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When she met him, he wasn’t Captain America. When she met him, he wasn’t holding a shield, wasn’t handing out orders left and right in that infuriatingly steady voice of his, wasn’t staring down death with an unshakeable, resolute hope.
When she met him, he was Steve Rogers. He wore button-front checkered shirts in soft earthy tones and neatly pressed jeans and loafers with laces tied in little bows. He held a beat-up journal in one hand and a fountain pen in another, and yet he still spoke in that always-calm voice, though instead of orders, he told stories and shared pain and made her feel just a little bit less alone. Right after she would have this thought, though, she’d blush a little, because of course he made her feel safe: that was his job.
He sat in their circle, leading them in a quiet, steady sort of way, always making notes in his journal. She often had wondered what he said about her, what her name looked like scrawled in his untidy hand, or if he’d sketched her like he’d drawn Mrs. Mildred the one time she accidentally caught a peek at the pages. Or maybe the picture had been a one-off thing, because she’d later stumbled across him pressing the penciled sketch into Mildred’s shaking hands after a meeting while she murmured about how her son had drawn her before… Before the snap.
She had lost people, too. They all had. She watched coworkers disappear before her eyes, running from cubicle to cubicle in search of life, inhaling particles of dust and choking on ash. And even worse had been the radio silence on the other end of the phone as she called home once, twice, three times. Now, she visited their spots on the rows of memorials and traced her fingers over their names-- mother, father, brother, sister. She was alone, and in those months afterwards she’d considered doing the worst until she happened across that flyer posted in a vacant storefront window, advertising a support group for survivors of the snap.
Where do we go, now that they’re gone? The words reverberated against her soul that day, and she’d memorized the address, promising herself she’d go just once, so that when it all ended, she could at least say that she tried to live. That first visit quickly turned into a second, and then a third, and it was somehow five years later and she still sat in that circle once a month and tried to make sense of where it had all gone so wrong. Except now, things were different. Now, she wasn’t quite so alone.
“Let’s go home.” Steve’s smooth fingers grasped hers, and he smiled gently at her as he led her out the glass-faced doors and into the quiet street.
She still flinched at the stillness of the air, though the time when Brooklyn’s streets were bustling with the yells of children running up and down the alleys and business men making deals on their cellphones seemed like a lifetime ago. She and Steve crossed the street in silence, him still holding onto her hand. It wasn’t until they were two blocks away from the strip center that housed the support group meetings that he spoke.
“How are you holding on?” Steve asked, and as their eyes met she saw the exhaustion that lied within his that he wasn’t quite quick enough to mask.
Those were their code words, the things only they spoke to each other because of course they weren’t okay, everything was awful, and daring to ask someone “are you alright?” felt like a slap in the face. Holding on was all they were doing-- grasping onto life, sanity, whatever you wanted to call it by a thin string. So, the first time Steve had asked to walk her home, after a meeting had run a little late into the evening, they’d invented that little phrase to check in on each other when things were too quiet and their thoughts too loud.
“Today it’s a six,” she replied, offering Steve a small, frail smile that mirrored his own. “What about you?”
That was the other half of the code, responding with a number to rank the bearability of that day’s pain. On mornings when she gasped for air and couldn’t get out of bed because the nightmares too closely resembled her reality, it was a one. Once a year and a half ago, the sun had been shining and she and Steve had brought sandwiches to the park, sitting on a faded quilt in the shade of a great oak tree as they told stories of the people they loved and the places they’d seen. That day was a nine. Those occasions were few and far between.
Steve squeezed her hand again, grounding her in reality once more. “I think it’s a six day for me, too.”
“That’s good, then. Six is higher than average. That has to mean something, right?” She tried to brighten her smile just a little bit more, and it seemed to work, because the heavy fatigue in Steve’s eyes lifted fractionally.
“I would say it means quite a bit, ma’am,” Steve stopped on the stoop of the Brooklyn apartment they shared and leaned down to brush a soft kiss against her lips. “Because I have you.”
She felt warm all over and hoped he didn’t notice her blush as she fumbled in her purse for her keys. The task was more difficult than it seemed, seeing as Steve still had a tight grip on her hand. Eventually, keys in hand, she opened the lock and tossed her handbag onto the floor without much ceremony. Feeling secure in the fact that her blush had faded, she turned to Steve, who was leaning in the doorway, an odd smile on his face.
“What is it?” She brushed a hand over her hair, wondering if there was something in it, or perhaps that she had lipstick on her teeth.
Steve, still smiling, moved forwards until they were standing face to face. “I was just thinking about how, even after everything that’s happened, I was still lucky enough to find something good. Someone good.”
She held back the sudden rush of emotion that flooded through her veins and instead cupped Steve’s face with her hands. Staring into his eyes, she saw the pain, the exhaustion, but she also saw his heart, and how he cared for her. “I do too. Think about it, I mean. You’ve been everything to me, Steve. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”
“I’d take a thousand sixes for you, you know that?” Steve kissed her again, and this time it was more urgent, frantic. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he carried her down the hall and gently deposited her on top of the pale blue quilt of their bed.
