Archive of Our Own ^beta

Oh, if I caught the world in an hourglass

Saddled up the moon and we would ride

Until the stars grew dim

Until the time that time stands still, Until...

Sting

“Ah, Captain Rogers.  You’re late.” 

The bald woman turns her cool, lashless gaze towards Steve.  If she is in any way fazed by the sight of a man appearing on her roof terrace out of nowhere, she doesn’t show it. The Ancient One, Strange had called her; she does give off the air of someone who has been around the block a few times, including in places Steve would rather not have to imagine. 

“I was expecting your friend, Mr. Banner,” she continues.  “Has he been detained? He also promised he would return the stone to the moment he picked it up.  That was over five minutes ago.” 

“He’s recovering from an injury,” Steve says.  “In our time, that is. And I’m sorry for the delay.  Banner doesn’t wear a watch anymore; the wrist bands keep splitting when he flexes.” 

“I see.”  She lobs what looks like one of Dr. Strange’s luminous circles at a Chitauri ship.  It promptly vanishes, and she utters an approving little harrumph.  “It appears to have been worth it, though, since we are all still here.” 

“Not all.” Steve can’t help the catch in his voice; it’s useless to assume she didn’t hear it.  “Not in my time.” 

“I am sorry to hear that,” she murmurs.  There’s a touch of sympathy in her voice, but it is clear that she is not the sentimental type. 

Steve reaches for the case and opens it before the silence can stretch into awkwardness.  She raises an eyebrow at the sight of the five empty dips in the case bed, and the occupied  one, in which the Time Stone emits an emerald glow.

“That is a lot of power you have been carrying around, Captain Rogers.  And an equal measure of temptation.” 

Steve shrugs and plucks the green gem from its holding spot. 

“None of it will bring my friends back.” 

“I suppose not,” she says, and deposits the stone into an eye-shaped amulet she pulls out from beneath her plain robes.  

She turns back towards the Manhattan skyline and resumes her fighting stance, but the black vortex that had been spitting alien death out over the city has closed.  Somewhere, hurtling to Earth over Park Avenue, is Tony Stark, about to survive his first sacrifice play.  

She wipes her hands on a cloth that seems to have appeared out of nowhere and looks up at Steve.  

“There is always a price.  Tea?” 

Steve considers her offer.  Truth be told, it’s been a long few weeks, travelling the galaxy, up and down the time stream... Besides it’s not like he’s in a hurry; time is an hourglass, and he holds the key to its turning in his hand.  There are worse places to take a rest than in a rooftop garden high above Manhattan. 

“Don’t mind if I do,” he says.  “Besides, there’s something I would ask for your help with, before I go back.  It’s about time.”

*****

Leaning against the bar in Stark Tower, Natasha peers at Clint over the glass he’s poured for her.  

“Let me guess.  You didn’t ask Stark whether we could borrow some of his prize Scotch?” 

Clint shrugs, holds and inhales the bouquet emanating from the amber liquid.  For a second, it’s like he’s back on Skye, enveloped by the scent of heather, sea, and rather more than a wisp of smoke from a peat fire.  Fuck, he needed this. 

“He offered one to Loki.  Loki was inside my head for a week, so.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow at his impeccable logic and clinks his glass with hers. 

“Not sure Loki would have gotten the 1964 Black Bowmore, but you have a point.” 

Clint probably shouldn’t be ingesting any kind of booze, having survived days of alien possession, a recent encounter with a steel guard rail and hours of battle, all with nothing in his system but basic hydration - but dammit they deserve a drink.  One worth the price of a loft in Tribeca. 

“Here’s to showing a bunch of aliens who’s boss.” 

He takes an appreciative sip and steps aside to allow Sitwell and his merry men to pass, on their way to the elevator with Loki’s scepter.  Jasper strokes the damn thing with a reverence he usually reserves for a well-completed expense report. Rumlow and his useless goons – where were they when the universe sprung a leak? – flank him like an honour guard.    

Clint watches the elevator door close behind them.  Good riddance to both the man and his new toy.  He lowers himself onto the barstool beside Natasha, enjoying the sudden quiet. 

“Someday I’ll understand what the hell Fury sees in those morons,” he says.  “But today is not that day.” 

Natasha snorts and takes another sip, swishing the smoky liquid around her mouth, swallows with closed eyes, and runs her tongue over her lower lip in appreciation.  Clint looks away quickly. 

