Archive of Our Own ^beta

The Storm And The Sun

The rain fell hard on him as Thor stood on the balcony, the usually strong yet gentle caress replaced by claws of icy coldness raking naked, wet skin, leaving it feeling raw. For what he was about to do, Thor deserved the harsh treatment, had brought it upon himself as punishment in an attempt to push aside the greater pain in his heart. There was no thunder this time, no bravado, only the sullen, grey skies and the darkness of his thoughts.

"Thor?" Jane called to him from inside the hotel room—one of the many they had met in during the past months while she travelled where her research required. There was concern in her sleepy voice, and when Thor slowly turned to meet her gaze he found it in Jane's eyes as well.

He had truly been a coward to put this off as long as he had.

Jane took a hesitant step toward him, standing now on the threshold of the balcony and the downpour. She wavered, but did not cross over, and perhaps it was for the better. Her slender form was still beautiful to his eyes as she shivered from cold under the silky robe, but something irreplaceable had been lost. Thor still loved her, would die protecting her, but no longer did he yearn to be beside her till the end of days.

"Thor, talk to me," Jane pleaded from behind the heavy curtain of rain, not for the first time since Thor had relinquished his desire for the throne of Asgard and returned to her side. Had he really thought that her mere closeness would resolve things, change their impending fate? Regardless of how hard Thor had tried there was no turning the tide, and now things were beyond salvation.

"Tell me, what's wrong?" Jane asked again, the fear of what she had no doubt already been expecting casting deeper shadows on her fair countenance. He had offered her many answers—vague, evasive, comforting, misleading—for how could he have given a truth that he had gone to such lengths to keep hidden even from himself? He struggled to find the right words, to push them out of his resisting mouth.

"I no longer know my own heart," Thor said quietly, his voice barely audible over the fall of a million bitter tears beating on every surface, but at least brave enough to meet her eyes. The worry on Jane's face slowly transformed, first into anger, the burn of her gaze full enough of fury to shatter worlds. But what hurt Thor most was the sadness that followed, the hollow look of resignation, and the fall of Jane's shoulders as she turned her back to him.

"New York," she whispered, the syllables sounding almost oddly relieved. She finally had her answer. As Jane retreated into the warmth and light of the hotel room, shuddering as she passed by the recently used bed with its tangled sheets, she hurled a single word at Thor; a shard of ice colder than the hand of a frost giant. "Leave."