“I changed my mind,” she murmured as he left a trail of kisses against her collarbone. He quietly hummed against her chest, urging her to continue. “This, today? This is an eight.”
And then his lips were on hers, and for a moment, however fleeting it was, they were blissfully holding on.
***
“What’s she doing here?”
The first words out of Natasha Romanoff’s mouth the first time she met her weren't quite kind, but they weren’t harsh, either. They existed on that little plane in-between that their lives seemed to hover on in those days, a place of resigned acceptance and bitter complacency. Her arms were folded across her chest, and her jaw was set firmly.
Steve’s hand came to rest protectively on her shoulder. It had been four months since that strange day when he didn’t stop a few steps shy of her apartment stoop and instead made himself at home in her bed, and he’d decided it was time to show her just a little bit of the world he was trying to live in. And so, that meant returning to the compound, walking down the empty halls and steadfastly ignoring the empty bedrooms, dust collecting atop the furniture as they awaited the arrival of those who would never return home.
“It’s hard to do it alone,” Steve said simply, and neither woman had to ask him to clarify what he meant. “This is Natasha. And Natasha, this is--”
But Natasha was already on her feet, crossing the room in three quick strides to wrap her arms around the other girl’s neck. She was a little surprised, but returned the gesture.
“I know who she is,” Natasha said, moving back as she looked her over. “You’re welcome anytime.”
Though the exchange was short, in that moment, she knew she would be thanking Steve Rogers as long as she lived for bringing Natasha Romanoff into her life. It wasn’t more than a six day, but that didn’t matter. Because in that moment, not only was the room a little more full, but her heart felt just a little less empty.
***
They were going to war. It was the fight for their lives-- all of their lives. Those that she’d lost five years ago flashed through her mind over and over again, images changing to the beat of her rapidly thudding heart. Steve had told her everything, and although she’d spent almost her entire life living in a world full of superheroes, it still seemed so impossible to her that they were going to space, time traveling, and raising their lost loved ones from the dead.
The plan was madness, absolute madness, but Steve had been adamant when he told her it was the best one they had. And now he was all suited up with the rest of the newly-reunited Avengers, preparing to enact the first phase of the plan.
“How long will you be gone again?” She asked anxiously, fiddling with the zipper on Steve’s jacket as he adjusted his gear.
Steve gave a sigh of the long-suffering and smoothed her hair. “For us, it’ll be as long as we need. But for you and Banner, it’ll be seconds. You sure you’ll be alright here?” Now it was Steve’s turn to look anxious.
She gave a weak laugh and rested her hands against the flat planes of Steve’s chest. “You’re the one literally hopping through time, and you’re asking me if I’m alright,” she shook her head, still smiling softly. “You’re something else, Rogers.”
“My apologies, ma’am.” Steve pressed his lips to her forehead.
Then, Natasha was at her side, hands gently pulling her away from Steve to enfold her in her own arms. “We’ll be back before you know it,” she offered her a quirk of her lips. “Try not to worry, okay? This is going to work.”
For some reason, a sudden feeling of dread came over her, and she threw her arms around Natasha’s neck, pulling the redhead as close to her as the latter’s bulky suit would allow. The feeling passed quickly, though, and she released Natasha, feeling slightly foolish as she took her place several paces behind Bruce. Steve’s hand raised in farewell, and his baby blue eyes were the last thing she saw before there was a flash of light, and they were gone.
Several moments of silence passed as they waited, her heart hammering in her throat. Bruce’s hands fiddled with the complicated mechanisms in front of him. “Any second now…” He murmured, and just as quickly as they disappeared, the Avengers were standing where they’d been merely a minute before.
The second her eyes fell on Steve she audibly sighed, and she counted the other heads quickly. It took a moment to realize she’d come up one short.
Natasha.
It was as if all of the air had been sucked out of her lungs as she listened to Steve vocalize her own thoughts, and hear Clint’s clipped reply. “She’s gone.”
It seemed impossible, like a horrific dream, that Natasha could have been hugging her no more than a minute before, and now, she was dead. Her body would be lying cold and broken somewhere atop a mystic planet, stranded light years away from her family.
And it was as she told Steve hours later, when she managed to find the ability to speak into words the thought that had been running through her mind in those moments since it all went to hell:
Natasha Romanoff deserved better.
Her eyes finally locked on Steve’s, and it took only seconds for him to be standing at her side. Their arms went around each other’s necks, and she couldn’t tell who was supporting who. His hands traced soothing circles on her back as her fingers threaded through his silky blond hair as they stood there, absorbing each other’s pain as they had done so many times before.
There wasn’t much time for grief, though. Everything had gone according to plan, and they had all of the Infinity Stones. So, she wiped her tears and pulled herself together, head held high as she listened to Tony lay out their next move. Steve still held her hand, though, and as she watched him lead his team, that steady gleam of hope once more in his eyes, she realized that perhaps, she was seeing the real Steve Rogers--Captain America--for the first time.
