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One thousand, eight hundred, and thirty five days. That was how long it had been since you left, not looking back. It hurt. Leaving like you did. But you felt like you had to. After everything that had happened, it was easier, better for everyone if you just vanished like the ones you’d lost in the Snap.
You wondered if he still thought about you. You still thought about him. Five years on, and you still missed him. You had met Steve Rogers when you were fresh out of school and he was practically fresh out of the ice. You hadn’t fallen quickly, hadn’t fallen easily. It was messy, love is rarely anything but. It took him two years to ask you out, another two to ask you to marry him, and then everything went to hell in a handbasket. Thanos happened. The Snap. Half the population gone, his best friend along with them.
He changed. You changed. Things were tense. You had made your plans quietly. Putting money away off to the side until you were ready to slip away one day while he was running the support group. You left a note and your phone. Deep down, you felt like he’d just accept it, move on. If you didn’t want to be with him anymore, there were more pressing things to deal with.
You were working at a coffee shop in Dublin when it happened. People started reappearing. The shock of it all was enough to send society into momentary chaos. O’Connell Street was full of confused Dubliners and tourists alike who had vanished without a trace five years prior. You knew you couldn’t sit back and do nothing. You may have ceased being an Avenger years ago, but your powers were still there, you could still help. You hung your apron up and headed out into the street, appraising the situation.
It was hours before you took a proper break. The accidents caused by the reappearance of people in the middle of streets was staggering. The one saving grace was it seemed as though those who had been in vehicles reappeared in those vehicles, rather than the location where they vanished. You had a feeling people falling out of the sky would have been much more traumatic for an already traumatized population.
You didn’t expect to see Steve Rogers walk into the cafe two weeks later. He sat down at a table after ordering coffee and a pastry from your co-worker and you brought both to him. He looked up as he saw you. He looked exhausted. He looked hurt. You felt a stab to your heart as he looked at you.
“Steve...it’s...be a while,” you said, setting the tray down.
“Five years. Five years,” he said, repeating himself. You weren’t sure what had brought him. You knew someone had recognized you, you’d been on the news but you didn’t think it had left Europe.
“I’m sorry,” you said softly. His eyes met yours, and you felt the biting sting of tears in your eyes.
“Are you?” he asked. He kept his expression neutral, never showing what he was thinking. You knew you deserved this. You knew he deserved answers. You waved at your manager, signaling that you were going on break as you sat down across from him.
“When I left...neither of us were in a good place, Steve. Everything that happened, the people we lost. We were falling apart,” you said. His nostrils flared. You knew he wasn’t going to like what you had to say.
“And you walked away when I needed you most. You walked away from me, from Natasha. We were supposed to be family,” he said. You closed your eyes.
“Our family fell apart long before Thanos,” you replied. Everything that happened leading up to that fight played over in your head. The division of the team. The hurt and anger that existed. If anything, you felt like everyone who remained drifted further in the wake of the battle, the chasm too wide, the scars too deep.
“You could have stayed. We could have worked it out. I love...I loved you, you know,” he said, his voice cracking, showing the emotion he tried desperately to hide. He didn’t owe you anything, least of all his vulnerability.
“And what if I did? We’d have ended up here still. We were fighting more than we were talking, Steve. We were both hurting. Leaving was the best option,” you told him. He opened and closed his fist several times, flexing his fingers. He was getting restless.
“You could have talked to me about it,” he said. You scoffed.
“When? If you were home you locked yourself in the office. I only saw you for silent dinners and you came to bed long after I fell asleep,” you said, your voice growing louder. The two of you stared at each other for a moment. You felt like your heart was breaking all over again. Having the conversation hurt far worse than leaving had.
“You gave up on us before we even had a chance to fight for us,” he said, breaking the silence. It stung, but he wasn’t wrong. You had made the decision. You had walked away. And you both had to live with that consequence. It became worse when you considered that it had been a choice that affected more than just the two of you.
“I know...I know,” you said, not knowing what else to say to the man sat in front of you. Nothing you could say could make up for five years of radio silence, five years of hiding, of trying to pretend your paths had never crossed. Your mistakes, you knew, would last a lifetime, as you thought of the little girl who had no idea who Steve Rogers was.