggy to shake. "Nice to meet you."

"Do you see this?" Foggy looked over at Karen with such enthusiasm it made Steve grin. "I'm going to shake Captain America's hand; maybe you should take a picture." Foggy returned his attention to Steve again, his smile even larger. "Which of course, I'm perfectly calm about."

Foggy still didn't actually reach out to take his hand, so Steve did it for him, and then waited on Matt or Karen to elaborate further.

"He's shooting you an expression of expectation," Foggy said to Matt.

Karen chuckled and Matt matched her good-natured laugh. Steve had never seen Matt so content and relaxed. Camaraderie looked good on him, reminding Steve that Matt and his friends were all in their late twenties. They were young with their whole lives ahead of them, making the reasons why Steve agreed to come over all the more important.

Matt leaned on the back of his sofa. "I called Foggy yesterday and asked him meet us to help Karen and I analyze public opinion regarding your status as a fugitive."

"I'm a partner with a law firm that has started specializing in cases dealing with vigilantes," Foggy said with eager fanfare.

Matt looked at the floor with sudden interest, the muscles around his jaw tight with tension. Karen crossed her arms over her chest, the recent chasm between them still obviously raw and painful.

Foggy's excited disposition dampened and he cast a quick glance at Matt before looking over at Steve with a forced smile. "I came despite my better judgment and Matt's poor attempt at using code words to disguise why it was so important that I drop everything I was doing and head over. Although next time," he said, looking at Matt. "Try show up at my place with beer and pizza first. That might grease the wheels better. And mentioning that you're hanging out with an Avenger."

"I've noted it for the future," Matt said with dry humor.

"Anyway," Foggy continued, still bouncing on his feet. "Matt and Karen filled me in on the PR campaign they've begun and we've discussed the possible next steps for a long-term movement."

Steve felt a like he'd missed something important. "What PR campaign?"

"I think we can turn all the publicity surrounding the rescue into something positive," Matt stated. "We're in the middle of a twenty-four news cycle, all centered on you and the children we saved."

"There's even a social media petition to have the warrant for your arrest overturned," Karen said in excitement. "It's has over a million signatures already."

"Which of course, the federal prosecutor is totally opposed to," Foggy interjected. "But that's not the point."

"The point is that people are asking questions again, there's a massive uproar why one of the country's greatest heroes is a wanted man," Matt said, sounding very much in lawyer mode. "And the one thing I've learned is that public opinion is a pretty powerful force, especially during an election year."

Steve started putting the pieces of the puzzle together; these people had gone this route before. "You're thinking if half the city could support someone like Frank Castle then…."

"It should be easy to get them to demand that the charges be dropped on you and your other teammates," Foggy said. "Relatively speaking of course."

Steve was astonished that these three estranged friends had been brought together on his behalf. "Do you really think manipulating the public and media could create such results?"

"Have you seen how some people are elected in this country?" Foggy rebutted with a shrug.

Karen closed ranks around Steve, moving to stand next to him, her voice and expression serious. "And with my contacts with other newspapers, I think we could apply the right pressure to those in congress who've been friendly toward The Avengers."

Steve still couldn't believe his ears. "I don't know what to say."

"All we need is a go-ahead to proceed," Matt said, waiting on him.

"Yeah, that sounds good."

Matt cleared his throat. "That's not exactly a ringing endorsement."

"I'm sorry, it's great, and I can't thank you enough." Steve spread his arms to indicate everyone in the room. "All of you."

"I hear a but coming," Foggy said.

"But I need to leave the city for a little while." Steve hated to deliver such news after all their hard work. "There are SHIELD agents all over the place and I don't want to lead them to any of you." He wouldn't put any of them in harm's way.

Steve felt a wave of disappointment in the room. Matt hid his emotions the worst, his mouth a flat line.

"I could work out a way to stay in communication," Steve offered, knowing how hard it was for people like he and Matt to form new bonds. "I don't think it should be more than a few months."

Foggy nodded at Steve, his earlier enthusiasm evaporated. "Of course the drawback of so much attention about you being in Hell's Kitchen was bound to draw out extra by law enforcement."

"I'm sorry, I mean, this really means a lot," Steve said with full sincerity. He never thought he'd feel this kind of gratitude again. "I can't thank you enough."

"Are you headed out tonight?" Karen asked.

"There are a few things I need to do around here first." Like going after drug dealers who'd tried to kill them and the children. "But yeah, probably. In fact, I really should get going." The longer he remained, the harder this would be on all of them.

"I'll walk you out," Matt offered.

Steve watched Foggy and Karen as they went through the files on the kitchen table, Foggy throwing a ball of paper at Matt's head which he caught with his left hand without turning around.