Another jolt of pain stabbed at her heart. She brushed it off, refusing to consider the thoughts that were tugging at the edge of her mind, the questions of who they would be when the battle was over and the lost returned. Instead, she just gripped Steve’s hand more tightly, silently wondering how much longer they’d be each other’s lifeline.
***
“Come back to me, Captain,” she breathed, fingers curling into the blond hair at the nape of Steve’s neck.
He chuckled quietly as he pressed a small kiss to her temple. “Yes ma’am. When all this is done, we’ll go and get ourselves one of those perfect ten days, okay?”
She smiled and pushed him away from her gently, folding her arms across her chest. Her eyes dragged over the full suit he had donned, the Captain America star emblem bold across his chest. The shield, the stuff of legend, rested on the ground at their feet. A part of her could’t believe that this was real life, even five years in, that she was seeing off Captain America before he went to face certain death. That if it all went horribly wrong, and he didn’t come back, she’d be truly alone.
She forced her face to hold its smile even as her chest tightened and she lost the ability to breathe correctly. As Steve walked away from her, back into the compound to continue planning with the rest of the team, she let the facade drop. She loved him. And because she loved him, because the thoughts swirling around in her brain were too unsettling to linger on, she called out to him.
“Steve!” She cried, and he turned, eyebrows raised as she barreled towards him. Steve caught her easily, her feet hovering a few inches off the ground as he held her.
“I promise you, I’ll come back,” he murmured. “You have my word.”
She shook her head as Steve sat her back on the ground. “I want you to promise me something else, Steve.”
“Anything.” His hand came up to rest against her cheek.
“I want you to promise that no matter what happens, you’ll be happy. If you can’t get them back, and it’s just me and you, or if you do, and,” she paused, steeling herself for her next words. “And things are different. Live a happy life, Steve.”
His eyes were unreadable as he cupped her face with both his hands and kissed her hard. It was desperate and conveyed their mutual sorrow and grief, and the gratitude with which they held the other in their hearts. When Steve finally pulled away, they were both gasping for air. He held her gaze for a moment more before disappearing into the compound.
She stood still for several moments, a torrent of emotions flooding her mind. Fear, that that was the last time she’d ever lay eyes on Steve Rogers. Hope, that maybe, she’d get to hear her mother’s voice again. And overwhelmingly, relief, because no matter what came next, she would have peace in knowing that she was the one to let him go.
Hours later, she was pacing the floor of Steve’s apartment, eyes glued to the television screen in front of her. No word had come from Steve since the moment he’d dropped her off outside of his home early that morning, and she couldn’t decide if that was better or worse. The news was reporting a massive explosion from somewhere upstate, and even before the words “Avengers Compound” left the woman’s voice, she knew. He would be in the middle of it, just like he’d always been, and it was all she could do not to picture him on the battlefield.
A moment passed, and then her phone rang.
Without even glancing at the contact name, she picked up, expecting--half hoping--it to be Steve, assuring her in that steady tone that he’d be coming back to her, to their life. Instead, she was met with a voice she hadn’t heard in five long years.
“Honey, is that you? What’s going on? Are you alright? Everything faded into nothing and I woke up on the kitchen floor, and your father was lying in the dining room, and things are so different--”
“Mom,” she half-sobbed, half-screamed, sinking to the floor as her legs totally gave out. One hand shot out to grab at the edge of the coffee table, nails digging into wood as she cried. “I’m okay. Everything is going to be alright. It’s-- it’s been a long time, and-- God, Mom, I’ve missed you so much.”
***
The reunion had been joyous. Without a second thought, she’d practically flown to her parents home, sidestepping crying families on the street and people staring up at the sky in wonderment--and perhaps a little fear--as they were brought back into existence. The door had been unlocked when she got there, and waiting just on the other side was her father, dressed in the same plaid shirt he’d been wearing the last time she’d seen him. Her mother was weeping quietly in front of the television, and her brother and sister sitting on the sofa, eyes a little teary but still grinning at her.
She thanked whatever entity out there was listening--because she’d seen aliens with her own eyes, so there had to be some kind of governing force somewhere in the galaxy--that she hadn’t given up, all those years ago. She hadn’t fought on a battlefield, covered in blood and gore as she stared down a mad titan, but she’d waged her own war inside of herself. A war for hope, even as her world was filled with an unending, unwavering darkness.
They were sitting around the kitchen table as she painstakingly recounted the years they’d lost when her phone rang again. This time, there was no question as to who was waiting for her on the line.
“You’re alive,” she breathed, exhaustion causing her frame to slump as she braced herself against the tabletop. “You did it. They’re back.”
“I promised I’d come back to you.” He was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke, the bright facade was gone. She could tell he was feeling her exhaustion times a thousand from the heaviness that weighted down each and every one of his words. “We didn’t all make it out of this one. Tony’s gone.”
“Oh, Steve,” she ignored the questioning stares of her family. “I’m so sorry. Where are you?”
“We’re heading up to Tony’s place for a few days… Regrouping and everything. We want to do something for Tony and Nat up here. They deserve so much more than all of this… Tony’s got a little girl,” Steve’s voice was strained, and he paused, breath hitching. “I don’t know what to do next.”
