Brooklyn sat on the bed in Steve's room, staring out at the snowy landscape of Manhattan. It had started to snow again, the dusting falling down like an ash cloud over the busiest part of the city. From where she sat, high in the Tower, she felt like she was above it all, untouchable. It didn't help that she knew, now, for a fact that if the power went off in the rest of the world, the Tower would remain lit up, bright and warm. She wanted to be so mad at Steve, for forcing her hand, by basically just packing up her sister and her to bring them here. If she had even thought about digging her heels in, to resist his attempts, she knew he was simply going to pack up Juliana, and most likely throw Brooklyn over his shoulder at the same time.

He had been right, goddammit. They wouldn't have been able to stay at the apartment with no power. It must have been off, for quite some time, before Juliana had woken her up complaining that she was cold. The usually warm apartment had been chilly, even to her, when she had told her sister to crawl under the covers with Steve, assured that the large body of the man would provide enough heat to keep her little sister warm. Throwing on the first items that had come to her, she had stomped out of the apartment, down the stairs to the first floor, where she had banged on the door of the Super's apartment until the uncouth and unkempt man finally answered. He had stared at her, leering, when she had asked what he was doing about the power, until he informed her of the current state of things.

She knew the man had some sort of deal going on, seeing as the building was owned by Mr. Marino. On one hand she was unfamiliar how that worked. But she suspected, after doing a little research early on in her residency of the building, that Mr. Marino must have things set up with some sort of management group, who oversaw the daily running of the building. He certainly didn't strike Brooklyn as someone who was personally involved with anything the Marino family handled.

She imagined he must be somewhat competent at his job, as until now she had never really had a reason to have to talk to the man. Things in the building, for the most part, ran smoothly. Occasionally something would happen, a washer or dryer would break, but they were always repaired fairly quickly. She remembered, not long after they had moved in, there had been an issue with the drains in the kitchen sink. Unsure of what to do, she had called the number on the card Mr. Marino had taped to the fridge, and left a message about it. That same day someone in a uniform had come, and fixed the issue. She hadn't been in the best mindset at the time, and had spent the time avoiding conversation with him, by retreating to the hall, with her sister in her bedroom, watching him for any threatening moves. Instead, the man had fixed the drains, nodded a goodbye with a short smile, and left.
Since then, she had taken a few crash courses on how to fix as many things as she could, herself, to avoid letting strangers into her apartment.

On her way back up the stairs, she had paused for a moment to check on the elderly Mrs. De. Luca. The woman had answered the door, wrapped in a blanket, assuring Brooklyn that she would be fine. It was not the first time the power had gone out in the middle of winter, and she was more than prepared to wait it out. Concerned, Brooklyn had told her that she would put in a call to Mr. Marino, if only to make sure someone came over to keep an eye on the older woman. Mrs. De Luca had assured her she would be fine, but had agreed to let the younger woman do what she could to assure her comfort.

Steve had come into the living room just as she entered the apartment, while she had a small tantrum (she would admit to that) over the situation, before basically taking things into his own hands and putting his foot down over staying at the apartment in its current state. Her protests and plans to take her sister and her to either the Marino's house or even a hotel had been ignored. Even her refusal to go to the Tower had been ignored. Steve had simply bundled her and her sister up into his vehicle, and driven off, stopping to pick up breakfast ordered in earlier by phone at the diner they now were familiar with, the waitress being sympathetic to their plight.

She was more than willing to acknowledge that if she had stayed at the apartment that it would have been hours, if not most of the day, before the power would be back on, and heat filling the place once again. So, yes, she could have fought Steve on coming to the Tower. She could have dug her heels in. She could have flat out refused. And if it had been her, alone, she would have. But when Steve pointed out that they could not keep Juliana in a place without power, all her arguments went out the window. She no longer had a leg to stand on, in that regard.