“Wonder if Banner has made it all the way down the stairs yet,” he says.   

Natasha shrugs. 

“I wouldn’t want to ride with him either.  I got to spend a few minutes with him on the helicarrier, and that was a much bigger space.” 

Her shoulders twitch a little at the memory.  There’s a moment of silence, which she uses to look her partner over carefully. 

“You look like shit, Barton, has anyone told you that?” 

“They don’t have to.  I’ll be picking glass out of my hair for days.” 

There’s a buzz, like a phone set to ‘vibrate’. He reaches for his pocket. 

*****

The Ancient One retreats through a near-invisible doorway and for a few minutes Steve is alone on the terrace.  The mild spring breeze carries a whiff of kerosene and the stench of explosives; in Avengers Tower, the team must be about to converge on Loki.  Steve finds himself surprisingly unmoved by the thought. Too many fights since then, maybe? 

The Sorceress Supreme returns with a prim silver tray on which two chipped mugs make an odd but fitting contrast.  Steve takes the “I ❤️NY” one and inhales the scent; the tea smells normal, although a bit weaker than Natasha would make it.  

Than Natasha would have made it, he corrects himself.  The thought is a gut punch. 

The Ancient One doesn’t miss his sudden frown, but misconstrues its cause. 

“Please tell me it all went smoothly,” she says with a sudden sharpness in her voice, eyeing him over the rim of her cup.  “And that you haven’t created a Divergence anywhere?” 

“We haven’t,” he replies.  “I’ve returned all stones to their proper places – this was the last one.” 

He reflects for a moment on the previous stops, and on carrying the power of the universe in a briefcase.  Good thing he hadn’t encountered yet another time-warped Thanos along the way, or things might have gotten really complicated. 

Handing the scepter back to Sitwell and Hydra - “Change of orders, straight from Sokovia!” - had been particularly distasteful; the only thing that had made that palatable was the thought that doing so would gift the world with Wanda.  Or Vormir – jagged and sharp, like its rocks, where Natasha had paid for half the universe with her own life…  And then there was seeing Peggy, again. Having to leave her for the tesseract, again.  Once would have been enough, but twice? Three times, if you count ‘45. 

Steve pulls up his shoulder against the sudden chill.  In the streets below, sirens are starting to blare as the city’s emergency services slowly come back to life.   Something occurs to him then, which had somehow managed to slip his mind. 

“There was a bit of a hiccup and we ended up being able to take only two of the stones from this timeline, and I had to get the third from elsewhen.”  He smiles a little, pleased with his own adverbial adroitness. “But I brought that one back already, so we’re fine.” 

“What happened to the third?” the Ancient One asks mildly.  “The one you couldn’t pick up here, today?” 

Steve sighs. 

“Loki got away with it.  In fact, that should be happening right about… “  He checks his watch. “One minute from now.”  

It’s odd to think that  there are three Captains America in Manhattan right now:  The 2012 version, fighting a-week-ago him, and his current self here on the terrace.  A multiplicity of Steves.

And two Tonys. Why not extract one of them, and bring him back to Pepper…? 

Steve shakes his head clear of the cobwebs of speculation.  The fact of the matter is that they’ve done what they needed to do, and both the timeline and the universe are safe. 

“It shouldn’t be a problem.  Thor told us, back in Wakanda five years ago, that Loki had given the tesseract to Thanos on the Asgardian ship.  So it makes sense that him getting away with it down there, today, means everything is exactly as it should be.” 

She looks up from her tea, and cocks her head as if she were listening to the distant ringing of a bell.  She draws a long breath. 

“What makes you so certain of that, Captain?” 

*****

“That’s weird.”  

“What?”  Natasha looks at her partner with concern. 

“It felt like I just had a phone in my pocket a second ago.  One that buzzed.” Clint pats the pocket of the SHIELD tac suit he’d put on at Steve’s urging, and shrugs.  “Probably some Loki aftershock-type hallucination. Why the fuck would I be carrying a phone in a battle?” 

He sighs.    

“Guess my brain’ll be feeding me strange shit for a few days.” 

Natasha reaches over and pats him on the arm with her free hand.

“Like I said on the carrier, you need to level out.” 

Clint half turns, captures her hand with his own and looks her deep in the eye. 

