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It was a single second. One second in which his life spun on its head. One second, when he saw it all end – his hopes, his life, his optimism, everything. It was replaced by a melancholy, a void that would not be filled. It hurt to breathe, it hurt to live. But he couldn’t end it. Some would say he was too brave to end it, but he knew that this was not some misplaced sense of bravery – it was simply the tiny, minuscule hope, that the one he lived for, would still be around somewhere.
His eyes stung with the tears he refused to shed, his hands ached with how tight he had clenched them, but his attention was fixated on the spot where Bucky was, the spot where he had vanished when Thanos had delivered that ultimate, cruel, blow.
He couldn’t bring himself to look at the others, to see the anger, the sadness, and perhaps the accusations when he did. For how long he stared, he didn’t know. Time had lost its relevance. With Bucky gone, Steve had lost his anchor, the one who held him in one piece, the one who had helped him keep it together all through his life, whether back in his childhood, or now.
He also felt the loss of Sam very strongly, but none compared to the pain of seeing Bucky fade into nothingness right before his eyes. He jerked when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Without looking, he knew it was Natasha. He clasped his hand above hers for a brief moment, before standing and turning to the survivors.
“Thanos has had his say,” he said, his voice sounding detached, even to himself. “We will have ours. The time for being passive is past, now is when we avenge. We aren’t called the Avengers for nothing. Natasha, get in touch with Clint, I want him here, no matter what. Bruce, see what you can do about a rescue mission, team up with Rhodey. Thor, I know that Asgardians will not help us, but I still need you to see what you can do about it.”
He saw Natasha look at him curiously, but he had learnt in the last two years to hide his body language from almost everyone, including her. He had put his game face on, and it was here to stay. He knew he was no longer the leader, but when they nodded, he felt overwhelmed. He chanced a glance at Rhodey. The look Rhodey had was neither accusatory, nor judgmental; in fact, it was a deep sense of sympathy, and a touch of respect.
The others began moving to follow his orders, but Rhodey hung back. Steve opened his mouth to tell him something, to ask him, perhaps, but no words came out. He snapped his mouth shut, and exchanged his blank expression to one of polite questioning.
“It isn’t easy,” murmured Rhodey, staring at the spot where T’Challa had vanished. “I know loss, I know what it is to lose one’s best friend, and I know what it is to have to put yourself back together and carry on like nothing ever happened. I also know you can do it. But you don’t have to be alone in it. I know you tend to blame yourself for things, Tony has mentioned this to me many times.”
Steve’s heart clenched at the name, his face crumpling for a second before the mask was back up. His insides shook with guilt – if only he hadn’t done, hadn’t said what he had, Tony would not be missing, or worse, dead.
“He forgave you,” said Rhodey, as if reading Steve’s expression. “He forgave you, and he forgave Barnes. The only person he couldn’t forgive, was himself.”
Steve stared for a moment as Rhodey walked off. Shaking it off, he himself walked to the wreckage that was earlier a grand building. Natasha was rapidly organizing living quarters for all, considering that most of them were wrecked.
“Steve,” she said, nodding at him. “First floor, back right. Go on, get cleaned up. I’ve spoken to Clint, he will be here in 12 hours, Fury is MIA but he dropped off his pager, Clint is bringing it with him, to see if something can be done with it.”
Steve nodded. “Which room?”
“First floor, back, right,” said Nat, narrowing her gaze. Steve never forgot details; after the serum, it never happened. So why all of a sudden? She opened her mouth to ask, but Steve had spun away, and was almost out the door by then.
He traipsed into the room that carried a placard of his name – Nat and Shuri worked fast. His bag was in there, and so was Bucky’s. His hands trailed over the top of Bucky’s bag before he threw it at the wall in a fit of anger, and his knees buckled.
A broken sob escaped his lips, and it was like a dam broke. Hands clutched at the bag that had lain so innocently on the floor, sobs shaking his body, as he held the only remains of his best friend close to his chest.
He thought in retrospect that it was brilliant foresight to have sound proofed the rooms. His sobs interspersed with angry, hurt and saddened screams would have brought the entire team up to him, and he didn’t feel strong enough to face anyone, he didn’t feel like he could bring himself to speak to anyone.