And while it still left a bitter taste on her tongue to know that he had 'handled' her, as Kitty would say, knowing that his main concern had been for her sister's safety and comfort was a bit easier to deal with. That didn't mean she had to be happy about the situation. Even his assurances that Stark and the rest of the team were basically not on site at the moment was little comfort. She still felt like she was being kept behind enemy lines. As if she had willingly walked into her own capture. And she was very sure, that if Steve wanted to press further, and try to keep the three of them in the Tower, indefinite, there was little she would be able to do about it. The tech that ran the Tower would be against her until she could figure out how to circumvent it. And even then, she would have the floors and floors of people to get past. Since she was trying, so very hard, to not use killing as an option, it would make that harder, as well. Once she hit the ground floor, the space between her and the doors was wide and open. Too much to get through, undetected, especially if she had caused a mess coming down. That was if it was just her along. If she had Juliana with her, it would take longer and have a higher risk of being captured. Her access to an easy exit was blocked. As far as she could tell, the only way on or off the floor she was currently on was the elevator controlled by Stark's British sounding UI, or the stairs, which most likely were protected by a code or even a biometric scan, much like the door to Steve's rooms.

All in all, this was not a place she wanted to be in, or kept in. It was too much like the years of false freedom she sometimes had, while in some of the HYDRA facilities. The ones where the location was as good as putting bars and locks around them. They were allowed to move about, as they wished within reason, but for the most part, they knew they were still captives. Freedom was never so confining, then. The lies of it were like rotten fruit on the tree. You reached for it, grasped it, only to spit it out once you bit into the tempting flesh.

Brooklyn sighed, reaching up to crack her knuckles against her jaw.

If she was truly being honest with herself, the real reason she was in a tetchy mood was because of the brown nondescript box sitting behind her on the bed.

She was well aware, after the first package had arrived around Juliana's birthday, that Papa was going to be intent on sending messages and presents for the major holidays and birthdays. And she knew that while Steve was pretending to be very patient, he was chomping at the bit to get every bit of information that he could get his hands on, to try to focus the search for her father. She didn't want to ruin his fantasy, and inform him that her father had most likely either chosen a place that had no connection to where he was currently hiding to send the package, perhaps traveling miles and miles out of his way to send it, or sent it on his way out of the area he had currently been staying in. What was for certain was that Papa would be no where near where the package had been sent, by now.

Not for the first time in her life, she resented her Papa's paranoid streak. More often then not, it helped save the two of them from issues, both during missions and in their lives. But sometimes, she didn't understand it. Like that time in Siberia, when he had ripped their cell apart, pushing the cot to the far back corner, trying to shield it with as much as he could, to the point where he would sleep sitting on the floor, against it, ready to anything. He kept forcing her to stay on the cot, as if that was the only safe place he could keep her. How the minute they were in the cell together, he would crowd her onto that cot, to the point she had just started staying on it, even when he wasn't there, because the sight of her already on it when he returned seemed to calm him down. Which had been doubly annoying, when you considered her newfound friendship with Yaroslav. She had considered it fear that she would somehow decide to leave him behind to work with another team.

Or how he wasn't happy with her eating the candy that young German guard used to share with them. He kept saying it didn't feel right, to have her accepting the candy. It was similar to how he reacted, every time Rumlow was around, so maybe she could cut him a bit of slack for his over protectiveness.

She felt Steve enter the room, before she heard him. "You know, it's not going to bite you."

Brooklyn snorted. "It might. It might blow up in my face, too."

He came around, sitting down beside her on the bed, reaching for the hand she was currently cracking. Pulling it away from her face, he kissed the back of her fingers. "I told you, whatever he says, whatever he sent, we'll deal with it together. If he wants you to come to him, if he wants his family back together, then he's gonna get a bit of a surprise by having one more member added. I'm not letting you go. I'll follow you anywhere, but you're not going without me. So, there. That's that."

"And your team? Your work with the Avengers?" She turned her head to meet his eyes. "How's that going to work? Captain America on the run, with three fugitive HYDRA assets?"

He shook his head. "It wouldn't be the first time I've been on the run. At least this time, I'd be with my family. Which has to raise the odds of staying hidden."
"The irony being that is why I have been trying to stay hidden. In case he wanted me to come to him." She sighed. "Its easier if one of us is still in the shadows."

"Yeah." He nodded, leaning over to kiss her temple. "But my point remains. Where you go, I will follow. So, there's nothing to be worried about, on that end."