Thor called for his hammer, his armour forming around him as he flew into the rain which now felt warm in comparison.

~~~

The keys landed on the hallway table with a jingle and the bag with the spare clothes on the floor with a heavy thud, but not as heavy as Steve's sigh. Another long mission with Natasha and the S.T.R.I.K.E. team was over, and Steve was finally back home in Brooklyn. He stood still for a while just enjoying the peace and quiet. Laundry day would have to wait until tomorrow, right now he was too tired, and it was getting late.

Steve removed his shoes in the dark and hummed contentedly as he wriggled his toes against the wooden floor, then hung up his jacket and stretched his arms, shoulders stiff from the long flight over. If he could have just one full day without having to put the gear back on, he'd be happy. It was good to keep busy, and Steve appreciated having a clearer purpose in life again, but every once in a while even Captain America deserved a break.

He didn't bother to turn on the lights as he ambled across the hallway and into the living room. Despite the late hour the ever-awake city beyond the windows was aglow, and the strands streaming in through the gaps in the curtains provided enough illumination to navigate past the furniture. Steve preferred the shadows tonight anyway—they hid the fact that the place felt too big for one person.

While he liked it better staying here than in his more utilitarian lodgings at S.H.I.E.L.D. or even the luxurious rooms reserved for him at the rebuilt Stark Tower, Steve had to admit the other two locations offered something his home lacked, and that was company.

The air in the apartment was a bit stuffy, so Steve opened one window a fraction. Outside it smelled of approaching rain. He wandered into the kitchen and took a peek in the fridge. It was nearly empty as usual, since he didn't spend that much time home these days, nor did he usually cook very much, relying more on what the neighbourhood cafés and restaurants had to offer. Steve wasn't all that hungry anyway, and he could always get a hearty breakfast in the morning from the nearby diner.

Instead he grabbed the last remaining beer and uncorked it, entered the living-room again and put an LP record in the old player in the corner. Steve sank down in to the couch, sipping from the bottle as the mellow sounds flooded in to fill the empty spaces. Strings, horns, and smooth melodies, they didn't make music like that anymore.

Too bad the beer would have no effect on him, though it tasted good enough. The restlessness that followed each mission always stuck with Steve for a while, especially when things didn't go according to plan. Lately that had been too often, but at least the worst edge of it was wearing off. Yet Steve never quite seemed to get rid of the nagging feeling that his life was still missing something important.

A new melody started to play, slow and melancholy, and Steve's mood soon began to match it. One day perhaps the past would feel as strange to him as the present did now, but until then Steve would just have to settle for trying to fit in the best he could.

Maybe what he really needed was to get away from everything for a while—the Avengers, S.H.I.E.L.D., New York, his past, his future—just disappear somewhere where no-one knew his name, if such a place even existed anymore. Problem was that Steve wasn't the running away kind of guy, never had been. But sometimes he chose to stay still when he should have been moving on, and Steve felt like he'd been stuck since the attack on Manhattan.

Eventually it began to rain. Steve could hear it drumming on the roof, falling on the windows. Fresh cool air blew in from the one that was ajar, coldness soon swirling around Steve's feet so he pulled them up to keep them warmer. He took a long draught of the beer, and then suddenly realized that since he'd bought the couch no-one had ever sat there beside him. It was wide enough for three, but he always ended up sitting in the same end, while the rest of it waited for someone to come over. He'd never invited anyone.

Steve kept telling people the solitude didn't bother him, but the more time passed in this new world, the more he longed for someone to truly connect with, to share his life with. But it had proven hard to find people around whom he didn't feel like a relic of ages past. Guess that gap of nearly seventy years was too wide for him to bridge. Steve huffed at the moroseness of his thoughts; it wasn't like him to wallow in self pity.

Yet no matter what century he lived in or how many years he had left—something neither Steve nor the scientists who'd studied him were certain of, though he would probably age slower than the average human—Steve wasn't fond of the idea of spending them alone.

Even so, he was slowly resigning himself to the fact that he probably would, despite Natasha's eagerness to help with the matter. Steve wouldn't put it past her to soon start setting up 'accidental' meetings with potential date candidates if he kept saying no to her suggestions. She meant well, but even if Steve wasn't totally up to date—no pun intended—on how one went about such things these days, he wasn't short on offers. He just wasn't ready yet.

Steve rested his head back against the couch and tried to relax, letting at least his weary body have some rest if not his mind. He listened to the sound of the rain mix with the music and Steve's thoughts slowly drifted to Bucky, as they somehow always did when the weather was rainy.

He remembered that little apartment they'd shared before the war, much smaller than what he lived in now and not too far from here, though the building no longer existed. The place had almost always been too cold inside except when it'd been too hot. During winters things had gotten so bad that Steve and Bucky had shared a bed too just to keep warm at night. Bucky had actually insisted on it after Steve once caught a worse than usual cold. He'd been sick as hell, but it had still been the best few weeks of his life, having Bucky fuss and take care of him day and night.

Steve could still recall in intricate detail how it had felt to have Bucky lie next to him, under the covers, his chest pressed into Steve's back, those strong arms wrapped around his then frail body and the heat from Bucky seeping in through their clothes and all the way down to Steve's bones. Bucky had never questioned why it had made Steve's heart beat so fast, never made a remark about how Steve had shuddered when Bucky had pulled him closer. He'd just continued to hold Steve until they'd fall asleep.

Steve had loved Bucky with all his heart, so much that he'd thought he could die from the ache alone when his friend was gone. No-one had ever gotten him like Bucky had, understood why a scrawny guy had picked fights he couldn't win and why he never backed down from them. Bucky just showed up in time to save him or to patch up the wounds afterwards, always smiling like he was so damn proud of Steve even as he playfully chided him for getting beaten up.

To most of the world Steve had been invisible for so much of his life, and then Captain America was born and he had become an idol, an image of a hero to look up to. To Bucky he had always been Steve Rogers, the kid he'd follow to the end of the line.

"God I miss you, Bucky, so much," Steve whispered forlornly. I love you, he thought, still not able to say out loud the words he had never had the courage to utter, at least not in the way he'd wanted to.

'Cause no matter how much Bucky had loved Steve back, no matter how deeply, it had always been the love of friend, or of a brother. Steve suspected Bucky had known how Steve felt about him, but he'd still stayed, like it made no difference at all—and Steve had loved him all the more for it.

The last song came to an end, leaving Steve alone with the rain. He drained what was left of the beer, set the bottle on the table and got up to close the window and block out the cold air. He stared outside for a while, at the city he both knew so well and not at all.

Peggy had probably known about Steve's feelings for Bucky as well, though she never said a word. Steve had loved her too, and had even thought she could be the one to finally win over his heart. But that chance had been lost in time, and ice. Steve shivered—he didn't recall much about being frozen to the core, but his body seemed to. There were nights when he thought he'd never be able to feel warm again. Or to get any sleep for that matter.

Occasionally he managed to nap for a few hours, but apart from that it appeared he required no sleep at all, as if the years in ice had robbed him of that need as well. Probably better to stay awake anyway. Steve didn't look forward to the nightmares of Bucky falling to his death, over and over again.

Deciding to put an end to his useless brooding, Steve stripped off the rest of his clothes and headed into the shower, hoping the hot water would drive out chills and bad memories. The attempt was only mildly successful.

Sleep or no sleep, Steve was exhausted so he got ready for bed and crawled under a thick blanket, pulling it up to his ears. Just for once instead of the nightmares Steve wished he could dream of that small apartment with the creaky little bed, and the warm weight at his back.

Thunder suddenly rumbled in the distance, and the sound was oddly comforting. A spark of something lit up in Steve's heart and the coldness seemed to retreat. An image of red and gold flashed in his mind, along with a radiant smile that was so contagious that Steve found himself smiling too. But it faded fast. Thor was just as far out of his reach as Bucky had been. So what if he'd seemed happy to be in Steve's company, no reason to be reading any more into that, he probably acted like that with everyone. Be that the truth or not, Steve wanted to believe Thor’s smile had been just for him, the affectionate warmth in those eyes reflecting something more than you felt for a friend.

Steve pushed the thoughts aside, shuffling around in the bed and turning his back to the window and the rain. No, no more of this foolishness. There would be no point in reminiscing on things forever lost, or dreaming of the impossible. He would focus on the missions, on what he did best—being a soldier, being the Captain. The rest would sort itself out with time.

As he closed his eyes and fell into a light slumber, Steve wondered if he was forever doomed to reach for a love that he could not have.