She stole a glance at her mother and father, who were pretending to not be listening to every word she said. Her siblings, however, were visibly straining to decipher what Steve was saying. Her mother caught her attention and smiled.
“Go to him,” she whispered, almost inaudible. “We’ll still be here when you get back, sweetheart. We won’t leave you.”
She nodded, suddenly unable to speak, and grabbed her coat as she rose from the table. She was halfway to the front door before she remembered that Steve was still on the line.
“I’m coming to you, okay? I’ll be there as soon as I can. Hold on for me, Steve.” She was about to press the “end” button when Steve’s voice stopped her.
“Wait a second,” he said, and so she brought the phone back up to her ear. “How are you holding on?”
She smiled, tears blurring her vision as she fumbled for her keys. “Seeing them standing there, waiting for me? It was almost a ten.”
Several seconds passed before Steve spoke again. “Promise me you’ll be happy, too. No matter what happens.”
“You have my word.”
Later, she wouldn’t be able to describe the two days that passed in-between the final battle and the funeral. She would vaguely recall the moment she stepped out of the car, and Steve all but collapsed into her arms, the weight of his exhaustion, heartache, and the very act of being the leader finally coming to a breaking point. She remembered seeing Morgan Stark with her arms wrapped around her mother’s neck, so much like the man she’d had such little time with. And she remembered the message Tony left, about the end of a journey and the closing of a chapter. It was with these words in mind that she stepped up to the platform just as Steve was preparing to travel back and return the stones to where they belonged.
“You’re not coming back this time, are you?” she said thickly, words caught halfway between an accusation and a statement, and Steve stopped in his tracks.
He turned to face her slowly. Behind her, she heard Sam’s breath catch, but Bucky was still. She had a feeling he knew just as well as she did what was about to happen. Steve reached out and grasped her hands, and as much as she wanted to pull away she held on, just for him. Just like she always would.
“I’m coming back,” Steve said carefully. “But…”
Never before had she seen Steve Rogers at a loss for words. She steeled herself and forced her gaze to meet his, clocking the exhaustion and pain that were a constant presence in his eyes. Except now, they were joined by something else. Something that almost looked like joy.
“But you’re tired,” she whispered. “You’ve done your duty, Captain. You deserve a chance to be happy. Remember what you promised me? You promised you’d find your happiness, no matter where it took you.”
Steve shook his head and pulled her closer. “You gave me a life again, after… After it happened. Five years of living with this, and yet on a lot of those days I managed to smile. You turned my ones into sixes.”
“It just wasn’t enough,” she murmured, and a small smile slipped onto her face as Steve opened his mouth, clearly gearing up for one of his impassioned speech. She cut him off with a head shake of her own. “No, you don’t have to lie. We needed each other, Steve. I needed you because I had no one, and you needed me because you had no hope. And that’s okay. You saved the world, and you saved me. Now it’s time you save yourself.”
“What about you?” Steve asked, and she could tell that this, her, was the final hold up that kept Steve from diving back into time. And in that moment, her heart broke just a little more. “What will you do?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “I have a family again, you know. A mom, a dad, a baby brother and sister. It’s been a long five years without them, and it’s going to be a long time before I leave them. We’ve got some catching up to do.”
“And after that?” Steve pressed.
“After that, who knows. I might travel, see all those places you told me about. Or maybe I’ll stick around here and keep the support group going. Just because it’s over, doesn’t mean the last five years didn’t happen.” They both caught the double meaning hidden in her words.
“Whatever it is you decide to do, I hope you find it. Peace, happiness… You deserve to rest too.” Steve said.
The final goodbye pressed against her like a leaden weight. “I hope you find your ten,” she breathed, and suddenly the tears were flowing and weren’t showing any sign of stopping.
Steve’s hands released her and he cupped her face, brushing away her tears as they fell. “I was wrong,” he murmured, and her eyes shuttered closed. “I thought all those days only averaged a six. You were the ten, and that’s why I couldn’t find it anywhere else.”
She tried for a laugh but it instead came out like a choked sob. “How selfish of me, hanging on to the perfect number like that.”
Steve chuckled, and it sounded only a little bit off. “I didn’t mind,” then he paused, sucking in a deep breath. “Will I see you again?”
At this, her eyes opened, and the answer was written clearly on her face. Still, she spoke it into existence. “I don’t think so, Steve. Right now, I can let you go. I can stand it. But to see you again, knowing that--”
She couldn’t finish it, but the words hung clearly in the air. Knowing that I’ll just lose you again when your time runs out.
“Hold on for me, will you?” Steve pressed his forehead against hers, baby blue eyes staring into her own for what she knew would be the final time.
She only nodded, and then her hands were on his chest, pushing him away for the second as she ignored the screaming in her head that told her to never let him go. This time, he wouldn’t be coming back to her. She stepped away from the platform, falling into line beside Sam and Bucky, who she had a funny feeling would make it a part of their mission to be near her for a very long time. She took a deep breath, slowly feeling the pain and letting it course through her, before she spoke.
“Go get her, Steve.”