“How about you?  You look like something the cat dragged in too, you know.”  He realizes what he’s just said, lets go of her hand like it’s given him an electric shock, and clears his throat.  “Something worth a million bucks, of course, once you clean it up.” 

Natasha gives him a crooked smile and waves her glass vaguely in his direction. 

“Nice recovery, Barton.  Almost stuck the landing.  Almost. ”  

Her voice holds no rancour but it sounds a bit scratchy when she adds, “You’re right, though.  I could use a daylong massage. And a sauna. Maybe a chiropractor or two.”  

She holds the hand with the Scotch glass high over her head and shouts up to the ceiling, “Stark’s kingdom for a spa!”  

Natasha finishes her proclamation with the tiniest of hiccups, which she tries to mask by taking another slug from her glass.  The pleasant burn calms her throat, although she’s not sure what makes her say the next thing that comes out of her mouth. 

“Maybe we should go find one together?” 

Clint looks nonplussed for a moment but then a slow grin spreads over his face, wiping out most of the lines Loki had put there over the last few days.   He nods. 

“Definitely.  Always wanted to do that.  But sh-shower firsht,” he says, a bit mushily.  A drink doesn’t usually hit him that quickly, but under the circumstances it's maybe for the better.  “Or maybe food. And a bed. We could go to my place, it’s closer than the helicarrier. Then find a spa.  Gawd, I could eat an ox.” 

He pats his pocket again. 

“Funny. I feel like ‘m forgetting something though.  You ever do that? One moment it’s there and then … boom, gone, like an echo in your brain?” 

Natasha nods. 

“At the Red Room they’d fill your mind with whoever you were supposed to be, and when the mission was done, they’d scoop that person out again.  Have that done often enough and you’re never sure who or what you are. Loki got you pretty good, I guess. I wouldn’t worry about it until it becomes a habit.” 

The elevator door opens at that precise moment and Captain America staggers in, clutching his midriff. 

“What the hell?”  Clint sobers up at the drop of a dime.  

They both reach for their weapons.  

“Steve?  You look worse than you did ten minutes ago,”  Natasha observes. “Did we miss some of those aliens?” 

“You are not going to believe…” 

“Try me,” Clint grumbles.  “Gods, aliens, flying whales, nukes and then Rumlow strutting in, fresh as a fucking daisy.  Been one hell of a day.” 

Obviously, whatever the Captain America emergency was, it’s now over.  Steve stares longingly at the bottle on the counter.  

“I need a drink.  What’s that you’re having?  Any good?” 

“Cheap rotgut crap,” Clint says, without hesitation or shame.  “Developed a taste for that sort of thing in Albania. Here, lemme find you some of the good stuff, Cap: Ten-year-old Glenmorangie, straight from the Highlands.  Mmh-hmmh.” 

He reaches over the counter, grabs a fresh bottle and pours Steve a beer glass full - quantity over quality, when a guy can’t get drunk anyway.  His own and Natasha’s glasses he tops up with what’s left of the Bowmore, filling them to the brim. He tosses the empty bottle backwards over his head into a bin on the other side of the bar and nods with satisfaction when it clunks in. 

“So tell us what happened, Steve,” Natasha says.  “I thought you were going back with Jasper and the Strike team.” 

Steve drains his glass in three deep swigs.  His Adam’s apple bogs as he glugs down the contents, and any remorse Natasha might have felt at Clint’s little Scotch filibuster evaporates like the angel’s share.  Philistine.   She schools her features into listening mode. 

“I ran into another me,” Steve explains.  “I thought it was Loki at first, or one of his illusions, but he was really strong…” 

“Well, if that’s not you to a tee,” Clint agrees, inhaling the bouquet of his Scotch before dipping his tongue into it gently, like a cat.  Natasha swallows, her throat suddenly dry, and pulls her attention back toward Steve’s story.  

“He was wearing my uniform, too.  And had my shield,” Steve continues, oblivious to the fact that his audience is less than riveted by his tale. 

“He get away?”  Clint is mildly interested, but makes no move to the door for the chase.  He dips his finger in the golden liquid and licks it off slowly, looking Natasha straight in the eye. 

“Well, yes.  He knocked me out and…” 

Natasha shakes her head in response to Steve, but the twitch of her lips is for Clint.  

“You probably just passed out from exhaustion, like we’re all about to do.” 