~~~

Towers of billowing snow erupted into the air as Thor crashed down amidst the tall trees, far from any residence, far from Jane, far from everything except what he carried with him. He staggered to his feet, his grip on Mjölnir still rigid and the sky calling to him. But there was nowhere to go. Though the rain had ceased, the ashen clouds that had trailed him still hung low in the sky, heavy as the guilt in his heart.

Returning to Asgard would only have given rise to questions that Thor neither had the answers to nor the inclination to hear, so he had flown towards the northern lands of Midgard instead. Now that the first step towards the truth had been taken the path must be followed to where ever it might take him. It would be better to walk the earth while his mind was troubled instead of causing havoc in the skies of this realm. To that end, Thor decided he would wander this mountain-rimmed valley of needled trees until his mind was clearer, or until he ran out of strength to go on.

Choosing an arbitrary direction, Thor began his journey, picking a swift pace and pushing through the knee-deep snow as if something was haunting him. Perhaps it was Jane's final word, the echo of which he could still almost hear. Thor could not blame her for seeing his actions as nothing but betrayal, to have been with her while his thoughts were of another.

It had taken even Thor by surprise that those thoughts had not been of Loki, but of the man they called the Captain. This disturbed him not only because of the quietly furtive way such musings had invaded his mind, but also because of how improbable such a thing should be.

For all the love Thor had known in his life—the love of his parents, of his friends, of his people, and even Jane—everything had paled in comparison to the bond he had shared with his brother.

Words had failed him whenever Thor had tried to explain it to others as a child, resulting in either gentle laughter and quick dismissal, or silence and odd looks that lingered, turning into whispers and rumours. Eventually he had learned that the bond he revered and treasured would never be understood by those who could not share in it, so he stopped trying. Loki was a part of him and he a part of Loki; that was all that had mattered. Even after Loki's first betrayal, Thor had clung to the hope of regaining the brother he had once known, the brother of his soul.

But Loki was gone now, dead by the hands of the Dark Elves along with Thor's mother and so many others, and the last thread of that hope had vanished with him—as had the deftly woven web of denial and deception Thor had built around the truth. For there was one aspect of his bond with Loki that had frightened even the god of thunder; as he had grown older, Thor found he not only loved his brother, but had desired him.