There was a flash, and then Steve Rogers was gone. An arm wrapped itself around her shoulders hesitantly, and she allowed the embrace, leaning into Sam as they waited for Steve’s return. It was only mere seconds later that Bucky’s eyes trailed over to a point behind her, landing on the little bench just a few feet from the water’s edge. She didn’t turn around.
“Stay in touch, okay? I’d like to get to know the lunatics who kept him out of trouble before I came along.” She laughed and smiled a small, watery smile at the two men standing beside her.
Bucky returned the gesture, placing his hand on her shoulder. “We wouldn’t dream of anything else. Except the problem is, I think we might’ve gotten him into more trouble than we kept him out of.”
She mustered up another weak smile and slipped out of Sam’s embrace, determinedly keeping her eyes ahead of her as she began the trek up the hill to her car. She heard their voices, quiet and just a little sad, but still she didn’t waver. She’d said all of the goodbyes she’d needed to; Steve was finally at peace, and now, it was her turn to figure out what came next.
Her resolve only broke once, just as she was about to slam the car door shut and drive off into her proverbial sunset. She just caught a glimpse of his face, but it told her everything she needed to know. When she met Steve that day at the support group all those years ago, she had thought she’d been meeting the real Steve Rogers, with his checkered shirts and motivational speeches. But this man, face lined with age and a wedding band adorning his finger, was him. They had been been just stops along the road in each other’s story, pieces of the puzzle that didn’t quite complete the picture.
And someday, that would be okay.
***
“Mom, what did you do during The Lost Years?”
The question sent her heart into overdrive, and for a moment, she struggled to catch her breath as her heart thrummed wildly in her chest. Even still, twelve years after The Lost Years had ended, the very mention of the event could send her shattering into pieces. Counting the days in her head, she realized what the date was. Slowly, she turned to look at the small, inquisitive little boy standing before her, and rearranged her features into what she hoped was a neutral expression.
“Is that what they taught you in school today?” She asked, arching a brow at her son as he crossed the room in three excited bounds to her.
He fidgeted excitedly, climbing into her lap as he wrapped his arms around her neck. “Yeah, Mom! They told us how Th— Than—“ His face screwed up as he tried to recall the name of the monstrous titan.
“Thanos. His name was Thanos.” She supplied, and her voice was a little softer now. Just saying the name brought bile rising into her throat.
“Yeah! They told us how Thanos snapped, and half of the whole world disappeared. Did you disappear, Mom?”
She shook her head slowly, arms tightening around her son involuntarily as she recalled the day it happened, and the five years that followed. It seemed fitting, that those five years had been dubbed The Lost Years. Five years that seemed totally out of place in her life, a bump in the linear timeline she traveled. Sometimes, she could almost forget it even happened. Almost.
She sucked in another deep breath. “I didn’t. But Grandma, Grandpa, and your aunt and uncle did, and for a little bit, I was all alone.”
“That must’ve been scary,” he commented, nuzzling his head against her neck, a little bit of fear creeping into his sweet voice.
“It was, baby, it was. But I held on.” Though she tried not to think of it, a pair of baby blue eyes flashed through her mind. Just as quickly as the image appeared, she pushed it away. “What else did they tell you?”
He perked up a little, the excitement of sharing new information outweighing his fear of the thing itself. “They told us about The Avengers! How they went to space and stopped Thanos and everyone came back! We had a moment of silence for Iron Man. Did you know he saved the whole world?” Awe now creeping into his voice, he looked up, eyes wide.
She smiled softly. “All of the Avengers saved the world, baby. Did they tell you about Black Widow too?” Another stab of pain as she remembered Natasha, and the moment she realized her friend wouldn’t be coming back.
He nodded seriously. “They told us she was one of the bravest of them all, and without her they couldn’t have done it!”
A swell of pride bubbled in her chest, easing the pain of knowing Natasha would never be able to meet her son just slightly. “You’re right, Nat-- Black Widow was so brave,” and then she took a breath, steeling herself for a conversation she’d hoped wouldn’t come this soon. “I knew her, you know. She was my friend.”
At this, his already wide eyes grew even rounder. “You really did, Mom? That’s so cool!” His face fell slightly, and he began worrying his bottom lip. “Do you miss her?”
She held back tears as she cuddled her son closer to her chest. “Yeah, I miss her a lot. But what she did took a lot of courage, and without her, I might not have never gotten you. In fact, everything we have now, we have Natasha to thank for.”
Her son nodded, seemingly musing over her words as he absently pulled at a stray lock of her hair. “Did you know Captain America, Mom? We got to draw our favorite Avenger, and I picked him. He got to carry a shield!” The awestruck look returned, and her son was smiling again, oblivious to the internal turmoil she was experiencing.
For a moment, she forgot how to breathe. Long ago she’d made her peace with the decision Steve had made. She moved on with her life, made up for the Lost Years with her family, even had a child. But though she’d given him her blessing and understood why he had to go, a part of her heart had never quite let go of Steve Rogers. Though she still firmly believed that they had each been little dots on the greater journeys the other was taking, she sometimes wondered what might have happened, had things gone a little differently. If Steve hadn’t been the one to volunteer to return the stones. If she’d fought him, instead of standing back and watching him disappear.