The elevator door swishes open again.  This time it’s Stark, leaning on his driver who solicitously guides him to one of the couches.  Tony waves him off with that I-may-be-dying-but-I’m-alright heroism that men muster for anything except paper cuts and the common cold. 

“Heart attack,” Stark declares nonchalantly, to no one in particular.  He plonks himself down on the couch that has the least amount of debris on it.  “Just so we’re clear, that’s two near-death experiences in under an hour -- thank you all for your concern -- which means I’m winning, in case anyone’s keeping score.  Happy, be a good henchperson and pass me a bottle? Seems like a good time for that ’64 Bowmore Black.” 

“About that…” Clint starts to say, but Natasha stills him with a touch of her hand on his shoulder.  He feels distractingly good under her fingers, warm and solid. She lets go slowly, running her fingers down his biceps as she does so. His eyes bore into hers for a moment before he lowers them to his glass. 

“I think Hulk must have got into it after he slammed Loki into your floor,” she says, clearing her throat.  “There’s a bottle in the garbage.” 

Tony frowns, but only briefly. 

“The 40-year-old Macallan then, Happy.  Neat.” 

“Is anyone here at all going to deal with the fact that I got beat up by a second me?”  Steve sounds surprisingly petulant, but then again, it’s been a rough day for everyone.  

Except maybe Thor, who’d been playing air force while they’d done the grunt work. Which raises a question… 

“By the way, has anyone seen Thor?” 

Tony has news.  

“Seems that he let Loki get away, during the arc reactor’s little twitch.  So now he’s gone after him, wherever that is. Some far-off universe, I hope.“ 

Clint inhales sharply. 

“Loki got away ?” he snarls.  “Fuck.” 

Natasha lays a comforting hand on his arm.  This time, it stays there. 

Tony shrugs. 

“Afraid so.  He’s standing me up on our shawarma date, too.  Thor, I mean. Assume everyone else is still going for shawarma?  Once Banner stops being the Jolly Green Giant? He was still thumping mad at me when I came up here.” 

Natasha and Clint exchange glances.  He raises one eyebrow and gives the tiniest shake of his head. 

“Nah,” she says.  “We didn’t know where you guys had gone, so we made other plans.” 

“Yeah,” Clint adds.  “All we want is Chinese and a shower.  My place is just a few blocks from here and happens to be right on top of a take-out.” 

“I’ve never had Chinese,” Steve says wistfully. 

Clint and Natasha exchange another look.  This time, she’s the one to shake her head.  Clint takes the hint. 

“Well,” he says, “for today I’m sure you’ll want to get Fury to put a trace on that body double of yours, in case it’s some new kind of dangerous shape-shifting alien.  But feel free to drop by any other time. I’ll write down the address for you.”  

He looks around the room.

“I don’t suppose anyone needs a place to crash tonight?  No? Okay, we’re off then. See you all at the inevitable debrief.  And let me know if you figure out where Loki went. I have another arrow with his name on it.” 

He peels himself off the bar stool and holds out his hand to Natasha.  She takes it gratefully, since her back is still sore. And if she keeps holding on to his hand as they leave - with rapidly quickening steps - well, that’s nobody’s business but hers and Clint’s.

*****

Steve sets down his empty teacup on the silver tray and stands up. 

“Thank you, Ma’am.  Your cooperation has been greatly appreciated. I know how important the Time Stone is to your world.  Letting it go required an enormous amount of trust.” 

She nods politely.

“Indeed.  I’m glad everything went as smoothly as it did.  This universe seems to be intact.” 

He starts to set the dial on his time GPS when she raises her hand, the other clasping the amulet. 

“Are you sure there isn’t anything else I can do for you, Captain?” 

Steve scrunches his forehead in thought.  It’s a generous offer, coming from the Sorceress Supreme.  He could ask her to see Peggy again, via the Time stone – less risky than going back through the Quantum Realm in person.  But what would be the point? More heartache? Bucky would rightly call him an idiot. 

“No, not really,” he says with a sigh.  “I’m actually keen to get back. Friends of mine are having an anniversary today, and Stark is throwing them a party.  And I have someone waiting for me at the other end of the tunnel.” 

“I’m glad to hear it, Captain.”  The Ancient One smiles beatifically.  “Please give your friends my best regards, and bid them welcome to the multiverse.”