Archive of Our Own

It only takes a couple of weeks for you to fall for Steve.

After he wakes up from the ice, Director Fury orders you to take him to the seclusion and safety of the Retreat. You’re instructed to stay with him, answer his questions, help him start acclimatising to the twenty-first century. When you ask Fury why he’s sending you and not someone like Coulson, who’s clearly dying to meet the legendary super-soldier, he just looks at you shrewdly and says, “Because right now he needs a friend, not a fan.”

For the first couple of days, you keep your distance, trying to give him as much space as possible in the relatively small cabin. There’s a guarded sadness in the depths of his blue eyes, and you can sense that he’s still processing all the revelations he’s been forced to accept in such a short period of time. Your own heart clenches when you think about all that he’s been through; you can’t imagine what he must be feeling.

On the third evening, he sits down across from you in the living room and clears his throat. You look up in surprise—you hadn’t expected him to be the one to initiate any conversation. You can’t help but notice that he’s strikingly handsome up close, even in the dim light from your reading lamp. The faint smile that graces his features is beautiful, and you wonder what it will take for you to see a full one.

“It doesn’t seem right to be living with a woman I barely know, even if it is just temporary,” he says. “So tell me about yourself.”

There’s something indefinable about him that makes it easy to trust him, something that draws you in and holds you there, and you find yourself telling him all about your life. You’ve withstood countless hostile interrogations and attempts to sweet-talk and seduce information from you, but you’re apparently powerless against Steve Rogers’ gentle blue eyes and insightful questions. If you hadn’t already sized him up as a man with integrity, it might have alarmed you.

After that encounter, the dynamic between you grows warmer, easier, and the careful silence in the cabin melts away. Bit by bit, he starts to open up to you as well: his missions during the war, his experiences during the USO tour, his youth as a sick and skinny kid who never knew when to back down from a fight. Every word just further confirms your initial assessment of him – honest and honourable, stubbornly selfless. A good man.

By week two, the conversation shifts from each other’s pasts to the present. You do your best to go slow, but as you explain more and more about the world as it is now, you sense his mood growing heavier, darker. You want to help him, but you’re not sure what’s weighing on him or what you should do.

You finally ask if he’s okay late one evening, your voice coming out soft and hesitant. He smiles at you, but it’s mirthless and his eyes are full of melancholy.

“I keep thinking about how I’m the same person I was before I went into the ice, but the entire world and everyone in it is different now,” he says, staring down at the coffee table. “Everything I knew is either gone or changed. Technology, culture, the places I grew up, the people I loved… Most of them have died, and the ones who are still around have been through seventy years’ worth of life. I’ve missed it all.”

You stay quiet, unsure of what to say in the face of his raw honesty. Your heart constricts at the look on his face, and you have to push down the impulse to reach out and place your hand on his shoulder.

He turns to you suddenly, his eyes piercing into yours. “If you were in my position, what would you do?”

The question catches you off-guard. You avert your gaze as you carefully consider your response, trying to find the right words to offer him some kind of comfort.

“I guess I would stop and take the time to mourn,” you say quietly at last. “Let myself feel the full weight of the grief for a while.” You raise your eyes to meet his again. “And then, before it crushed me, I’d start looking for reasons to keep moving forward. Find people who can help bear the load.”

His expression turns thoughtful. “Mourn and then move forward,” he muses. “Makes sense.”

I can help you bear the load, if you want me to. If you’ll let me, you want to tell him. But you hold your tongue and let him lapse into pensive silence, unsure if you’ve been any help at all.

It seems that your words resonate with him at least a little, because a few days later he tells you he’s ready to go back to the city.

“I think I should start looking for those reasons to move forward,” he says.

He smiles at you then, a full one that reaches his eyes. It’s utterly breathtaking. And as you return it, trying to suppress the sudden fluttering in your chest, you know that there’s no way back for you. Your heart has opened up and he’s walked straight in.

Somewhere, somehow, in the months after you return from the Retreat, in between battles with aliens and missions for S.H.I.E.L.D., you become Steve’s confidant.