“I… I did know him,” she swallowed thickly. “During The Lost Years, he and I were really close. We helped each other a lot, and without him I think it would’ve been even harder for me to hold on. He meant a lot to me.”
“Did you love him?” He asked quietly, staring up at her with inquisitive eyes.
She was suddenly very aware of the intelligence that came with child naivety. His quick eyes and his simple way of viewing the world at such a young age must have made it so easy for him to figure out, so painstakingly obvious.
She nodded, smiling tightly at the boy. “I loved him in a very special way. He was a good man, and we took care of each other. But,” she paused, trying to figure out how to explain the complexities of her love for Steve to her eight year old son. “But he couldn’t stay forever, and neither could I. It was a special sort of love, but it wasn’t the type to last forever.”
“Why not?” He asked, still staring up at her, intelligence beyond his years shining in his eyes.
“Because we weren’t the perfect fit. Just like you and your first grade teacher weren’t a perfect fit.” She laughed as he scrunched up his nose, remembering the teacher he’d butted heads with daily. “And he’d lived a long life. I wanted him to be happy, just like I always want you to be. So, he left, and he found his happiness, and I found mine.”
“My teacher said he disappeared. Is that how he got to be happy?”
She nodded slowly, recalling how Bucky had told her, weeks after that day at the lake, that Steve had requested they not make public the news of what he’d done. Not only did they want to avoid presenting time travel as a viable option for the masses, but it gave him a sense of anonymity, an ability to live out how ever many years he had left peacefully in the modern age. She made a decision quickly, choosing to leave that part of the story alone for another day.
“He did. Everyone finds their happiness in different ways. Like me. I found my happiness with you.” And she pressed kisses all over his face, and her son turned into a giggling, wiggly mass in her lap.
Effectively distracted, he shimmied off of her lap and darted in the direction of the kitchen, calling something over his shoulder about making lemonade. She laughed and shook her head, rising to follow him before he caused too much destruction. For a moment, though, she lingered, gazing upon thick leather bound album sitting atop a tall shelf, away from the prying hands and inquisitive eyes of her son. She pulled it down, wiping the dust that had settle on the cover off.
Her gaze was immediately drawn to the first photo, centered on the page. It was she and Steve, three and a half years after they’d met, on their picnic date in the park. They were both grinning, her face turned into his shoulder and him staring lovingly down at her. She’d made fun of him for it more times than she could count, his strange need to be always taking pictures, but now, she understood. He’d had one photo of Peggy all those years, and only a handful more from his former life. When everything was gone, sometimes, photos were the only thing left to remind you of the life you’d lived.
She hurriedly flipped through the pages, desperate to stop the lump in her throat from rising any higher, and stopped once she reached the section of photos that had been taken after the second snap. There were Sam and Bucky, sandwiched on either side of her as they sat on a blanket in Clint’s front yard at a barbecue they’d insisted she attend. In another, Bucky was twirling her around after she’d told him she was pregnant, and a third, she and Sam were sipping wine at one of their monthly “wine and dine” nights.
Her son had no idea the Uncle Buck who came to a weekly Sunday dinner was the famed Winter Soldier, or the Uncle Sam that taught him how to ride a bike held the title of Captain America. They were the father figures he’d never had, as the man who had helped create him wanted no part of his life. And keeping the secret of the lives they led was one of the only things she’d ever asked of the pair who had become like her brothers, begging them to allow her to keep his childhood as normal and safe as possible for as long as she could. One day, she would have to tell him. But today wasn’t that day.
Just before she closed the book, she hesitated, flipping several more pages until she reached the last photograph, tucked into a back pocket of the album. It was a simple photo, a close-up shot of two hands, one resting atop the other. On the bottom was a slim, feminine hand, neatly manicured nails resting against a silk sheet. On top of it was one lined with age, a wedding band resting on the fourth finger, dwarfing the other. On the back of the photo, she’d written two letters: “S.R.”
***
She thought she wouldn’t want to see him again-- wouldn’t be able to bear it. That it had been enough, knowing he was happy and fulfilled, and it would be too hard to face him for a second time. Sam and Bucky never pushed her to see him, and she thought that’s how she needed it to be. She was wrong.
When Sam called her, from the moment he began speaking she knew something was wrong. “Hey,” he said, uncharacteristically reserved. His voice was gravely, like he’d recently been crying. “He… He doesn’t have much time left. He wants to see you, if you’re up for it.”
She didn’t have to ask who the “he” was that Sam was referring to. Almost unconsciously, she gathered up her keys and coat, and she was halfway to the door before she realized her mistake. She scooped her infant son into her arms, cooing at him gently as she balanced her phone against her ear.
“I’ll be there as fast as I can, Sam. Tell him to hold on.”