Brooklyn sighed again. "You sound so certain, Rogers."

"Because I have to be." He grinned. "I told you, you're it for me. I've waited so long to find you, and I didn't even know it. Now that I do, I have no intention of letting you slip away from me. I can't go back to that, now that I know what it's like to... well, to be yours."

"God, you're a sap." She snorted. "Absolutely dripping with sap."

"You'll be dripping, later, Babydoll." He hummed, leaning closer, giving her a salacious grin. "But, first things first. Nothing is going to get better about it, unless you open the box. Then we will know what we are dealing with, and then we can take whatever steps we need to."

She sighed, before groaning and dropping her head. "Fine. Let's get this over with."

"So excited." He mocked lightly, before turning to reach for the box. "I'm sure everything will be okay. Just.... can you not try to shoot me this time?"

"You had that coming." She scoffed lightly. "Although, I may have over reacted."

"You didn't." He assured. "I'm surprised, actually that you didn't just put a bullet in me, right in the apartment."

"Blood is a bitch to get out of wood." She informed him, taking the box from him and putting it on her lap, reaching for the tape at the edge of the paper. "It never really goes away, no matter how much you scrub. Besides, if I had shot you there, I'm pretty sure your little Avenger buddies would have taken it personally."

"Nat may have." He shrugged. "I don't know about the rest of them. I mean, they would have gone on to avenge me, yeah, but mainly, I think, out of professional courtesy."

"That makes me feel better about allowing you to go out on missions with them." She finally pulled the paper away from the box, setting it aside. Reaching for the packing tape closing the box she sighed. "I mean, I need to know they have your back. That's why they are there. To make sure you keep coming home to me. Otherwise I may have to take things into my own hands, and make sure they know their places."

"You say this, like I don't have a choice in the matter." He reached out, stopping her hand as she began to tear the tape away. "Don't I get a say?"
She shook his hand off, determined now to get the box open. "No. You don't. They keep you alive, or I'll find out why. If I have to come into this Tower, and knock their heads together, so that they understand, then I will. And I won't be nice about it."

She ripped the tape off, wiggling her fingers to drop it to the floor. Taking a deep breath to fortify herself, she flipped open the flaps of the box, pausing when the scent hit her. Closing her eyes tight against tears, grief slammed into her, making her bite her lip hard. She felt him shift closer, leaning his head on her shoulder, his arm coming up to wrap around her, his hand landing on the other shoulder, rubbing.

"I've gotten used to him being gone, in a way. Or at the very least, I don't allow myself to think about it. I try to remember how he smells. How it made me feel, as a child. How I used to wrap myself up in the blankets when he went away, on assignments. And then, like in August, this happens, and I realize I have forgotten exactly how he smells. How comforting it made me. And I feel like my chest is cracking open. Like if I looked down, I could see the blood pouring out between the broken and split bones. How is it even possible for me to keep breathing, when I feel like this?"

Steve rubbed her shoulder a bit harder. "It's a broken heart, Babydoll. That's all. It'll mend, when he's home and with you again."

"But there will always be a scar." She shook her head. "I'll always remember how it felt, for him to leave me so easily. To just send me away, and turn his back on me. I would have given my life to keep him safe. To make sure he was returned to who he used to be. That he couldn't, or wouldn't do the same for me... All those years together, did they really mean so little to him? That he could do that so easily?"

Holding her tighter, Steve shook his head. "Oh, Babydoll. I don't know much about what happened to the two of you, all those years, but I do know one thing for certain. Your father loves you, so much. How could he not? I cannot imagine that leaving you, after all that has happened, was as easy as you think. I honestly believe that it was one of the hardest things he has ever done in his life. But he did it, because he believed it was the only way to keep you safe. It was the only way he could be certain that he could protect you. He loved you so much, that he would rather send you away, to protect you, than be selfish and keep you with him, possibly putting the three of you in danger. It was the most fatherly thing he could have done. And that he did it, so soon after nearly losing his life on that Helicarrier, speaks so much, to how much he loves you. He put you first. He put you before his own desires to spend his life of possible freedom with you. Because he would rather see you safe, and sacrifice himself, then put you at anymore risk. It's what he did, back in nineteen sixty three, and it's what he did, back in April. He put you first. And yes, it hurts. I know how much it hurts, Babydoll. It's never easy to be the one left behind. But he did it, with the best intentions."