Night began to fall as he strode on and frost followed, turning each laboured breath into icy vapour. The trees cast ever lengthening shadows over the ground and Thor's footsteps became heavier, dragging through the descending darkness and the snow, as the memory he both cherished and shied away from emerged from hiding, sharp and vivid and ever so bittersweet.

One drunken night after celebrating a victorious battle, one youthfully foolish attempt at kissing Loki when the mead had gone to their heads, and the longing Thor had felt for his brother had grown beyond his control. Almost consumed by it, Thor had cared for little else in the universe than the feel of those lips finally against his, and the intricate and dangerously delicious dance of their tongues as Thor had crushed Loki against the wall of the dimly lit corridor, so direly wanting to claim the rest of him the way he had claimed that mouth.

Oh, how his brother had yielded, sweet and pliant in Thor's arms, as if he had waited just as long and just as eagerly for the inevitable to happen. In that instant Thor had realized two things; that should he surrender to this desire, he would be forever lost in it—and that as the heir to the throne of Asgard he could not afford to take such a risk for anyone, not even for his beloved Loki.

Gathering what restraint had still remained Thor had pulled back, laughed loudly, and then declared that he had kissed his brother merely as a drunken jest. The devastation on Loki's face had nearly made Thor retract his words, but an instant later his brother had grinned as cheerfully as ever, commending Thor on catching him by surprise as it was a feat not accomplished by many.

They had never discussed the incident again, and even though Thor knew the blame did not fall on him alone, surely he must accept his responsibility in influencing what Loki had become, and what that had led him to do. Yet there had been no other choice to make. Thor's love for his brother had been beyond measure, but in the end it would have destroyed him. He just couldn't stop wondering if it would have been worth it, to have held Loki in his arms for even one night before the end. All that was left for him now was to mourn, and seek to release his heart from the bond that still held it.