The anger in him was too precious, to intimate to share. He trusted them, Nat, Bruce, Thor, Clint, hell, he even trusted Rhodey with it, but he couldn’t. He sat there on the floor, clutching the bag as if he hoped Bucky would suddenly spring from it, saying ‘Hey, punk’.
He sat and cried till the tears dried out, till he had no more tears left. His breaths still came in short, harsh pants, but he no longer shed tears. And suddenly, the tears were replaced by an anger, a bubbling anger, and a sense of revenge. He wanted them to hurt, the ones who had ripped everything away from him.
He wanted to hurt them, a cold vengeance filled his very being. They had ripped Bucky from him, they had ripped Tony from him. Though he also empathized with the others (after all, they had all lost someone), this was – this was something he held too close.
The bile rose in his throat as his thoughts went to Tony. His most vivid of memories, his most frequent of nightmares – the image of him slamming his shield into his chest. He awoke with a start. He hadn’t realized when he fell asleep, but his arm was still wound around Bucky’s bag, and he was curled up on the floor.
His hands shook as he opened the top compartment of his bag, and drew out a photograph. It was one that Clint had taken on the sly, of Tony cracking a joke and Steve laughing, his head thrown back, the laughter lines etched on his face, as his eyes danced in mirth. His hands traced the image of a smug, but somehow extremely happy Tony, who was watching as he laughed.
The sense of anger and hurt and guilt in him rose. Shoving back the picture into the pockets of his bag, he grabbed a towel and his clothes, before stepping into the shower. He felt dirty, grimy. His hands scrubbed until his skin was raw, as if to wash the guilt off himself. He stayed in the shower for a long time – the mirror had fogged over long ago, the dirt and grime he had accumulated had washed away long since, but he sought comfort in the heat of the showers.
Eventually he stepped out, knowing he couldn’t put the inevitable off for too long. His hadn’t shaved in two years and he didn’t feel the need to do it now. Rubbing his hair dry, he pulled on a flannel and khakis, the only part of him that felt like the old Steve.
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Work, Steve decided, was the best way to drown one’s sorrows. Work, it worked better than alcohol, than drugs or any other stupid addiction. It gave him direction – a way to avenge his loved ones, but at the same time, didn’t give him time to think about them, about how them leaving had left a deep void in him that wouldn’t be filled.
The team had established a routine – breakfast together, poring over blueprints, trying to decipher what was on Fury’s pager (who used pagers anyway!), lunch, more blueprints and plans, before finally retiring for the night. The same, always. Clint always hung out with Natasha, they talked, they held each other through the trauma – after all, what were best friends for?
Bruce, Thor and Rhodey had teamed up, sort of. They did stuff together, ate, talked, watched movies (after all, Thor had to be educated in Midgardian concepts) – Rhodey also found that Thor was a good listener, especially in grief. But he, himself had not let himself talk. Natasha, Bruce, they had both attempted to.
“Steve,” said Natasha, one day, two weeks after it had happened. Steve didn’t like to call it anything – he couldn’t believe it, he didn’t mourn it. It was just a day. ‘It’. “Steve, you have to let go. You have to talk to someone about your gr- “
“I have nothing to talk about, Tasha,” he said, not quite hostile, but the gentle politeness of earlier lacking from his tone. “I have plans to make and places to be, there is no time for idle talk.”
“Steve, you can’t carry on like this – it was the same when Tony and y- “
“Don’t. Say. His. Name.” Steve felt the emotions in him well up at the mention of Tony.
“Don’t talk to her like that,” snapped Clint, leaping to Natasha’s defense. She laid a hand on his arm, a silent message to back off of Steve. She knew he didn’t mean to talk to her in that tone, it was the same when he’d been on the run.
“Bucky wouldn’t have wanted you to shut away,” she pointed out. He snorted.
“No one knew Bucky like I do, Tasha,” he said, a touch testily. He couldn’t talk about Bucky, it was too raw, the pain. Watching him tear apart silently hurt them all, especially Natasha, who had been by his side in the two years that he had been running.
But that day, something in his face told them that he wouldn’t back down, not this time – he was not going to talk. Clint sighed. He knew that only one person could make him talk who wasn’t Bucky was missing, or even perhaps dead. He hoped it was the former, but he couldn’t help fear the worst.
So many people had been lost, had been removed so cruelly from them, that it was hard for any of them to think anything but the very worst. Clint mused that perhaps he shouldn’t have insisted on his ‘time off’. It was not like his marriage with Laura was working – she hated the fact that he was an adrenaline junkie, that he needed to blood rush.