The hour long drive seemed to take days. The only thing that kept her from flying down the highway, laws be damned, was the baby sleeping peacefully in the backseat, thumb in his mouth as he snored gently. So, she abided by the speed limit, and eventually she reached his cabin by the lake, mere miles from the place where Pepper still resided with her and Tony’s daughter. Several vehicles were already parked in the driveway, and as she carefully unbuckled her son from his carseat, she heard the crunching of gravel behind her.
“How much longer?” She whispered, not having to turn around to know who had come out to greet her.
“We can’t be too sure, with the serum still in his body. Not more than a few hours, though,” Bucky said, sounding defeated. He was silent for several moments, giving her time to turn around and face him. “You know what’s funny, though? Seeing him like this, all I can think of is that scrawny kid from Brooklyn who didn’t know how to back down from a fight. He was going to be damned if he left before he got a chance to see you.”
She smiled gently, wrapping her free arm around Bucky’s waist as he led her up the wooden steps to the front porch. “I think that’s how he still sees you, too, you know. Not as the Winter Soldier or Sergeant Barnes. Just Bucky, swooping in and protecting him like when you were kids.”
Bucky simply nodded, and she had a feeling his throat was too tight for words. What words were there to say, really, when a friendship that spanned a century was coming to an end? Bucky’s gaze dipped down to look at the baby in her arms, and he reached out, fingers brushing across the infant’s forehead.
“Steve’s going to get a kick out of this,” he murmured. “Still can’t believe he’s real.”
Bucky pushed open a door, and she stepped into a crowded bedroom. Wanda was hovering with Clint by a far wall, and Bruce was staring listlessly out a window that faced the lake. Thor had taken a seat on a small, plush ottoman in front of a dark oak dresser. Scott, being the closest to the door, was the first to greet her, planting a swift kiss on her cheek before inevitably noticing the small bundle she held firmly in her arms. She realized with a start that most of them hadn’t met her son, possibly hadn’t even known he existed.
Sam and Bucky were the only ones she kept in regular contact with after the second snap, because they were, in a way, an extension of Steve himself. He was the glue that bound the three of them together, and as time passed, their bonds grew only stronger. The others were passing characters in her life, as she hadn’t known them like she knew Bucky and Sam. She wasn’t a part of their world. Still, though, they greeted her like an old friend.
“Who’s this little guy?” A quiet voice spoke up, and she stiffened, biting down on her lip hard enough to draw blood.
Her eyes turned towards the one place in the room she’d been avoiding. Sam was sat on a chair pulled up to the edge of the bed, and in it lay Steve. He was already smiling, and with one withered hand gestured for her to move closer. Sam squeezed her shoulder gently as she moved past him, hesitantly settling onto the edge of the bed.
“We’ll give you two a few minutes,” Sam said, and the room quickly emptied behind him. “Holler if you need anything.”
It wasn’t until the door had shut behind Wanda that she raised her eyes from her son’s face to meet Steve’s. They were just as blue and hopeful as she remembered. Though it had only been five years since she’d seen him, it felt like much longer, and in a lot of ways it had been. She’d only aged half a decade, whilst he was approaching a hundred.
“Steve,” she tested out her voice, relieved that it wasn’t breaking. “This is my son.”
Steve held out his arms, and it was only natural that she handed the infant to him. Seconds later, he woke up, staring up at Steve with big, round eyes. Steve chuckled as a tiny fist wrapped around his fingers.
“He looks just like you,” Steve murmured, grinning at her in a way that caused her heart to thrum painfully. “And thank God for that.”
It was her turn to laugh. Steve gently detached his hand from the baby’s and laid it on top of hers where she’d rested it on his chest. The warmth of his body was just as it had always been. She wasn’t sure why this surprised her.
“I think he likes you. The first time Sam held him, we couldn’t get him to stop crying. He does loves his Uncle Bucky, though--” She broke off as her breath hitched, noticing the tears steadily rolling down Steve’s cheeks.
“I’m glad you all have each other,” Steve said, attention entirely focused on the infant in his arms. “You were my only regret when I went back. But now I see it.”
“See what?” She asked, voice barely more than a whisper.
“This is who you were meant to be. I’d say you found your perfect ten.” Steve’s hand wrapped around hers gently, fingers squeezing her own.
“I never thought I’d end up here, you know. My family was the most important thing to me, and it always has been. I guess I never thought I’d make one of my own,” she admitted, slowly stroking she thumb against the back of Steve’s hand.
Steve noticed the slight movement, but he didn’t mention it. “You did though, didn’t you? You, Sam, Buck, and this little guy. You’re a family.”
She grinned slowly, remembering those first few moments after she’d finally given birth after a strenuous seventeen hour labor, Sam and Bucky rushing in with armfuls of balloons, teddy bears, and flowers. Her mother and sister had been shocked, and the nurse in the room almost fainted once she realized just who she was fitting for scrubs.
“We really are. They’re… They’re two of the most important people in my life. I’ve had a lot of tens thanks to them.”
With a start, she realized she’d been monopolizing Steve for almost twenty minutes. She moved to stand, intending to go retrieve the rest of the group from the living room, but Steve’s hand shot out to grab her arm. For just a moment, he was Captain America again as he ordered her to sit back down.