The sky turned the deepest of blues and stars began to appear in the velvet of it, but their beauty was lost to a man who walked in darkness. It would be a long way until dawn.

~~~

Twilight was already creeping in when Steve finally arrived at Brooklyn Bridge Park, and the evening breeze was turning a bit chilly. He zipped up his light jacket, careful not to drop the sketchbook he was carrying, and headed for his usual seat, hoping it would be unoccupied. Despite the wind, the weather was nice, and the park was popular among the locals as well as tourists.

There was a pleasant ache in his muscles, the kind you got from a good, long walk instead of enduring battle-heavy missions. A welcome change, but one Steve knew wouldn't last too long. At least he'd made the most of this day—he'd spent the daylight hours strolling around his old neighbourhoods in Brooklyn, sketching people and places, and studying once more how much or little things had changed during his time in the ice. A few years seemed hardly enough time to catch up with everything. As much as Steve enjoyed his little trips down memory lane, he invariably ended up feeling wistful and a homesick for the past afterwards. He never walked those streets alone, but in the company of a host of memories.

Arriving at his favourite spot, the one with a great view of the Brooklyn Bridge, Steve found the bench free and he took a seat, setting the sketchbook down beside him. Shoving his hands into his pockets to keep them warm, Steve leaned back with a sigh. He'd missed this.

The sky was clear and the bridge looked magnificent in the colours of the sunset, but Steve had done enough sketching for now and was satisfied with just admiring the view and spending time surrounded by ordinary things and ordinary people, instead of agents and enemies. Being out of uniform let him blend in, and for a moment Steve could imagine that he lived an ordinary life too. Sometimes, just for a second, he even felt like he did.

A boisterous group of youngsters took over a bench one over from Steve's, their happy if loud chatter filling the air and making Steve smile. That's why he always saved the park for last, so he could sit down and gather his thoughts before going back home. Watching the people go about their lives, listening as they enjoyed the sights and each other's company, reminded Steve of what really mattered, what he kept fighting for.

Generally he tried to stay positive since life was pretty good, all things considered. But every once in a while—like last night, which had been thankfully devoid of nightmares but also of sleep—all that he had lost came to haunt Steve, and some dark part of him wished they'd never woken him up at all. He was alive, but he wasn't always sure he was living.

The young men suddenly fell silent, and then launched into a hushed but enthusiastic discussion, the content of which wasn't hard to guess if you had ever been a teenage boy. Steve couldn't really blame them; the redhead approaching him would get anyone's attention.

"I can understand why you like coming here, the view is pretty amazing," Natasha said as she gracefully parked herself on the bench beside Steve, careful not to sit on the book.

"And naturally that would be the only reason you're here, and not, let's say for example, to keep an eye on me," Steve replied only mildly irate, not too happy about her arrival but not too displeased either, and certainly not surprised. It wasn't any secret that Steve came to the park often, just like it wasn't any secret that Natasha could be very persistent and sneaky, both on and off the job. He just hoped her visit wasn't anything work related.

"Naturally," Natasha said nonchalantly, but her smile told another story. She glanced down at the sketchbook and almost automatically reached for it, but stopped a little short. "May I?" she asked, clearly curious but restraining herself enough to be polite. Steve nodded, since she wasn't likely to uncover anything private within it. He made sure to keep those artworks separate from everything else. Having permission Natasha nimbly picked up the book, and began leafing through it.

"So, have you come here to reminisce about the golden days, old boy?" Natasha asked with a hint of tease while slowly flipping the pages with slender fingers. If she and Tony Stark had one thing in common, it was to fondly make fun of Steve's age. He had his ways of getting back at the pair, so he mostly didn't mind. Tonight, however, he didn't feel in the mood for banter.

"The Brooklyn Bridge hasn't changed that much since my times," he replied casually, not taking the bait. "Seeing it makes me feel less of a stranger in this city."

Natasha seemed satisfied with his answer, and for a while Steve heard nothing from her but the faint rustling of paper, disrupted only by the occasional appreciative or thoughtful sounds she made. The streetlights in the park flickered to life, brightening their surroundings. Steve looked back at the bridge that was now almost completely in shadow; soon it and the tall buildings beyond would bloom with lights as night arrived.

The bridge might be a familiar landmark not much affected by time, but so much else was so different that Steve often worried if he'd ever feel at home again in New York. Regardless of that, he still couldn't imagine living anywhere else. This is where he'd been born and raised, where his roots were—and where so many memories had been made. Including the most precious ones.

Looking over to Manhattan Steve could see that for the most part the island had recovered from the Chitauri attack, apart from a few broken skyscraper peaks, and that brought along memories of a different kind—newer, but hardly less complicated, and involving a pair of short-tempered Asgardians.

He'd heard about the incident in London, after it was all over. Powerful deities made powerful enemies it seemed, but allies as well, and friends. Steve had half expected at least one son of Odin to make an appearance in New York after reading the news. To his relief and to his regret, neither had shown up. Then he'd heard the rumours. Nothing much concerning Thor's visits to Earth went unnoticed, especially since they were keeping such a close eye on Jane Foster, and even if Steve didn't listen to gossip he couldn't avoid overhearing them. He sincerely hoped Thor was as happy as people said.

"You know, Steve," Natasha interrupted his thoughts, finally glancing up form the sketchbook with a purposeful expression and Steve just knew he wasn't going to like what would follow. "There are other, less lonely ways to get reacquainted with New York, like asking someone out for a coffee."

Steve sighed deeply and took back his earlier wish—he'd much prefer a work related discussion over this topic.