She sighed, still feeling painfully mournful, before opening her eyes. The top of the contents were covered by crumpled packing paper. Picking it off, she set it aside with the package wrappings. Underneath brightly colored paper was wrapped a few packages. Shakily tied ribbons wrapped the paper. "He's trying his hand at tying bows again."

"Oh?" Steve leaned over a bit, returning to rubbing her shoulder. "I would like to say he's improved... but..."
"Yeah, not one of his strong suits." She sniffed, reaching up to wipe at her nose. "Okay. Lets see."

Lifting out the top package, flat and long, she inspected it, before seeing the tag attached to the ribbon. Flipping it over, she spotted the words 'Baby Girl', written on it. "I guess that's for me."

"How often did he call you that?" Steve asked taking the package from her, sitting up so he could look at it.

"I think that was what he called me, before he settled on Brooklyn." She reached for another package, the tag saying it was for Juliana. "I like to imagine it was because that's what they call babies in the hospital, before their parents name them. Baby Girl Barnes. But, I think it was also because I was his Baby Girl. I was the one that was allowed to stay with him. I was his to take care of, to raise, to train, to make sure I survived. I was his, and his alone. The one thing they never took from him."

"And he was yours. He was the one thing they didn't take from you." Steve concluded, a sound of realization in his voice. "I'm beginning to understand your obsession with making things yours."

"Human's aren't things." She quipped, giving him a small smile. "Wilson is constantly reminding me that I can't own people. That there's laws and things that ensure that."

"What is Sam's opinion on if they consent to the ownership? Huh?" He paused looking at her, eyebrows raised. "Because I give my full consent. You can own me, for the rest of my life."

She pulled out another package. "I really hadn't considered your consent on the matter, to be honest. I'm sorry. I should have made sure of that, beforehand."

Steve shook his head. "I don't care about that. Not really. In the end, it worked out. You returned to me, and you took possession of me. That's enough, for now."

"What else is there? How much more could there possibly be?" She wondered, pausing in looking at the tag on the package. "How much more could you ever want?"
He hummed. "We will know, when we get there."

She shook her head, checking the tag. "This one is for Juliana."

He took it, setting it aside. "He really tried, you know."

"I know." She nodded her head, reaching again into the box. The tag was already flipped over, showing 'Baby Girl'. "I guess I should be happy, at least, that he's still reaching out. That he's still thinking about us."

"It means he cares, Brooklyn. He cares about you, and wants you to have a Christmas. He has no way of knowing that you managed to make one for yourself and Juliana. Or that the Marino's have taken you into their family the way they have. He doesn't know that you and I are making a go of it, and that I was going to damn well make sure there was a Christmas for that little girl out there." He leaned over, pressing his forehead to her temple. "This is his way of making sure that you had something. Its his way of trying to make sure you had a Christmas. And it must have been just as hard to send this package to you, as it is for you to open it."

The package in front of her wavered as her eyesight went wonky, tears starting to form. Gulping a deep breath, she shook her head. "I would give almost all of that up, just to have him with me, yesterday morning."

"I know, Babydoll." He sighed, his breath a little rough. "I know. And that's okay to feel like that. It is more than okay to express that."

"He always used to imagine that you would be there with us, you know?" She blinked her eyes, clearing her sight, clearing her throat. "He said he would make you cook the Christmas meal. Because you were a half decent cook, and you would be thrilled to do it. In the fantasy he would spin for me, about Christmas. You were always there. Steve Rogers, our constant companion. You were even living with us, for a while."

"Did he?" She could hear the happiness in his smile. "Granted, I imagine he didn't think you and I were going to be.... well, us.... so there is that he got wrong. But nothing says we can't make that a reality, someday."

"No, he would imagine that there was some boy courting me. He sometimes said, that the two of you would put the fear of God in him, so he would know to treat me right." She turned her head, sniffing, before leaning over to kiss Steve. "I would much prefer him trying to scare you. Besides, why would I choose a boy, when I have claimed a man?"