He had wanted to try for the kids, but then a confession he had made to Laura had thrown that out of the window – they were filing for divorce, and he had had to settle for visitation rights, because he knew full custody with the kind of life he had, was not possible. He was happy that she had at least not cut him out of their lives.
He sighed as he turned the coffee mug in his hands idly. It was still early in the day, but he wasn’t able to sleep. Nightmares shook him in the night, and he found himself unable to stave them off. As he was on his third cup of coffee, Steve returned to the house from his morning run. He poured himself a glass of water, nodding a greeting at Clint, and sat at the island, his hands moving fast over the phone in his hand.
Clint took the time to observe him. His eyes were empty of any emotion, his skin was pale, and his face had a perpetual frown. The smile he had ready was nowhere in sight. This was not the Steve they knew and loved. This was the shadow of a man they had all once known.
“Would you stop watching me?” an amused voice cut through his musings. He looked up in shock to see Steve wearing a deeply amused expression, but the smile on his face didn’t reach his eyes. He shook his head and smiled sheepishly at Steve. He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted when the door to the kitchen opened with an almighty crash.
Bruce rushed in, followed by Rhodey, Thor and Tasha. His face was flushed with the exertion of having run all the way down from his rooms, and judging by the expressions on the others’ faces, they had not been told what had made Bruce so excited.
He waved his phone at them. “I received a phone call,” he said, his voice shaking with suppressed excitement.
“Yeah, big man, we get calls too,” said Clint, affectionately, shaking his head at the man he loved so much, but didn’t have the courage to own up to.
“No, no, this is big,” said Bruce, his expression alight with excitement and anticipation. “The call was from Tony.”
The effect was immediate. Nat’s eyebrows rose high up her forehead, Thor’s amused expression melted into one of confusion and then into something more somber. Rhodey’s face crumpled as the fear melted away – Tony was alive. Clint inhaled sharply, and in the silence that seemed way too loud. A second later, the glass slipped from between Steve’s fingers, shattering into a thousand pieces.
Everyone turned to him. His face was paler, more drawn than usual, his eyes held a deep emotion, unidentifiable, something that had been missing in the last few months that they had been in Wakanda. Ignoring the shards of glass at his feet, he trudged up to his room, his movements almost robot like. At the door, Tasha grabbed his hand to stop him.
“He is a fighter, and he will be fine,” she said, softly, the words meant only for him. He nodded jerkily, clasping her hand briefly, before freeing himself and making his way back up.
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7 hours, but what seemed like a lifetime later, the buzzing of a copter was heard, and the Avengers who were assembled in the living area of the house, stiffened. Bruce and Rhodey were finding it hard to hide their smiles, in spite of the circumstances of Tony’s return. Natasha was nervous, as was expected, but she hid it well. Clint was on edge, constantly fiddling with his phone, with his arrows, generally fidgeting, but no one was in the state Steve was in.
His mind was conflicted – one half of him wanted Tony to come, to talk to Tony, to hear him out and to explain to him. The other half didn’t have the courage. After everything, he felt it better to stay as far from Tony as was possible. He knew that he would have to meet him in professional settings, but he wanted that to remain the extent of it.
The sound of footsteps made him start out of his musings. He moved into the far corner of the living room, ignoring the looks thrown his way. He could hear the voices, one unknown voice, and one familiar, so familiar, as if it were his own. He closed his eyes, as if to drink in the sound of that voice before he could be ripped from it again, as if savoring the sound of that voice for the last time.
“Tony!” Bruce moved faster than he had done in a long time, and reached to wrap Tony in a warm embrace. Tony hugged him back fiercely, incredibly happy to be back with his friends. One by one, they all greeted him, Rhodey hugging him tightly, cuffing him across the back of his head good-naturedly. Tasha hugged him as well, whispering an apology in his ear, which he waved off, planting a kiss to her temple.
“Welcome back, Tony,” said Clint, a trifle awkwardly. “Things haven’t been the same since you left.”
“Thank you, Legolas,” returned the scientist, the nickname slipping effortlessly past his lips. Clint’s eyes lit up at the sound of that name; he was forgiven. Tony’s eyes cast to the man who was standing in the corner, staring out of the window. He could have been a statue, save for the slight tremble in his shoulders, that he attempted to hide from the world.