"I told you, I don't need any help finding a date," Steve replied with a light warning tone. He wasn't looking for a relationship right now, but Natasha didn't seem to believe him. Even if Steve Rogers had been, Captain America would stand in the way of anything resembling a normal life, let alone love. Besides, his heart was already spoken for, had been for a long time. It was also still very much broken, but he'd learn to live with that.

"Well, I chose not to hear you," Natasha replied, paying no heed. "And this really doesn't convince me to think otherwise," she noted, flipping the book over and revealing two pages, with two recently drawn portraits. Steve took a brief glimpse, and his irritation turned into shock as he realized what Natasha had stumbled upon; one drawing was of Peggy, done from memory and still beautiful, but already showing how much of her face Steve had forgotten. The other was of Bucky, smiling and eyes alight, and perfect to the very last detail.

Steve quickly switched back to watching the skyline, knowing what would show on his face and not willing to share it. Natasha carefully set the book down and took him gently by the jaw, forcing Steve to meet her eyes. They were kind, but serious.

"Steve, you need to let go of the past one day," she stated frankly but not without affection. "You need to meet new people, have a social life outside of work, and by that I don't mean just saying 'hi' to the neighbours on your way up the stairs or smiling at the cashier in your local grocery store."

"I don't have—" Steve started to defend his behaviour but was promptly cut off.

"And don't tell me you don't have enough time, because I know exactly how much of it you spend wandering the halls of that museum and a certain exhibit about your former life," Natasha told him. Meaning she'd been spying on him on more than one occasion. Infuriating as she sometimes was, Steve knew she was only acting out of concern for him as her friend. It wasn't that he hadn't given thought to the matter, he just wished Natasha would back off a bit.

"Natasha..." Steve began, for the umpteenth time at a loss for words on how to explain things to her. How the ache in his chest could be dulled but not taken away, how he sometimes couldn't breathe because he was holding back the tears so hard. How incredibly difficult it was to let go of something he'd held on to for most of his life.

"I know," Natasha said so very softly while removing her hand an letting it fall on her lap, and somehow it made things even worse, like she really did know exactly why Steve chose to live alone. He didn't doubt for a moment that Natasha had read every single file ever written about Steve Rogers, and she was smart enough to see connections that other people might have missed, or had chosen not to take note of.

"Then you should understand why I'm not ready, so please, let this be," Steve pleaded almost desperately. She would have looked past the face of the hero, beyond the picture of Peggy inside Steve's compass and the promise of a dance, and seen—

"Steve, I do, believe me, but it's been—"

"Not long enough!" Steve shouted at her, regretting the harshness of the words as soon as they came out but unable to stop. "Maybe to you and the others it's all decades in the past, but to me it's barely been a few years, and it damn well ain't long enough!"

An elderly couple walking a dog hurried them by with a frightened pace, making Steve feel even worse about his outburst. Natasha just looked at him with so much sadness, and he couldn't bear to see it.

"Damn it," Steve huffed a curse, pushed up form the bench and strode to the riverbank, needing a bit of distance.

Darkness had fallen and the city was alight, its reflection painting the surface of the river with bright, mottled colours. Any other night he would have thought of it all as beautiful, now it only highlighted how out of place and out of time Steve felt in this world. He grabbed the cold metal railing and held on to it for balance, so tight his knuckles turned white. Would this ever get any easier? How long could he keep mourning?

He could hear Natasha leave the bench and come closer, but for once she didn't speak. She just silently wrapped an arm across his back and leaned her head on his shoulder. Her other hand reached for Steve's fingers and slowly pried them loose, her touch warm against his cold skin. Steve stuffed his freed hands back into his pockets, then took a deep breath and tried to calm down. He couldn't go back in time and fix things, so the only option was to keep moving forward, right?

"Look, Natasha, I'm sorry, it's been a long day," Steve said in a gentler tone as he turned back to face her. "Can we just pick this conversation up some other time? I promise I'll think about your suggestion." Natasha gave her a look that implied she'd heard that often enough and still didn't believe him, but she knew where to draw the line.

"Alright, another time. I'll hold you up to that promise," Natasha replied, sweet as ever, and leaned in to give Steve a tight hug. "I'll see you tomorrow at the mission briefing. Sleep tight, Cap, don't let the bedbugs bite." She smiled and offered a playful salute before setting off on her way.

"Good night, Natasha," Steve said, even if she no longer heard him. In addition to her many skills, Natasha also knew how to make Steve smile and he sorely needed friends like that, even if they were a pain in the neck.

Steve walked back to the bench to retrieve the sketchbook, lifting it from the seat and holding it where Natasha had left it open. He tenderly traced the lines of Bucky's face with his fingers; they would be forever etched into his memory, and he couldn't forget them even if he wanted to.

Closing the book carefully Steve pressed it against his chest. Perhaps he should count it as a blessing that Natasha hadn't taken a look at the last pages, at another face Steve had tried in vain to capture whenever the fleeting memory of it returned, on any notebook or scrap of paper on hand; of strong and joyful eyes the colour of stormy skies, and a smile that held the promise of warmth. Good thing his heart was already broken, or this useless obsession would have hurt even more than it did.

Steve spun around and headed out of the park, deciding to take the long way home—it wasn't like he was going to get much sleep anyway, and the walk would help to clear his head. He was determined to shove the pain back behind lock and key in some distant corner of his mind. Hopefully the next mission would help both him and Natasha focus on something more important than Steve's nearly nonexistent social life. If he was lucky, there'd be enough missions to keep them occupied for a while.

Either that or the number of punching bags Steve went through in a day would rise even higher.