"Damn right, Babydoll." He grinned kissing her back.

As much as she wanted to let him distract her, to pull her away, she knew she needed to push through, and finish the task at hand. "Steve... we have to finish this... so if there is anything that can lead you to him... you can bring him home. So you can give us the life we want."

He smiled, reaching out to cup her cheek. "That's all I want, Babydoll. I just want us to have that life. All of us."

She nodded, swallowing hard. "Then I need to find the letter. He wouldn't do this, and not send a letter, right?"

"Right." He nodded.

Nodding back, she turned back to the box. She was the strong one, right? That's what Papa always said. That's why she outlasted all her other siblings. He had raised a Queen. And a Queen would not back down from a difficult task. A Queen would push through, no matter how hard it was on her. God knew, she had done it for years. This would be no different.

She began to pull out the rest of the presents, not even looking to see who they were for, looking for the letter. At the bottom of the box, under everything, was the white envelope, with her name written in the bold cursive of her father's hand. Steve took the presents, setting them aside for later, while she gently lifted the letter out, holding it with trembling fingers.

"I know I need to read it. I know this. But I.... I don't know what he can say, to justify all this. Now, after all these months... how can he...." She took a calming breath, closing her eyes, focusing on her breathing the way Wilson kept pressing her to do, when everything started to feel overwhelming. "I told Wilson yesterday, that I was so angry at him. That I wanted to hit him, and demand to know why. Why he felt this was the best course of action. I mean, logically I know he made the best choice. The chances of us being captured went up, if we were all together. Juliana is just too young to be able to dissemble the way I was taught. Emotionally though, Steve, I can't justify it. I can't justify how much pain he's put us all through. You included. You have never deserved this. All of this. And my family keeps dragging you into the shit with us. How can you still be willing to stay with us?"

Steve took a deep breath, rolling his jaw, before he leaned over, pressing his forehead to her temple. "I'm willing, because you all deserve better then what you were given. I'm willing, because I am yours. I'm willing, because I would rather wade through all that shit, just for the chance to have you all in my life." He cupped her head, tilting it so he could press his lips to her head. "I'm willing, because I cannot imagine my life without you in it, anymore. And when I try, I feel shattered in my soul. That's why."

He took her hand and pulled it to the center of his chest, holding it there so she could feel his heartbeat. "This is where you are, now. It's where I keep you, every time I'm not with you. I feel my heart beat, and I know that you are with me. Because you are right. They couldn't stop it. Just like they couldn't stop yours. And they sure as hell couldn't stop Bucky's. We are all stronger then anything they ever tried to do to us. And not just because of the formula, or the serum or our DNA. We are stronger, because of who we are. Not because of what we are. Even without it, I firmly believe we would still have survived."

"Because we are all just to fucking stubborn to die." She sniffed, shaking her head, trying to make light of the situation.

"Well, there is that, too." he smiled. "But I think it's also because we have the heart to do what is needed, when the chips are down. We are willing to make the difficult calls, even at the cost of ourselves. Your father was like that. I believe he still is. So I know he raised you to be the same. And that makes you an unstoppable force, when you have to be. But I also know you can be the gentlest woman on the face of this planet. Otherwise you wouldn't be the woman I... the woman I chose to own me."
She grinned. "I like how you keep thinking it was your choice."

"I like to think I had the option." He grinned back.

"again, proving that you are an idiot. We need to do something about that. I get really worried that you are gonna do something stupid, and I'm going to have to save you. I mean, really. Your survival skill suck, Rogers." she frowned at him. "Maybe we can sign you up for some sort of survival classes. Or at least common sense classes. Something, anything, to make sure you survive the next fifty years or so. Otherwise you are going to exhaust me."

"we can look into it, but I'm pretty sure at this point in my life, it's a permanent state." He shook his head, a small smirk on his stupid face.

Brooklyn heaved a heavy sigh, looking down at the envelope. "Can I do this in private? I promise, I wont run off, if he gives me instructions. I just... I need to process all of it."