The closeness you develop with him is as baffling as it is gratifying. You’re known for being soft-hearted and kind, and it’s not entirely out of the ordinary for people to come to you seeking a sympathetic ear and some gentle guidance. But Steve is stoic and strong—the kind of man who takes the weight of the world on his shoulders so that others won’t have to; the kind of man who would prefer to suffer in silence and carry his pain alone, not for fear of showing weakness, but because he doesn’t want to burden anyone else. You don’t understand why he chooses to open up to you or why he seeks your counsel over anyone else’s, but you know better than to question it. You’ll accept any intimacy he wants to offer.

You’re on assignment in Kosovo when he and Natasha blow S.H.I.E.L.D. and its secrets wide open. With HYDRA exposed, your STRIKE unit turns on you, and you’re just barely able to escape with your life. It’s Tony who eventually finds you, wounded and on the run, and he brings you back and sets you up in an apartment in the Tower while you recover. When Thor shows up a week later seeking Loki’s sceptre, Tony puts out the call and the rest of the Avengers come trickling in.

You haven’t had a chance to see or speak to Steve since before you’d left for Kosovo, and after hearing about what he and Natasha went through in Washington, you’re anxious to see for yourself that he’s okay. A burst of joy rushes through you when you see him step out of the elevator looking as handsome and perfect as ever.

He smiles when you greet him, but for some reason he avoids making eye contact, and his conversation is a little stilted, a little hesitant. Your happiness fades into confusion. The two of you have always had a comfortable rapport, and you don’t understand his sudden awkwardness in your presence or the hint of guilt you catch on his face when he glances at you.

You find him alone in the lounge later that evening, scrolling through information about the sceptre on a StarkPad. With a deep breath, you walk over to sit beside him and ask, “Is everything okay?”

He puts the StarkPad down on the coffee table and flashes a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Of course. Why?”

“You just seem a little… distant.”

For a long moment, he’s quiet. You hold your gaze steady, your eyes searching his. It’s been weeks since you last looked into that piercing blue, and even in these circumstances you can’t help the flutter that rises in your chest.

Eventually, he releases a sigh. “Tony told me what happened in Kosovo,” he says, his gaze flickering away. “I’m sorry. It was my fault.”

Your brow furrows. “How was any of that your fault?”

“I could have warned you about HYDRA before we exposed them. Gotten a message to you or something. But I didn’t know who to trust,” he says in a voice heavy with guilt. “I doubted you, and it almost got you killed.”

You shake your head, expression softening. “Steve, come on. That’s not true. I got into trouble because I was in HYDRA’s way. You didn’t have anything to do with that.”

“I shouldn’t have doubted you.” He raises his eyes to yours again, and your heart clenches at the self-reproach you can see in them.

“You had no way of knowing who you could or couldn’t trust,” you remind him gently. “You did what you had to do. I’d have done the same.”

He nods slowly, but you can tell that he’s not entirely convinced. You reach out to place your hand on his wrist. His skin is smooth and warm under your fingers, and you have to breathe deeply to keep your pulse steady.

“I’m not hurt that you weren’t sure you could trust me—it would’ve been irresponsible for you to assume anyone in S.H.I.E.L.D. was trustworthy,” you tell him. “You did everything right. You have nothing to apologise for.”

He presses his lips together and for a moment you think he’s going to argue with you. But then he sighs and smiles, that breathtakingly beautiful smile that always sets off butterflies in your stomach.

“Okay,” he says simply.

You squeeze his wrist briefly before drawing your hand away, the corner of your lips twitching into a small half-smile. “Do you always have to blame yourself for things that aren’t your fault?”

He chuckles briefly, a little sheepishly. “Sometimes.”

“Well, it would be great if you could stop. You already have trouble sleeping, and I worry enough about you as it is.” Your tone is light, but there’s an undercurrent of seriousness in the look you give him.

“You worry about me?” he asks with raised eyebrows.

“Of course. I always worry about the people I—”

Love, your mind whispers, pushing the word to the tip of your tongue.

“—Care about,” you finish instead.

He smiles at you again, warm and sincere, and it splits your heart wide open. “I care about you too,” he says. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

It aches a little, knowing that he doesn’t mean his words the same way you do—but for now, it’s enough that he trusts you, values you, cares about you. His friendship is a gift and you’ll take it with both hands, whatever the cost.