“Stay. I’m not leaving just yet, and I haven’t had near enough time with you or him,” he gestured to the baby, who had just drifted back off to sleep. “Please,” he added as an afterthought.
And she’d never been able to tell him no when he requested something of her. She dropped back onto the bed, hand once more resting on Steve’s chest. They sat that way, silent save for the quiet snores coming from the baby nestled in the crook of Steve’s arm, for several long minutes.
“In another life,” Steve said suddenly, interrupting the stillness of the room. “In another life, we would have been together.”
“In another life,” she echoed softly, the irony of the fact that the creation of other realities was the exact thing that had brought them to this moment in time not lost on her. “I’m happy, Steve. And I hope you are too.”
He grinned up at her, all baby blues and that unwavering glint of hope, and his heartbeat was steady beneath her fingertips, and for one second, he was the Steve Rogers who held her hand while she slept and turned all of her ones into sixes. Tears of her own began falling freely, too rapid for her to catch.
And Steve kept smiling as she felt his pulse weaken underneath her hand, and then Sam was at her side, deftly scooping her son into his arms so she could grasp both of Steve’s hand in her own. His breathing was more shallow, and she could tell he was struggling to remain sitting up. She’d known it was coming from the moment she’d heard Sam on the phone, but still, a part of her still believed Captain America would live forever.
But he wasn’t Captain America anymore. He was Steve Rogers, a man who wore button-front checkered shirts in soft earthy tones and neatly pressed jeans and loafers with laces tied in little bows. He used to hold a beat-up journal in one hand and a fountain pen in another, and he spoke in that always-calm voice even as he took his dying breaths, and he told stories and shared pain and made her feel just a little bit less alone.
“Thank you for coming back,” Steve breathed, and his grip on her hands loosened fractionally.
She let out a quiet sob, barely feeling the weight of Bucky’s hand pressing into her shoulder. “You made a promise to me four years ago that you’d come back, and you did. You always did. It was my turn.”
Longer pauses between breaths. His eyes fluttered shut and then back open again. She was the one holding onto him.
“I’d tell you to hold on,” he said, and his voice was a little stronger than before. “But you don’t need that anymore. Keep living.”
She pressed a kiss to his weathered temple. “One day, I’ll tell you all about my tens. Every single one of them.” A final stuttering breath. A pause. “We’ll be okay, Steve.”
Silence.
***
The front door opened, slamming against the wall in the kitchen. The excited cheers of her son reverberated through the house, and even without seeing it, she knew that Sam had picked him up and was swinging him around wildly, judging from the excited shrieks of laughter she was hearing. Footsteps sounded behind her, and like always, she knew who was there before she turned around.
Bucky cocked a brow at her, and she hurriedly wiped her face, but it was no use. She’d been caught. She carefully set the photo album back on top of the shelf, and then Bucky was there, enveloping her in his arms.
“Guess you figured out what today is,” he murmured, robotic hand smoothing over her hair.
“I actually hadn’t, until he came home telling me all about the Avengers. Told me that they talked about Nat a lot, too,” at this, Bucky smiled. “He also mentioned that Cap was his favorite hero.”
She grinned slyly, ducking out from underneath Bucky’s arms as he feigned a shocked expression. He dropped into the chair she’d previously been occupying, hanging his head in his hands as he sighed dramatically.
“Have we taught that little punk nothing? It’s too bad he doesn’t know who got Steve out of all of those messes before he was all brawns and no brain.” Bucky laughed, easily batting away the throw pillow she tossed at him.
She grew somber, then, the day she’d last seen Steve flashing through her mind again. It wasn’t just the anniversary of the second snap. Not for them.
“It’s fitting, really, that he went out on the anniversary of the day he helped save the world.”
Bucky nodded in agreement, though a small smile still was on his face. “That’s Steve Rogers for you. Most poetic, sappy fella I ever knew.”
“Little punk talked his way into getting ice cream for dinner, so we’re about to head out. Are you two coming?” Sam called, appearing in the doorway with said punk sitting proudly on his shoulders.
“Sam Wilson, are you telling me you let an eight year old wheel and deal you into ice cream for dinner?” Bucky reached up and pulled the boy down, slinging him over his shoulder as he tickled him mercilessly. “You should’ve shot for both cheeseburgers and ice cream, kid!”
And her son was screaming with laughter, and Bucky and Sam were chuckling alongside him, and her heart felt impossibly full. Steve had been right, when he said that she’d created a little family for herself. And it was all thanks to Steve Rogers that she had any of it-- the memories, the family, her very life, even. The day she’d found that flier for the support group, vowing to attend just one meeting before giving it all up, seemed so long ago.
They’d been exactly what each other needed at the times when they were the most broken. But that was the thing about Steve Rogers-- he never stopped giving. He gave and gave and gave to her until he drew his dying breath. In the end, it was enough, wonderfully, marvelously more than enough. Every day was some variation of a perfect ten, and she hoped wherever he was now, he’d found that too.
The sliver of her heart that still hurt from The Lost Years, the piece that couldn’t quite heal, still held on for Steve Rogers. But the rest of her? The rest of her lived.