~~~

After several days of wandering the wilderness Thor had exiled himself to, the turmoil within had become too much for him to contain and the landscape had suffered for it.

Trembling with what was left of his sorrow and anger, Thor stood in the middle of a newly formed wide clearing that not too long ago had been occupied by thick, evergreen trees. Snow was slowly drifting to the ground, remnants of what had covered the branches, and a thin layer gathered on Thor as well. Exhausted and out of breath, knuckles splintered and bleeding, he watched the white flakes melt when they met broken skin.

The wounds on his hands throbbed with pain but they would heal only too soon, whereas the expanse of forest Thor had demolished with his fists would not. He hung his head and laughed, tiredly and bitterly. Pointless destruction that had achieved nothing; not only had it not improved his mood, it was something Thor had assumed he had grown out of.

Thor sunk to his knees under the clouded skies, body tired but mind far from the ease he sought. The sight of the fallen trees reminded him of another scene, only this one was lacking the man with the metal suit, but more crucially and cruelly, the man with the shield.

How swiftly had it all happened, how surreptitiously, that he had not taken notice? It went beyond Thor's comprehension that something so strong could be born out of so few encounters with someone, but he could no longer deny the fact that it had. The Captain had found his way into Thor's heart, and such was the force of Thor's feelings that had it been anyone with less honour he would have suspected some sort of sorcery to be at play.

So certain had he been his love for Jane was true that he had left Asgard build a future with her in this realm. But without him knowing that certainty had gradually shifted into belief, belief into doubt, until all that was left was false hope that he could no longer hold onto, and could not allow Jane to do so either. He had lost Loki, betrayed Jane—Thor had to question if he ever dared to love again, or if he should deny what now dwelled within his heart for fear he might be fooling himself. Or ever worse, be bound to fool someone else.

Thor growled with frustration. Was it not enough to suffer for what had been lost, but for that which was only a dream as well? Mjölnir lay abandoned on the ground, leaning against a shattered stump and waiting to be claimed again. Should he touch it now, it would only mean more devastation. How long would he remain worthy of it if he did not gain control of this? Would it be best if he just left Mjölnir there and walked away, leaving behind all that it represented, all that he had sacrificed for it?

A brilliant column of light suddenly split the grey sky, vaporizing snow and scorching runes on the much-suffered ground. Thor shielded his face from the blast with his arm, knowing even before the glow had faded who would have come to meet him.

"I see the trees on Midgard are less equipped to receive the wrath of Thor than some of your other adversaries," Lady Sif announced, stepping out of the mist and calmly walking through the wreckage until she stood in front of him. She held out a hand, and Thor took it, allowing her to pull him to his feet. "If it was an exercise in futility you were seeking, there would have been easier options, like trying to defeat me in a sword fight."

"You always were one of the rare few of my kin who could challenge me and win, Lady Sif, with any weapon," Thor replied and laughed briefly. "And also one of the rare few of my friends who dared to call me out on my sometimes misguided behaviour."

"Not that you ever listened, stubborn son of Odin," Sif noted with a small smile, compassion accompanying the friendly chiding. She sat down on a nearby thick carcass of a tree, torn out of the earth and lying on its side.

"So it may be, but I am nevertheless thankful for your company and your counsel, as always," Thor said with sincerity, for he had wished for it even if he had not called for her. She knew him well enough to have come anyway, and her presence brought at least a measure of balance if not tranquility.

"You have never been one to speak much of what ails you either, Thor, be it something insignificant or grave," Sif said, wasting no time in getting to the point. She had an expectant look in her eyes that Thor was only too familiar with; she would be persistent in her pursuit of answers. Sif had most likely kept watch on him with the help of Heimdall, though Thor did not venture a guess as to how much of the recent events were known to her. He would find that out soon enough.

Taking a seat beside Sif, Thor had no idea where to even begin his tale, let alone where it would end. But no matter how things should unfold once he spoke, Thor would not lie. He trusted Sif with his life, he would trust her now with the truth of things, and perhaps sharing his troubles would lessen their weight upon him.

"I have parted ways with Jane Foster," he said, and the words came out with less effort than he had anticipated, their finality a source of sadness but also of relief. "I have left her in a manner most unworthy, but as much as it grieved me, it was what needed to be done."

"Some things must come to an end for others to begin," Sif replied, with no judgement or disdain, though her tone suggested that she was not lacking in sympathy for Jane. She glanced at Thor's injuries, then reached for some of the freshly fallen snow and with it started to clean away the blood and dirt from the hand closest to her. Thor saw no point in resisting, so he let her, offering it to her care.