The first few weeks at the Compound are hard work. Only two of the four new Avengers have military experience, and while you all worked well together in Sokovia, there’s still a long way to go before you’ll make an effective team. You have the utmost faith in Steve’s leadership, but you know it will take some time for everything to click into place, just like it did for the original group.

Today had been particularly tough. Late last night you had rushed into Wanda’s room to try to rouse her from a screaming nightmare, and had been thrown across the room for your trouble. It had taken hours to assuage her guilt and calm her down, leaving both of you decidedly worse for wear from the emotional toll and lack of sleep.

Nearly everyone else had been out-of-sorts as well: Steve had gotten wind of some rumoured sightings of the Winter Soldier and was impatient and restless; Sam had been unusually subdued; Natasha had been irritable for no discernible reason. During training, tensions had run high and tempers had flared. Everyone had gotten curt and sharp with each other, and even you—normally the peacemaker—had snapped at Steve when he reprimanded Wanda a little too severely for a mistake. He’d followed you out at the end of the session, and the two of you had gotten into an argument in the hallway.

“Mistakes like that could cost lives,” he’d hissed, voice low to prevent anyone overhearing. “I’m trying to keep everyone safe.”

“She’s doing the best she can, Steve,” you’d retorted. “She’s not a soldier like you and Sam, or a spy like me and Nat. Think about everything she’s been through and try to have a little compassion.”

Then you’d stalked away, heading out to your favourite spot by the lake.

You’ve been sitting here for the past hour, letting the rustling leaves and lapping water clear your head. You’re starting to regret the way you spoke to Steve. You stand by what you said, but you wish you could have found a better way to say it. You had known he was having a difficult day himself, but you had let your exhaustion get the better of you.

Heavy footsteps crunch on the ground behind you. You know that it’s Steve even before you turn around.

“Mind if I join you?”

“I never do,” you answer honestly with the faintest hint of a smile.

“After what happened today, I’m not sure I believe you,” he says lightly, but as he sits beside you, you sense a thread of tension running between you.

For a minute you’re both quiet, looking out to the lake. The silence feels awkward and heavy, and it makes something twist in your gut. The two of you rarely fight about anything. You hate that one small argument has managed to create this strained distance between you.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur without looking at him. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.”

From the corner of your eye, you see him shaking his head. “You don’t have to apologise. You were right—I was being too hard on her.”

“I guess we were all a little off today.”

He presses his lips together and his concerned gaze flickers over you. “Wanda told me what happened last night. You okay?”

You nod slowly. “A little bruised, a little tired. But I’m fine.” You turn your head to meet his gaze directly. “She will be, too. She’s doing a lot better.”

“I know.”

Silence falls over you again, but this time it’s lighter, more comfortable. Relieved, you turn to face the lake again, letting yourself relax and soak in the comforting warmth of his presence next to you.

He leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “Some team we make, huh?” he says with a rueful half-smile, clearly referring to the shambles that was today’s training session.

“It’s just going to take time. We’re trying to fight for the world at the same time we’re fighting our own demons.” You shrug, staring up into the darkening sky. “Everyone’s a little lost.”

He turns his head to look at you. “You never seem lost.”

His eyes are gentle and warm, his affection and respect for you clearly written on his face. Your heart expands, opening like a flower—it feels good but it aches as well, the way it always does when you look at him, listen to him, talk with him.

I am when I’m with you, you think wistfully.

But you just say “Sometimes I am,” with a faint smile that you hope is less pained than it feels. A tiny line appears between his eyebrows and you continue on before he can ask any questions.

“We’re going to get there,” you reassure him, turning your gaze to the water again. “Just be patient, keep doing your job. You’re a good leader. You’ll pull us together.”

“You really believe that?” he asks, his voice dry and sceptical, like he doesn’t understand why you have so much faith in him.

You glance at him. His handsome face is even more beautiful in the fading afternoon light, but there’s a trace of insecurity in his eyes that sends a pang through your heart.

“I’ve always believed in you, Steve,” you tell him, soft and certain.

The look he gives you is warm and grateful and maybe even a little wondering, and you know you’ll carry it in your heart for a long, long time.

When Steve shows up at the Raft, it’s like a giant weight is lifted off your chest—not because you hadn’t believed he would come for all of you, but because you had been afraid of what might have happened to him after he and Bucky managed to fly out of Leipzig.