He nodded. "Want me to take Juliana's presents out to her?"

Biting her lip, Brooklyn thought about that. On one hand, she did enjoy watching her sister open presents. But on the other, it might keep the other two occupied until she was able to bring her emotions under control. God knew, the last letter had her in tears for a while afterwards.

"Would you mind? I just need a few minutes... just to get myself under control, afterwards." She gave him an apologetic smile. She knew Steve wanted to know what was in the letter, probably more than she did.

"I'll take yours with me, as well, so they are ready for you when you come out. Take your time, Babydoll." He leaned over, kissing her gently, before gathering the presents in his arms. "Did you want me to tell Juliana they are from your father?"

"Yes." She nodded, agreeing. "That's what I want. Juliana should know her father was thinking of her at Christmas."

Steve nodded again, before silently leaving her alone, shutting the door behind him. She was thankful he was willing to give her the privacy she felt she needed, in this moment. But more than that, she didn't want him to see her lose herself in her emotions. She felt she had been doing too much of that, as of late. Breaking down in front of him, it didn't lend to the belief that she was as strong as she claimed. And that may lead him to the conclusion that she was just yet another weak emotional female, and one who was not strong enough to handle everything that being his came with it.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, she slid her finger under the flap, tearing the envelope open. There was an even deeper trace of her father's scent on the papers, as she pulled them out, as well as the faint traces of gasoline. Where ever he was, he had gotten the paper at a gas station. Cheap and accessible, with little real security. And most likely either purchased during the day, when the station was busy so he could be lost in the crowd, or late at night, when the attendant was already half asleep and bored.

Keeping her breathing measured, she picked up the folded papers, and flipped them open, running her eyes over the mismatched ink, and the indications that he had been starting and stopping, as thoughts came to him. Then, fortifying herself, she began to read.

My beautiful Baby Girl:

Our first Christmas of freedom. And the first in our lives together, that we are separated. Remember how I used to tell you how things would be, if we lived on the outside? I'm so sorry I can't keep those promises. At least not this year. My greatest hope is that, wherever you are this year, you are able to make some sort of normal Christmas for your sister and yourself. That you decorated a tree, bought and exchanged gifts, maybe even went to see a holiday event. I do hope, even though you do not believe, that you would go to church Christmas eve, if only for the carols. Not sing them, because I do know you are hopeless when it comes to singing. It has to be said, my sweet daughter, you cannot carry a tune. But just to experience all those things we used to dream about, on those Christmas's, in our cells.

I want to say its getting easier, to remember who I was, before everything they did to us. There are some days, when it all feels like it was just a horrible nightmare, and then there are others when it keeps me awake, and I see potential targets in every shadow, and in every person who passes me on the streets. On days like those, I fear I am not as careful as I can be, almost in hopes that they will find me, so they can take me back. If only so I know the two of you are safe.

My lovely north star, I miss laying my head on your lap, as you hum and stroke my hair. I miss how cool your hands feel, when they patch me up. I miss hearing your little giggle when I do something silly just to make you smile. I miss how when you were little, you would curl up on my lap, and beg me to tell you stories about the outside. I miss just knowing you are never more than a few feet from me, at all times. Most of all, I miss being your Papa, and how that privilege was my grounding force for years.

I can't tell, Baby Girl, if they are still looking for us. I don't want to leave a trail, in case they are. I don't want them to think that we are getting complacent. I want nothing more than to walk back to you. I want to be with my girls again. I want to be a family, a proper family. With a house and a job and a yard and a dog. Maybe a tree to build Juliana a tree house in, like I see in the ads of the papers, sometimes. I want to do all the things we never got to do, when you were little. I want to make up for the lost time that has been stolen from us. Most of all, I just want us to be able to live, knowing we are safe.

I remember, that time in Spain, and you were standing in the field, before we had to move in. You were standing among the flowers, and the butterflies, and you just had this look of wonder on your face, like it was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen. The sun was coming down on you, and you just looked so innocent and free, even in your gear.