“Captain,” he said, not moving from his spot. Steve turned, his face a blank mask. Tony’s eyes widened ever so slightly as he looked into the face of his friend-turned-fugitive.
“Stark.” The response was abrupt, detached, but devoid of any heat or hatred that Tony had expected. He didn’t fool himself, he was as much at fault in whatever had occurred as Steve was. It had taken him a long time to come to terms with that reality, but Tony was nothing if not a realist.
Tony was surprised at the lack of emotion in Steve’s face. The man had never hesitated in showing emotion before. On the contrary, he wore his emotions on his sleeve, something that endlessly annoyed Tony, considering that he was pretty closed off, himself.
Pleasantries were exchanged, and they settled in, both parties catching the other up on the events that had happened to them since the last time they had met, or heard from the other. Tony and Steve studied each other over the days – not precisely hiding, but definitely not an in-your-face sort of studying.
Steve noticed the way Tony had a resigned air about him; he had simply given up. His features were normally stoic, but sometimes, when he thought no one was looking, his face would crumple as he mulled over the losses in the last few months. He had heard of how he had taken Peter Parker under his wing and could only think of how hard Tony might have taken that loss. He saw how Tony shied away from any form of contact, even from Rhodey.
Tony noticed the war-worn ways of Steve, how he flinched from sudden loud noises. How he looked around, as if looking for someone, but then, slightly slumped before squaring his shoulders, and going on with whatever he had begun. He noticed the more and more sunken look in his eyes, as the days passed and he drowned himself in work. This was borderline ridiculous, even he didn’t use work so much as an escape route.
Three months later, he decided he had had enough. He walked to Tasha’s room, and waited for her to let him in. He entered when she did, stopping at the doorway.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, confused. “I mean, not that you shouldn’t be here, but what are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you.”
“Talk,” she said, indicating the chair next to the bed.
He sank down on it, before taking a deep breath. “What has been going on with Steve?” he asked, without beating around the bush.
“What do you mean?” she asked, sinking into the other chair, tilting her head at him in curiosity.
“He seems different,” said Tony, his hand rubbing down his face. “I have made peace with the situation we went through, I may never have love lost for Barnes, but what happened wasn’t in anyone’s hands, except HYDRA. But this, this is different. He is different.”
“War changes everyone, Antoshka,” she said, gently. “He saw Bucky and Sam die, and I know you know what that means, you saw Parker die.”
“Disappear, not die,” he said, his voice momentarily harsh. “I know war changes everyone, but this isn’t just that. He doesn’t do anything but work. I used work as a temporary respite from my issues and problems, but this is more than that, it is not healthy for him to live like this, super soldier or not.”
“He… is a changed man, Tony. He breathes but he isn’t exactly the epitome of lively happiness. Bucky meant much more to him than I can begin to comprehend. Their relation was something beyond what we can fathom.”
“That I can believe. I can also understand his emotions, but I cannot understand his lack of them. He isn’t showing emotions. He has never had a problem with showing his emotions before, they’ve always been open for everyone to see.”
“Tony, Steve’s anchor was Bucky. He relied on Bucky to hold him, no matter what, and that was ripped from him in the cruelest way. It isn’t unlike how attached you had grown to Peter.”
“There is one more thing,” said Clint, walking into the room, not caring that he had been caught eavesdropping.
“Tell me,” said Tony. He was determined to bring Steve back, to bring back the man he knew and he respected. That was what he didn’t understand about himself – he hated Steve for hiding the truth, for siding with Bucky, for basically running away, but his respect for Steve remained. He respected the loyalty Steve had, and he saw the flaws that the others didn’t.
To the world, Steven Grant Rogers was an upright man, with high morals, and an incredible devotion to the country. To Tony, he was a man who would put his identity and existence on the line for the people who mattered to him. To the world, Steve was Captain America, the hero. But Tony had seen the man, the survivor, the friend, and the broken warrior that he was. The chink in his armor didn’t detract from his appeal, his heroism; quite to the contrary, it made it more real.
“Steve trusts you more than any of us,” said Clint, bluntly.
“That makes no sense. The Accords, Barnes, after all that, he won’t even want to be near me, leave along trust me. The whole idea is preposterous.”