“’Bout time,” Sam says in the cell next to yours, folding his arms and smirking.

“Got a little held up,” Steve returns. “Sorry I’m late.” He smiles, cocky and confident as ever, and your heart swells with relief.

Wakanda is like nowhere you’ve ever been before, and even as mentally and physically exhausted as you are after the events of the past several days, you still have enough energy to marvel at its unparalleled beauty and astonishingly advanced technology. King T’Challa is surprisingly generous with his hospitality, and for the first time in weeks, you’re able to relax.

Over the next few days, discussions are held, decisions are made, and plans are worked out. Clint and Scott opt to return to their families. Steve decides to leave Wakanda in a few days, to avoid putting King T’Challa through any diplomatic difficulties. You and Sam choose to come with him, and Wanda says she’ll come as far as Europe and then reassess her next move. Bucky, however, ultimately decides to stay behind.

You’re not with Steve when he watches Bucky go back into cryo-sleep, but you find him later that evening sitting in one of the palace courtyards, brooding. He flashes a quick smile when you sit down beside him, but it’s sad and pensive and sends an ache through your heart.

“Thinking about Bucky?” you ask softly.

After a moment of hesitation, he nods. “Yeah. It doesn’t feel good, leaving him behind.”

“They’ll take good care of him here,” you assure him. “He’ll be okay.”

“I know,” he sighs, staring up at the dark sky. “It was his choice to go under, and I know I have to respect that.” He glances sideways at you with that small, sad smile again. “I guess I just didn’t think I was going to have to say goodbye again so soon.”

You reach out and take his hand, holding it gently. “It’s not forever this time, at least. They’ll figure out how to help him. And he’ll be safe here until you can see him again.”

He looks from your joined hands to your face, and this time when he says “I know,” his smile is a little less sad, a little warmer. You try and fail to push down the butterflies in your stomach when he briefly squeezes your hand.

Silence falls over you as you both turn to face the courtyard again, your hands still clasped. You briefly close your eyes to drink in this moment of connection with him, focusing on the gentle touch of his fingers, the rise and fall of his breathing, the warmth of his body next to yours.

“You know, you could probably stay here too, if you want,” he says suddenly.

Your eyes snap open, your brow furrowing in confusion. “What?”

“Or we could make arrangements so you can go back to the States with Clint and Scott,” he continues. “Work out another deal.”

Your heart clenches with a sharp and sudden pain and you immediately withdraw your hand from his. After all these years, after everything you’ve been through together, does he not want you with him any more?

“Steve, if you don’t want me coming with you, you can just say so,” you say as evenly as you can, trying to keep the hurt out of your voice.

“That’s not what I meant,” he replies quickly. You can tell he’s looking at you now, but you keep your gaze resolutely fixed on the ground. You’re afraid of what you’ll see if you look him in the eye.

“It’s not that I don’t want you to come—I do,” he says with an earnestness that allows the pressure around your heart to ease up just slightly. “I just…” He sighs again and rubs a hand wearily over his face. “I don’t know what’s going to happen when we leave this place. It’s probably going to be pretty rough. I just want to make sure you’ll be safe.”

You release a dry breath of laughter. “If safety was my primary concern, I wouldn’t have gone with you to Vienna in the first place.”

When you glance at him, you’re surprised by the slight frown creasing his forehead and the serious look on his face. He really does care about you, you realise, and the thought fills you with warmth. But you know that no matter how much he tries to reason that joining him is a bad idea, there’s no way you’ll let him leave without you.

“Look, I appreciate you worrying about me, but this is my choice to make, just like it was my choice not to sign the Accords,” you tell him gently but firmly. “I know there are other options, and yeah, they might be easier or safer… but I’m choosing to come with you.”

I’ll always choose you, you think as you meet his eyes. I’ll follow you anywhere. I just want to be by your side.

The words are on the tip of your tongue, but you swallow them down—it’s too much, too heavy an emotional burden to hand over to him on the same night he’s had to say goodbye to his best friend. So instead you say softly, “You respected Bucky’s decision—you should respect mine, too.”

He lets out a long, slow breath. You’re not sure what to make of the expression on his face, but after a long moment, he finally nods. “Okay. You’re right.”