"Showoff," Foggy complained.

Steve could imagine the force of nature the trio must have been during their law practice.

Steve stopped in front of the door and took in the scene and tried to push away the accompanying ache it caused inside his chest. "Take it from me, cherish your friends. They're your strength, not a weakness."

Matt shifted his attention back toward Foggy and Karen, his voice rough, posture taunt. "It's going to take a while; there are a lot of burned bridges remaining."

"Then rebuild them," Steve said, squeezing Matt's arm. "Make them stronger than ever."

"And what about you? Who's going to have your back out there?"

For all his preaching about support, Steve knew he wasn't doing a good job of leading by example. "I'll figure it out. And if I get into a bind, I've still got your cell."

It took ten days for Steve to track the meth going in and out of Hell's Kitchen through the Hudson Bay into Ontario—which was not exactly a known Mecca for drug trade, except if the route provided easy distribution throughout Canada and into South Dakota, Minnesota, and Montana. Shipping lanes were kept under the least surveillance. Perfect for drug trafficking.

Steve stood by a railing of the small freighter he'd snuck aboard and surveyed the cargo bay below.

"Windsor isn't the most exotic city I've ever traveled to," a familiar female voice said from a hatch behind him.

"I figure Rome was more your speed," he said, turning toward Natasha.

"Rome's overrated; I prefer Hong Kong or Mykonos." Natasha stood beside him and gestured at the sixteen people lying on the cargo floor with their hands and feet tied up. "Friends of yours?"

"Just a bunch of drug runners."

"Yeah, I've been tracking all the ones you keep leaving gift-wrapped for the cops over the last week. Didn't New York have enough of them?"

"I can't seem to find the leader, so I figure I'd take out every part of his organization."

Steve planned to make good on his promise of tracking down those who'd left five children to burn to death while leaving a nice trail of breadcrumbs for those tracking him to follow—out of Hell's Kitchen.

Natasha leaned on the wall, unimpressed. "Did you get tired of tag-teaming with the devil?"

Steve wasn't in the mood to play games. "What do you want, Nat?"

"Stark was suspended when he entered the Ukraine without permission from that country's government."

Steve sighed; the Accords were already backfiring. And he wasn't very surprised that even while a fugitive, Natasha would find a way to get back into the game.

"Don't give me that disapproving look," she said with a sigh. "You know someone has to keep an eye on Tony in that tower. I've been kind of lending him a hand from time to time."

Steve didn't argue with that. He was glad Nat had Tony's back. "And I'll ask you again, what do want?"

"Well, while Tony is busy dealing with house arrest, there is still this possible chemical weapons factory and the prospect of it being used against civilian populations."

"Are you asking me to go with you to destroy it?"

"Actually, Clint and I are going to do it off the books, but he kind wants to return to his family some day." Natasha never batted around the bush. "He's a little tired of living underground. Oh, and Wanda's kind of taken up residence in Tibet and – "

"What do you want me to do?" Steve asked frustrated.

"When is the last time you felt like you had a purpose?" Natasha asked with a surprising amount of candor. "Did saving those children remind you at all why you picked up your shield again? You certainly don't have a problem wearing the uniform when busting drug dealers."

Steve didn't have an answer; he'd felt a familiar adrenaline rush of what it meant to carry the mantle of leadership again, to help others and feel the pride of service again.

Until SUVs filled with SHIELD agents started to arrive, posing a new threat to the people he'd began to care about.

"The last time I checked, the U.S.—not to mention most every international government—considers me a criminal. And even if they didn't, I'm not sure I would ever want to lead the Avengers again."

"No one said you had to, but if you're so disillusioned about the government then do something about it."

Steve crossed his arms and tried ignoring the fight Nat was stirring inside him, a growing ember that he'd carried with him ever since he and Matt had rescued Gina and the other children.

"You want me to take on the government?"

"There's more than one way to fight, and I've never seen you back down from one."

This was the second time Steve had been challenged to re-enter the battlefield by an unlikely source. He looked over at the cargo bay and stared at the men responsible for poisoning so many lives, knowing there were more like them waiting to take their place.

If the Accords continued to be amended how long before all Avenger action was dictated by those who never experienced having boots on the ground? How many innocent people would suffer as a result?

And if they were never challenged, how would Steve ever be able to find the psychiatric help and support Bucky needed to be well again?

"Do you really think I stand a chance?" Steve asked his voice uncertain.

"I don't know, but you've got a hell of a lot of people on your side, and a very unusual PR team to thank for it."

It was after three in the morning when Steve entered Fogwell's. It still reeked of sweat and old shoes. He couldn't help the smile that spread across his face when he walked inside. As he rounded a corner, Steve noticed a poster on one of the walls, it was water stained and peeling, but the words were still legible.