“No, it isn’t,” said Natasha. “We have often tried to sugar coat things for him. For us, he was a guy with a high moral compass. For you, he was a guy. It is the same as he treats you – not a hero, not a superhero, a man. You’ve never tried to talk sweet to Steve, or to try and soften the blows. It is what it is, and for that, you have earned Steve’s respect and trust.”
Tony sat back in his chair as he contemplated this. It was hard to believe that, but it made sense. Didn’t it hurt the trust the most when he found out about Barnes? Why? Because he had trusted Steve above most. Steve had never lied to protect him, so he didn’t get the need this time. He had always given as good as he had got, and that alone in Tony’s eyes had given him a position few others had earned.
He stood up, leaving Tasha and Clint talking, and walked out without really seeing where he was going. His brain was swimming with the information he had just heard. He knew that Steve had PTSD (which of them didn’t, really?), but this? This was something else, and he found himself wanting to help Steve in any way he could. He needed to help him, before Steve destroyed himself on the inside, before he became the man that Tony was before Steve walked into his life.
His feet took him in the general direction of Steve’s room. He stopped about ten feet away from the door to the room. Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door. What he saw was enough to break anyone’s heart.
Clutching Bucky’s bag to his chest, Steve was talking to it. It had become a daily ritual to him – to talk into thin air, addressing Bucky while holding his bag. Many might call him crazy, but it grounded him, as only Bucky could.
Whether it was getting into trouble at school, whether it was the beatings from the other boys down the street back at Brooklyn, it was always Bucky who grounded him, and so it was today. He was so caught up in talking that he didn’t hear the doorknob turn until the door was open, revealing a worried (and somewhat flabbergasted) Tony Stark.
“Tony,” he said, his tone neutral as his eyes blinked the tears back with a practiced ease. This didn’t go unmissed by Tony, who was himself the master of that particular expression, a mask of indifference and of polite curiosity.
“Hey, I came to fetch you for dinner,” he invented, his eyes belying his calm exterior. Steve tilted his head to survey Tony.
“Dinner? At 6?” asked Steve, his eyebrows rising challengingly.
“Okay, fine. That was crappy. I am here to check on you.”
“Who told you to?” said Steve, his tone sharp. “Was it Tasha? If it was, tell her she may be the Black Widow, but I have a few tricks up my sleeve that I have known since I was 16, and that’s a tall order considering I am borderline a century old.”
“It was nobody,” said Tony, cutting through Steve’s tirade. “I came to check because in the last 13 weeks I have been here, the number of times I have seen you I can count off one hand. You’re cooping yourself up and you have the unhealthiest dealing mechanism.”
“Says the man who has spent 76 hours in that bloody lab, till he had to be dragged forcibly outside so he would not faint and blow something up?”
“Bl- Rogers, Starks don’t blow things up unless they want to!”
“Tony, please,” said Steve. “I am in no mood to socialize.” Steve realized his tone was a little sharp, but he couldn’t help himself. Tony ignored him.
“Then talk. Talk to me. You said you have forgiven me, I know I have forgiven you, but we aren’t as close as you and Tasha. Sometimes, that makes it easier to talk. I can’t talk to Rhodey very easily because I am scared, he will hurt in my hurt.”
Steve looked at him with an expression that was both confused and respectful. “You’ve spent a lot of time thinking.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a statement, a matter of fact statement. Tony tilted his head. “I haven’t had a lot to do but think in the last couple of years,” he said, his tone suddenly closed off. “If you are sure you don’t want to come, I will just- “ He rose as if to leave, but Steve suddenly reached out to grab his wrist.
“Tony! Don’t go. Please?” Steve eyes were pleading. His voice shook under that careful pretense, and Tony saw right through it. He sat back down, retaking his position next to Steve. They sat in a companionable silence for a while, much to both Steve and Tony’s surprise.
“Bucky was always there, you know?” Steve said, finally breaking the silence. “When I came back from the ice, I had resigned myself to the fact that I would never have Buck back, that he was gone, forever. Then he came back. He came back, and I thought that I could breathe freely again. And then… the way he went. It was not fair.”
His eyes had filled with tears somewhere through the middle of his monologue. He brushed at them impatiently.