You nudge him with your elbow, trying to lighten the mood a little. “Just face it: you’re stuck with me for the foreseeable future. Sam and Wanda, too.”

“I guess I can think of worse situations to be in,” he replies with a faint smile, but it fades a little as he adds, “I don’t really have a plan for this one, though.”

“Do you ever?” you can’t resist teasing with a raised eyebrow. He rewards you with a chuckle, and the sound of it lights up your heart.

You offer him a soft, sincere smile. “It’ll be okay,” you tell him resolutely. Your fingers twitch in your lap, longing to reach out to him again. “We’ll just take it step by step, one day at a time. We’ll figure it out and make it work. Together.”

He gazes at you, and it seems that he draws some measure of confidence from whatever he sees in your eyes, because he returns your smile and nods again. “We’ll figure it out,” he echoes with equal conviction.

After all these years, you still don’t quite understand how you always seem to be able to give him the assurance he needs, how he manages to draw so much comfort from your words. It doesn’t matter, though. He’s so thoroughly embedded in your heart that you’ll keep offering him whatever you have to give, for however long he wants it.

For some reason, it doesn’t occur to you that this could actually be the end until you’re preparing to march out onto the Wakandan plains.

You’re no stranger to the risk of death—it’s been part of your life ever since you first joined up with S.H.I.E.L.D. But this is orders of magnitude more dangerous than anything you’ve faced before. The stakes are so impossibly high; the enemy is unimaginably strong; there are so many things that could go wrong. You’re suddenly painfully aware that, in all likelihood, you’re not all going to come back from this.

Next to you, Steve experimentally expands and collapses his new shields. Satisfied, he turns and sees you staring into nothing.

“You okay?” he asks with a furrowed brow.

With no small amount of effort, you pull your mind back into the present. “Yeah,” you lie automatically. “I just…” The rest of your words fade from your lips when you lift your head and meet his eyes.

God, those perfect, piercing blue eyes. You know it’s melodramatic, but the thought crosses your mind that this could be the last time you gaze into them like this, the last quiet moment you ever share with him.

So maybe you should tell him how you feel, your mind whispers. This could be your last chance.

You know the silence has gone on a little too long when his frown deepens, concern written over every line of his face. He places a hand on your shoulder, solid and comforting. “What’s going on?”

You shake your head and try to smile, but you can tell he’s unconvinced. With a sigh, you give a rueful shrug. “I don’t know,” you murmur. “It just… really feels like it could be the end this time.”

His face softens and he squeezes your shoulder. “It’s gonna be okay. We’ll make it through this,” he tells you firmly. “We’ll get it done.”

His eyes are filled with so much determination, as if there’s no conceivable alternative. You press your lips together as you stare at him. You’ve always trusted in his certainty and let his never-failing optimism pull you through countless dire situations. He’s never once let you down. You know you can trust in him now, here at what feels like the end of the world.

So you nod in agreement and force another smile. “We’ll get it done,” you repeat, swallowing down the confession that had been rising in your throat. There’ll be time enough for that in the aftermath, you reason.

The battle is more savage than any you have fought in before. There’s no time to think; no time to feel. All you can do is fight, letting your instincts and adrenaline take over, ignoring the bodies hitting the ground around you.

“Guys, we got a Vision situation here,” Sam’s voice comes over your comms, but the transmission is cut off by his strangled cry, and then Steve is yelling, “Somebody get to Vision!”

You see Bruce fly off overhead back towards the palace and you take off after him, but before you can even reach the trees, you’re slammed to the ground. You twist and stab out viciously with your knife, catching the creature in the neck. It slumps over and you kick it off your body and scramble to your feet, but you’re barely two steps away when you’re set upon by another one.

“Guys! Vision needs backup, now!” Bruce cries out, and you grit your teeth and push on, fighting your way to your friends as fast as your all-too-human body can move.

You’ve just made it into the forest ahead of Bucky, Nat and General Okoye when Steve’s voice comes over the comms, grave and tense: “Everyone, on my position. We have incoming.”

There’s a shift in the air, a whisper in the wind, and you stop and look around uneasily, your fingers tightening around the handle of your knife.