I want to come home to you, Brooklyn. I do. But until I know I am not a threat to you, to your sister, even to myself, I can't. You have to be understanding, this may take time. You of all people, should know why I can't return, just yet. Until it's out of me, until I'm free of it, it's not safe, not for me, and definitely not safe for Juliana. I would never harm you, even as that. But I have to be sure.

I have to do what I can, now, to protect you in the ways I never did before. Maybe if I had been able, we would not be where we are now. Who we are now. What we are now. You never should have been put into the position you have been, making the choices you had to, for so long. And that is on me, as your father. I should have done better, by you. No matter what it cost me, I should have done more, to protect you from everything you have had to go through.

But that weakness is on me, not you. You have always been the strongest of us all. You have been the bravest of us all. When I think of how you held that gun on me, prepared to fire on who ever came through that door, even as you were readying us to run, I feel such a sense of pride. I may not have been the best of fathers, but I can at least say I raised a strong woman. I raised a Queen.

There are times when I miss it. I miss the routine, not the captivity. I miss knowing you are as safe as I can make you. That's a feeling that's been bothering me, more and more. I left you in a world you were truly unprepared for. I put you out into this world, without any real guidance. I know you have a good sense of people, having lived the way we have over the years, so I hope you are able to find someone who will be willing to help you learn.

I wish I could tell you when I will be back to you, when I will return. I wish I could, Baby Girl. But I can't. Not yet. Not until I'm certain I'm not a danger to anyone around me. I keep moving, never staying in one place for very long. I can't risk it. I can't run the risk of them finding me, and using me to get you back. Even if they kill me, I'll die happy knowing that they have one less chance at recapturing you.

I'm asking you to remain strong, Brooklyn. I need you to do that for me. I know it has to be hard. I know you miss me as much, if not more than I miss you. Although I'm not sure how that is possible. Moving about this world without your hand to hold is nearly impossible. I don't know how I am able to do it, sometimes. Until I remind myself that I am doing this for you. I am doing this to free myself from the last ties, in hopes that I can return to my beautiful strong daughter, who has held me up for so many years.

Please, please, remain strong. Protect yourself, protect your sister. It'll go by so much faster than you know. What's a few more months, compared to the years we will have ahead of us? We have years and years, Baby Girl. Years to experience all those new things together, as a family. A proper one. I promise you, one day we will have that.

I love you, with all my heart, Brooklyn. As always I know I will find you, no matter where you go. I carry a part of you, in my heart. It beats along with my heart. I feel it, every time I think I will never see you again. It reminds me that no matter how far apart we are, we are always connected. That knowledge beats in me as sure as the blood in my body. You are made of me. But you are not me. I don't ever want you to be. I will do what I have to, to make sure of it.

My sins are not yours. Do not take them, and make them your own. Whatever you did, while we were held, you did to make sure we both survived. I do not hold any of it against you. Your sins are not even your own, if they were a choice you were forced to make. Do not let any of them weigh you down. Whatever choices I made, to keep us alive are my own burdens. Do not try to take them from me. Whatever wrongs we committed were forced on us. There may come a time when we will have to answer for the wrongs we did to people, in the efforts we made to survive. We will deal with that, when the time comes.

Keep that eye open for me. Keep that warmth of your heart open for me. Do not shut me out, in my absence. I don't think I would be able to handle going through all of this, only to find you cold to me, when I return. As much as I am your father, you are my daughter. That special place in my heart, is also in yours. Keep what you have of me warm, so that I have a home to return to, when I am safe enough to do so.

There are time when I think I see you, on the street. I'll follow you, for blocks and blocks, only for you to turn, and I've been following a stranger. I'll hear your laughter in a store or in a market, and turn, and you aren't there. I'll feel someone brush against me, and swear I feel your hand on my arm, the way you used to do. Or the press of your palm on the center of my chest, feeling my heartbeat. I'll wake up, feeling the ghost of your hand on my jaw. You are haunting me, Brooklyn. Stop haunting me. Please. I cant make myself better, if you keep haunting me.

We will be together soon, Brooklyn. I promise. Just keep shining for me, so I can follow you home. Keep being my North Star.