Live Boxing: The Fight of the Year. Carl Crusher Creed vs. Battlin' Jack Murdock. Main event, twelve rounds.

Steve bowed his head a moment out of respect before he continued further inside.

He heard the familiar slap of taped hands against old leather, and Matt's harsh breathing in his attempt to exorcise his demons.

Steve wandered toward the hundred and thirty pound bag and grabbed the back of it to hold it still.

Matt skipped back a few steps, his chest rising and falling with every lungful of air. Sweat rolled down his face, the black shirt with the sleeves cut off soaked through, a tell-tale sign of how long he'd been at it.

"Long night?" Steve asked.

"The sun's not up, so it's not too bad."

But Matt had kept busy based on the headlines Steve had seen over the last few weeks. "I read about that arsonist you caught, nice job."

"And I heard you dismantled our mysterious international meth operation."

"International is pushing it a bit. I still haven't found the person in charge of it."

"I've come up empty, too. But he can't hide forever," Matt said in a voice bordering on a familiar growl.

Steve had no doubt about that. "How's the shoulder?" he asked, gesturing.

"It's good." Matt rolled his arm several times, his range of motion looking strong. "I did about two weeks of physical therapy with it."

Steve looked on impressed, especially given the basic first aid used to treat the gunshot wound. "Did that involve punching people?"

"No, actually Karen recommended someone to me. The spouse of someone who works at the paper she writes for."

Steve raised an eyebrow, pleased. "And how's it going repairing all those bridges?"

"Rebuilding takes time, but we're making progress. Foggy and I even went out for Thai the other day. It was nice." Matt went toward the bench and grabbed his water bottle and took a long drink. "It helps that we're all working on the same long-term project."

Steve had monitored the ongoing news reports and various articles; it was a constant topic on the Facebook. "I've seen the opinion polls; you guys are doing a fantastic job."

"There are even a few rumblings about the formation of a congressional legal committee as a result. Maybe in a few weeks, we'll see some real pressure on the Federal D.A. to review the charges."

"Actually, I came here to talk to you about that." Steve took a deep breath. "I want to turn myself in. I want a trial."

Matt's jaw dropped as he stared at Steve. Then his features smoothed into understanding. "You mean you want to put the Accords on trial."

"You said it yourself; parts of them are Unconstitutional, not to mention they're in conflict with a Presidential executive order." Steve was tired of being part of any type of subterfuge. "I want everything the public isn't aware of out in the open."

"Including brainwashing programs used to train people into assassins against their will."

Steve would never stop working to help Bucky. "Do you still think that can be leaked using Karen's press contacts?"

"After the response she's received to her editorials?" Matt sported a genuine grin. "Yeah, I think that's very possible."

"I'm glad she'll continue to be involved, because I want you to represent me."

"Me?" Matt patted the bench until he found his glasses and put them on. "I've only been practicing law for two years, and the last couple of months at a community outreach center."

"Not to mention the force behind putting Wilson Fisk in jail and the defense of Frank Castle, the trial of the century the last time I checked."

"That was when I was part of Nelson and Murdock." Matt began peeling the tape off his hands. "And I don't know if you're aware of it, but I wasn't really around for most of that trial."

"Then maybe you can work something out with Mr. Nelson's law firm, or whatever you lawyers do." Steve had no doubt that Nelson and Murdock would be a tour de force.

Matt threw away the rest of the tape and placed his hands on his hips as he stared at Steve. "You're really serious."

"I've never been so serious in my life." Or more determined; Steve had found a battle he felt was worth fighting with everything he had. "I don't know if I'll ever be an Avenger again, but I sure as hell want to make sure my teammates, my friends, are free to do so, and without being handcuffed by illegal documents."

"I still think the principles for the Accords are sound, there are just certain aspects that need to be amended."

"Which I think makes you the perfect person to defend my case." Steve smiled thinking back to one of their late night conversations. "I could use someone to help me learn about the art of compromise."

"You know my attendance record for big cases like this can be a little spotty."

"And if I'm out on bail, I might be able to do something about that, too." Steve had enjoyed working with the Devil from Hell's Kitchen to keep the city safe. "So what do you say Mr. Murdock, will you take my case?"

Matt stared at Steve through his glasses and held out his hand. "It would be an honor, Captain."

Fini-

A/N:

Thanks for taking this ride with me; I was really nervous about posting in a fairly new fandom. This started off a Steve and Matt meet and bond over boxing and took off from there. :

This is a standalone story and it ended at a natural point in my head. I've only dipped my toes in the Marvel universe and I have no idea where the muse will take me next. I'll probably stick around Hell's Kitchen for a while, but who knows. :)