And then an actual portal opens up, and a person steps out, huge and alien and intimidating. Even at this distance, you can feel the power radiating from him. Dread floods through your entire body. You don’t need Bruce’s confirmation to know that it’s Thanos.

“Eyes up. Stay sharp,” Steve orders as he charges in, and your heart clenches with a strange combination of foreboding and determination as you adjust your grip on your knife and start moving.

You hurl yourself forward, but Thanos flicks you aside with a simple gesture of his hand, like you’re nothing more than an insect. You slam into a tree trunk on the other side of the clearing and fall limply to the ground.

It’s a few minutes before you become fully conscious of your surroundings again, and through the haze of pain you’re dimly aware of an explosion of energy and red light. Wanda, you think, your heart in your throat.

But then there’s another pulse of energy, this time something foreign and lit with green. You don’t know what it is, but your stomach drops and another wave of sickening dread courses through you. Every part of your battered body cries out in protest as you stagger to your feet and struggle your way back to Thanos, to your team.

But you’re too late.

You stumble into the clearing just in time to see Thanos disappear, and you stop dead in your tracks at the stricken look on Thor’s face.

No. No.

Steve comes limping into view, clutching his side. “Where’d he go?” he asks desperately, looking around. “Thor, where’d he go?”

A few steps ahead of you, Bucky calls out Steve’s name, and you watch in horror as he dissolves into ashes before your eyes.

This can’t be happening, your mind screams. You stare blankly at Steve as he falls to his knees and reaches out with a trembling hand to touch the ground in disbelief.

You’re about to step forward when you feel it: a fluttering, disintegrating sensation spreading up your body from your feet. In an instant, your mind floods with panic and regret—I should’ve told him before, when I had the chance…

“Steve, I—”

He looks up at you and you catch one last glimpse of his blue eyes, haunted and hollow with defeat and despair.

I love you, you try to say, but before you can voice another word, your atoms are scattered to the wind.

Steve doesn’t fully realise how he feels about you until you’re gone.

He wishes fervently that he had figured it out earlier so that he could have told you how much you mean to him, how much he cares about you, how much he needs you. He never noticed before how much he had come to rely on you, but now he feels your absence like a physical weight on his heart. You were the first person he trusted when he came out of the ice, and you had been there beside him ever since. You, with your soft smiles and gentle eyes, always ready to listen and tell him the truths he needed to hear. You, quiet and insightful, steady and strong. You, so compassionate, so full of understanding. So beautiful.

Sometimes, late at night, he can hear your voice in his head telling him to stop blaming himself for things that aren’t his fault, to be patient and keep doing his job, to take it step by step, one day at a time. He wonders what you would say if you were by his side now. He thinks about how the burden of this loss might be just a fraction easier to carry if you were here, just like all the other burdens you helped him carry before the Snap, before Thanos, before the entire universe was thrown into chaos.

He tries to do as much good as he can bring himself to do. He goes to his sessions and gives the advice he thinks you would give. He says words that he knows are helpful and true. He encourages people to seek reasons to move on, find others to walk with them, keep putting one foot in front of the other.

But he can’t take his own advice or believe in his own optimism. He failed the world, failed the people he loves, and without you here to gently push him forward, he’s mired in regret. Without you walking next to him, he’s rooted in place.

And then like a miracle Scott Lang appears at the Compound and starts talking about time travel, and as far-fetched as it is, Steve can finally see a path out of the darkness. He can see a way to fix all their mistakes, bring back everything they’ve lost. For the first time in five years, he has hope. It’s only a faint glimmer, but it’s enough.

He finally has a reason to move forward.

It’s not until Tony’s funeral that you slow down enough to start processing everything that has happened. You’ve been running on adrenaline since you woke up in Wakanda—through the battle to end all battles on the grounds of the last place you called home, through the tearful reunions with your friends and the recounts of what they suffered through to bring everyone back, through the recovery and rehabilitation for the injuries you sustained. Now, standing at the edge of the lake where you’ve just said farewell to one of the best people you’ve ever known, you’re finally starting to feel the weight of it all. Vision. Nat. Tony. A world that has moved on without you.

The door to the house opens, and the muffled sounds of conversation float out to you. You glance over your shoulder to find Steve stepping outside. He shuts the door behind him and comes over to stand beside you, his hands in his pockets.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” you respond with a watery smile, quickly wiping the tears from your cheeks.