Your loving and adoring

Papa

Brooklyn reached up, wiping away the tears on her face, before letting out a few gasping sobs. It was torture, seeing his mind fracture, and then cycle. Round and round it was going. Returning to some points, trailing off at others. It was painful, knowing she had a hand in her father's mental state. The way he flipped between almost angrily accusing her, to soothing her was disturbing. It was almost like he forgot she was his daughter, for a moment. A level of obsession that not even Steve displayed, and she was pretty sure Steve was beyond obsessed with her.

She put the letter down, setting it on the bed beside her, before pulling up her legs, wrapping her arms around them, and burying her face in her knees. She let the tears go, sobbing into the warm safe space she had created for herself. She missed her father, so damn much. She missed the comfort found in his arms, in the warmth of his body, in the scent of his skin. She missed the soothing sound of his voice, the one that had accompanied the gentle touches after a bad nightmare or when she was recovering from whatever tests or treatments had been forced on her as a child. She missed the constant companionship. She almost even missed the pain that Solider sometimes brought, before the order to protect her had been embedded in his psyche.

Most of all, she missed feeling complete. She missed... yearned for the pain to stop. She needed to know he was safe, that he was being taken care of, even if it was never going to be by her hand ever again. She was willing to give all of that up, all the memories, all the promises of the future, if she only knew he was going to be okay. She would be willing to give her life, to give him his back.

But even if she did that, if she gave up her life, she knew that would put Steve in a bad position. He had made it very clear, in the past few weeks alone, that if she went he would follow. Even to death, he had alluded. There was no more him without her, he kept saying. They were it for each other. Even the thought of trying to breathe without him was painful. The idea that she wouldn't see his bright blue eyes was torture. Even contemplating never snuggling up to his warmth again made her feel like crawling into a cryo chamber for the rest of her existence was the best option.

She had started to wonder if the people around her, the ones who had been telling her that she was in love with Steve Rogers, were correct. But this couldn't be love. It couldn't. She loved her father, and while she felt like she was constantly bleeding inside from the wounds his absence had made, she knew she would be able to survive. If this was love, what she felt for Steve... if something happened to him, if he left, if he died.... she was sure she would as well. It would break her, shatter her, send her like ashes into the wind. She would not be able to breathe. Her heart would stutter to a stop. She would not have the strength to even stop it from happening. She wasn't even sure she wanted to.

She had contemplated that the only way she could free him from herself was for her to die, but she had not figured that his possible death would decimate her. She couldn't consider how she was supposed to continue to live her life, if he wasn't in it. How had she let it get this bad? She had not considered it, when she had decided to own him, to take control of him. How had she let them get so intertwined?

It had to be chemical. He had caught her, just as she was coming off the suppressors, and her body returning to its natural equilibrium. He had stepped into her life at the perfect moment when her hormones, which had been artificially controlled for the better part of her life, had returned to normal. Steve had seduced her with feeling she had never felt before, and because he was the experienced one, he was well aware of what he had been doing. He had used her body's natural responses into fooling her she had any control over him, any ownership. That had to be it. That was the only logical explanation. He had exploited her chemical reactions, to his own advantage.

Because the alternative, that she had foolishly fallen in love with Steve Rogers was... unthinkable. It was becoming emotionally compromised on a scale she had never been trained to deal with. It was opening herself up to hurt that would have no comparison. Nothing that had ever been done to her, by HYDRA, would ever come close to the pain she would endure if something happened to Steve.

Even as she mentally accused him of scurrilous activities in regards to their relationship, she also acquitted him. Steve may be many things, but he was not so cunning as to deliberately seduce the daughter of his childhood best friend, on a whim. Perhaps a lot of it was deliberate, which was very much on brand with the man, but he would not have done it so calculatingly. Considering his mental abilities, it was most likely he fell upon the idea as a way to continue to tie her to him.

She had told him once he would be dangerous to her. She just hadn't known at the time, how much that statement would be true.

A/N: So, yeah. Almost a week. I'm sorry. Work starts at four thirty in the morning. Which means a wakeup at three thirty. which means an early bedtime, and not a lot of writing time, as of late. I am gonna try to get another chapter out by Sunday, but i dont know how well that is gonna work. big shout out to my gf for the proof read! Vote and comment!