5It's a Tuesday when Steve Rogers decides he needs a break. He just wakes up and realizes that if he sees one more reporter or shakes hands with one more politician or has to fill out one more S.H.I.E.L.D. form, he's going to snap and do something he'll regret.
So he packs a change of clothes and his sketchbooks and his pencils and a toothbrush, and climbs on his motorcycle and just- leaves.
He leaves a note, of course: "Need some time alone. It may be a while before I come back. Coulson knows where to find me if it's an emergency." He hasn't told Coulson anything, any more than the rest of his team, but he doesn't think for a second the Coulson won't know where he is.
The team will do fine without him for a bit. They're all good people. He can leave the world in their hands until it's time to go back.
He buys some food at a Walmart on the drive there. He wears his baseball cap low and no one even looks at him twice.
He sets up in a cabin in the woods. Nice and isolated and no way to contact the outside world at all. He left his cell phone back at the tower, anyway.
When he gets there, he parks the motorcycle under a tree, throws his duffel by the bed, puts away the food, and sits on the porch sketching until the sun goes down.
He sleeps to the sounds of insects and leaves rustling in the wind.
Tony's the first to find him the next morning. Steve groans when he hears the roar of the repulsors and goes outside to see Tony yank off the helmet and tuck it under his arm.
Tony says, "Hey, Cap," strolls inside and spends about thirty minutes going through the tiny kitchen and complaining about the absence of anything even resembling vodka. Then he shakes his head sadly, says, "You abandoned your phone. I thought we'd civilized you," puts the helmet back on and flies away.
Steve puts the cabinets back in order and continues yesterday's sketch.
It's the afternoon when he feels the back of his neck prickle. He turns around, slowly, and sees Clint perched in the closest tree, staring right at him with a sniper's intensity.
"Farms are cooler," says Clint, and then bounds away, jumping from branch to branch until Steve can't see him anymore.
The Hulk is next. He comes crashing up to the cabin and thumps to a seat between Steve and the sunset. Steve puts away his sketchpad and sighs.
"WHY STEVE GO AWAY."
"It's not you, fella. I just need some quiet for a bit."
Hulk nods solemnly, but he still doesn't leave until Steve gives him a can of beans, and even then he stomps away with a sad, dragging step, looking back at Steve every two feet, hugging the beans to his chest.
Around midnight Steve jolts awake from a dead sleep to see Natasha's face floating in the window, a pale oval in the night. She mouths, "Very sloppy, Cap," flickers a mocking salute, and then disappears.
Steve isn't startled at all when there's a flash of lightning and a rumble of thunder and he opens the door to see Thor, cape fluttering, in the morning fog.
"I only wanted to see that you are indeed well, Shield-brother!" he booms, and then flies away in another bolt of lightning. The grass is scorched where he stood.
It is 8:05 AM exactly when there's a knock on the door. Steve opens it to see Coulson, a black car behind him. Coulson takes out his phone, taps the screen and holds it up.
"GET THE FUCK BACK HERE, ROGERS. BANNER KEEPS TURNING INTO THE HULK. WHO CRIES. ROMANOV AND BARTON HAVE SCARED AWAY THIRTY-TWO JUNIOR AGENTS, WHICH IS TWICE AS MANY AS USUAL. THOR IS STRESS-EATING POP-TARTS. AND STARK'S MADE SOME SORT OF NUCLEAR DOOM BLENDER. GET IN THE FUCKING CAR."
Coulson taps the phone again and slides it into his suit pocket.
"Someone will be by later to collect your motorcycle," he says.
Steve grabs his duffel, which is already packed, and gets in the car.
"Thank God," he says. The country was awful. He'd done his time in the wilds with the Commandos. He misses skyscrapers. And Brooklyn. And hot dogs.
He's going to keep growing out the beard, though.