“How are you doing?” He asks the question tentatively, almost like he’s not expecting you to answer.

You’re quiet for a while, staring out to the water. “I think I understand a little better now, how you felt when you came out of the ice,” you say finally. “Waking up in a completely different world. People I love changed or… gone.”

Your voice cracks on the last word, and you close your eyes briefly as a wave of grief washes over you.

“It’s been five years,” you murmur when you regain your composure. “I’ve missed so much.” You turn your head to look at him, helpless and lost. “What happens now?”

He steps closer, angling his body to face you. “You mourn. However long that takes,” he tells you, his voice sure and steady. “But before the grief crushes you, you look for reasons to keep moving forward. Find people who can help bear the load.”

Your eyes well up. You recognise those words: they’re an echo of what you said to him that night at the Retreat all those years ago, when your heart first opened up to let him in. It hasn’t let go of him since, and in this moment you know it never will.

“That’s pretty good advice,” you manage to say around the lump in your throat.

“I got it from a pretty amazing woman,” he replies with a small smile. “She’s always had a knack for telling me the things I need to hear.”

His expression changes to something more serious, more vulnerable. He moves towards you again and now he’s close, so close that you can feel the warmth of his body. Slowly, carefully, he lifts his hand to cup the side of your face, and you draw a sharp, shaky breath as he brushes a stray tear from your cheek with a gentle swipe of his thumb. You stare at him, trembling, and cover his hand with yours, holding him to you.

“You have no idea how much I missed you,” he says, barely louder a whisper. “These past five years without you… I’ve been lost in the dark.”

His words pierce your heart and something inside you breaks. Overwhelmed, you squeeze your eyes shut—and the next thing you know, he’s wrapping his arms around you, gathering you in, holding you like he won’t ever let go.

Lost in a torrent of emotion, you clutch him like he’s a lifeline. You can feel your tears dampening his jacket as you press your cheek to his chest. All you can focus on is Steve: the smell of his cologne, the sound of his heart beating steadily in his chest, the feeling of his arms tight around you. Everything else melts away, and all that matters is that he’s here with you now, warm and solid and real.

Eventually, the tears subside and your breathing evens out. You feel him press a soft kiss to the top of your head, and it makes you shiver. You lean back slightly so you can see his face, and your heart immediately constricts. There is no mistaking what you see in his gaze. His blue eyes are full of tenderness. Full of love.

With a deep breath, you finally confess the unspoken truth you’ve been carrying for so many years, your voice quiet but steady: “I love you.”

His smile is achingly beautiful. “I love you too,” he says, simple and certain, and your heart floods with light.

He leans in closer and your eyes flutter closed. You feel his nose brush against yours, his breath fanning out on your skin. And then slowly, inexorably, his lips meet yours.

You curl your fingers around his neck at the same time that his arms tighten around you, both of you pressing each other closer. There is nothing shy or tentative about this kiss; there is no hesitance or uncertainty. You pour into it every drop of love you have for him, and from the way his mouth moves against you, so firm and tender and passionate, you know he’s doing the same.

You open your eyes slowly when you finally draw apart, and you find him watching you with hooded eyes, a faint flush on his cheeks and a soft smile on his lips. He looks exactly the way you feel. You slide your hands down from his neck to his chest, revelling in the feeling of his heartbeat under your fingers.

You look up at him through your lashes and ask the same question you asked earlier, only this time it’s wondering, hopeful. “So what happens now?”

He lifts his hand to caress your cheek. “We’ll take it step by step, one day at a time,” he tells you warmly, assuredly. “We’ll figure it out and make it work. Together.”

Once again you recognise his words as your own, and your chest tightens at the realisation that he has taken to heart so much of what you’ve said to him over the years. You had always known that he valued your words, but now you’re beginning to see just how much you have always meant to him.

“Okay,” you say, a bright smile emerging on your face like the sun breaking through the clouds.

The two of you have lived and fought and suffered through so much to get to this moment. The weight of grief is still heavy on you both, and there is still so much work to be done. But as he leans down to kiss you again, you know that whatever comes next, you can walk forward and face it—together.