A deep sigh leaves the Star-Spangled Man's chest as he drops into a chair, his skin still warm from the heart of the stage lights from his earlier performance. While not physically exhausted from his stunts and maneuvering around the dancers on stage as he promoted war bonds to the public, Steve's head is pounding from the stress of it all.

With a sullen shrug of his broad shoulders, Steve peels off his cowl and tosses it aside. "I should be doing something," he insists when he glances your way, "really doing something. How does any of this contribute to the cause?"

He's a symbol for hope, and a recognizable face of justice for his fellow Americans and their allies. Senator Brandt might be right that he's inspiring U.S. troops and their families back home, but Steve could do more leading his own battalion with the super-soldier serum coursing through his veins.

If the U.S. Army had their way, anyone but Steve would've been picked to test Erskine's serum; someone more malleable and willing to be the dutiful soldier they wanted. Someone unworthy to be given such a big responsibility, surely; definitely not anyone who knew what it was like to be an underdog and disenfranchised.

No one like Steve.

The serum was supposed to change that for him. But no, he's become a glorified actor forced to star in American propaganda when they want him to. He might as well sit, stay, and heel while he's at it; be their damn dog and roll over if it pleases Brandt and his men. Steve knew hardship, but none of it compared to being forced to sit on the sidelines when he could make a lasting difference.

His tense shoulders ease when you stop by his side, and Steve meets your eye wearily. "I'm sorry. I'm rambling."

But he's tired of feeling like this, clearly. It's why he lets you sink into his lap despite being Brandt's assistant. He's just a man, after all, and his patience is waning. "I want to do more."

He loves his country. Why won't she love him back?