“I know that Bucky…” he trailed off, bracing himself for the inevitable argument, knowing he had to do this, even at the risk of breaking the tentative truce that they had forged. “I know that Bucky was the one who killed your parents. I know the anger, I may not feel what you do, the anger, the hurt, the sorrow, but I do understand. I don’t blame you for how you reacted. I just was scared. I feared losing Buck again, especially when whatever happened was when he was not in his right mind, when he was forced into it by HYDRA.”
“I understand that you will be unable to forgive me for it, not when I did what I did, but believe me, I was so scared that I did what I thought was okay. But it wasn’t - it wasn’t, and I have spent all my waking moments between then and now thinking that. Tony, for all it’s worth, I am sorry. I am so sorry.”
He stared down at his hands. He couldn’t bring himself to look up at Tony, and see the anger, the hurt, the tears he had seen back in Siberia, when they had faced-off. He couldn’t see all the emotion he had put there, the fragments of the trust and respect they’d once had.
“I forgave you before I forgave myself, Steve.”
He was startled out of his self-deprecating thoughts by Tony’s voice, surprisingly calm, surprisingly soothing. He jerked his head up, hope blooming in his chest, despite his attempts to stomp on them, to stop himself from being hurt, from hurting Tony again.
“It was hard to see what we had built so careful, a team, a family of misfits, being torn apart over us, you and I, and Barnes in a weird way, but it happened. I realized later that I would have probably done the same, had it been Rhodey in Barnes’ place. I understand. I do.”
Tony swallowed. This was the hard part. Admitting he was in the wrong. But he had to do it, and he would do it.
“I am sorry, as well. I didn’t think,” he admitted, softly. “I was angry, and I didn’t see things straight. My mother would be ashamed of what I became, in the quest to seek ‘revenge’. I didn’t see reason; I didn’t think of why you supported Barnes. The last couple of years, I spent thinking and wondering why you did what you did, and the more I think, the more stupid it all seems.”
“I know what you mean,” said Steve, a ghost of a smile crossing his lips. His first real one since Tony had come. “It really does seem such a small thing in the larger picture, doesn’t it? What with so many people gone.” His voice clogged up at the last word, his thoughts immediately going to the disappearing forms of Sam and Bucky.
“Steve, hey,” Tony said, taking his hand tentatively. “We will do this, yeah? No matter what, we will avenge them. For everyone we lost. For Barnes, for Peter.” His voice shook at the last name, his entire body going rigid. Without thinking, without planning it, Steve pulled him close, pressing his lips to Tony’s.
For a moment he thought he’d misread all the indicators; he pulled back, releasing Tony’s shirt, his lips about to pull away, when Tony responded, twisting his body to a better angle, his hand finding Steve’s shirt, other hand cupping the back of his neck. For several moments they kissed; there was nothing hurried about the kiss, just a slow, lazy kiss, in which they poured in all their emotions, something pure and heartbreakingly sweet.
After long moments, they broke apart, gasping for air. A pink flush had spread over Steve’s cheeks, creeping rapidly down his neck. Tony reached over, brushing fingers over Steve’s cheeks.
“You’ve no idea how long I have waited for you to do that,” confessed Tony, a smile creeping up his face. “No, really,” he added, watching a slight skepticism on Steve’s face. “Steve, is this some one off thing? Because if it is, please, please tell me now; I have waited too long to ask you out, and if you are only kissing me in a weak moment that we both were caught in, it would wreck m-!”
He was cut off by warm lips covering his own in a sweet, chaste kiss that was cut off when Steve murmured – “It’s as real for me as it is for you. I really want to give us a chance, Tony. It’s been so long, I’ve wanted to do that since forever.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. I want to do this properly, Tony. Will you go out with me, Tony? When I thought you weren’t coming back, I couldn’t breathe. Bruce told me you were missing, you’d gone somewhere. When Bucky left and we didn’t know where you were…”
Steve trailed off, shaking his head as if to get rid of those thoughts. Tony’s grip on his hand tightened. “I will, Steve, I will. But promise me something.”
“Anything.”
“Never hide anything from me, again. I would never be able to handle this once more.”
“I promise. I will always talk to you. We will have our ups and downs, we are both stubborn, as hell, and we will fight a lot but I swear, I won’t hide from you again. I don’t want to lose one of the people who matter to me the most.”
The answering smile from Tony was worth it all, thought Steve, thinking back to it later that day. They may not be completely alright, yet, but they were on their way to it.