"And some wounds must be allowed to heal," Sif continued a bit more sternly, "before you can risk the chance of new ones. This you know not only as a warrior, but also as a man, yet you constantly seem to forget the wisdom of it." She worked efficiently but gently, as always when dressing wounds on the battlefield, and Thor found the familiarity of it soothing.

"There is no need to speak with veiled intent, Lady Sif," Thor said quietly. "It does not suit you, and now more than ever I would value your honesty over your subtleness." She shook her head lightly and then sighed. Dark waters trickled down Thor's arm and on to the whiteness below, the cold caress of cleansing snow numbing some of the soreness.

"If that is your wish," Sif said, gathering up a fresh batch of snow before she said anything more. Thor offered his other hand for her, twisting enough to the side for her to better tend to it. Her fingers were firm on Thor's skin as she resumed cleansing it, working almost too intently as if what she was about to say did not come easily.

"When you last returned to Midgard, none hoped more than I that you would find happiness here, even though I could already see that my wish would not be granted."

"You rarely hold your tongue with me, if you had doubts then why did you not speak of them?"

"Would you have listened if I had?" Sif asked in turn, and Thor had to admit he would only have accused her of being foolish, or jealous even of Jane robbing her of Thor's presence.

"When you met Jane Foster you had been banished from your home and realm, torn apart from those closest to you." Sif's ministering paused, and sadness briefly crossed her downcast face. "I cannot fathom the depth of your sorrow as you fell to Midgard believing you had been forever abandoned, but I have known the hollowness that comes from losing hope, and the need to fill that void with something, anything." Thor had been to blame for that too, and old as the guilt was it still was not completely forgotten.

"I shall always regret that I have caused you such pain, Sif," Thor said, taking her hands into his own. She raised her head, and the look she gave him was both amused and annoyed.

"Do not mistake me for the young girl I once was," she told him, pulling free and using the edge of her tunic to wipe away most of the melted snow around the wounds. "The woman and the warrior I have become feel nothing but gratitude for what you did, for it allowed me to focus on honing my skills instead of endeavouring to garner what was not meant to be mine." She unfastened a small pouch on her belt—it proved to contain a medicinal salve that she swiftly began applying over the injuries, while Thor winced at the sudden burn of it.

"And I am grateful too," Thor said, "for your forgiveness, your sword, and your friendship, all of which have saved me more times than I can count." Sif halted and raised her gaze, her eyes so frightfully knowing that it Thor though he could hide nothing from their sight.

"Then hear me now, Thor, and if you should find truth in my words, do not fear it," Sif said, and Thor could only nod in reply, hoping whatever Sif might have to say would forge clarity out of confusion. Sif finished tending to the wounds and put the salve away, her hands coming to rest in her lap, her attentive and serious gaze once more finding Thor's.

"Many a time have you courted people and called it love," she told him. "Only twice have I seen you surrender your heart to it completely, and the second time was not when you met Jane Foster." Thor had requested honesty, and Sif was not sparing her words.

"But I loved her," he still said in disbelief, frowning at how easily Sif seemed to dismiss what Jane had meant to him. "How could it not be with all of my heart?"

"Because it was not yours to give," Sif declared, and the tenderness of her voice did nothing to lessen the impact of what was said. "If only it had been, for then at least you would have been free of Loki."

"You make it sound as if he had me in chains," Thor grumbled and crossed his arms over his knees. Perhaps that was how others had seen it, not comprehending the nature of Thor's devotion to his brother.

"I never understood what so strongly drew you to him," Sif continued, undeterred by Thor's scowling, "but I always knew I could not compete with Loki for your love. When I confronted you and you admitted your feelings for him it broke my heart, not only because I had to give up my dreams of you, but for seeing how the impossibility of that love tormented you."

The resentment that had been rising in Thor faded, and he had to avert his eyes as sorrow took its place. As if mirroring his wish to hide it the clouds above thickened and snow began to fall, large feathery flakes that would soon cover the harrowed ground in a soft blanket of white.

Thor rose from his seat and walked to where Mjölnir lay, still hesitant to touch it. He had always been torn between his duties and his desires, never more so than in regards to his brother. More than once he had chosen his kingdom over Loki, but nothing in the realms had broken Thor's love for him.

Sif came to stand before him, her hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

"I could not take that pain away no matter how I tried, and neither could Jane. But there might be someone else who can, if only you would allow it." Thor lifted his gaze to meet hers, realizing at last what Sif had been trying to tell him from the start.

"How can you be certain of this, when the answer is hidden even from me?" Thor asked, his voice almost breaking, his need to accept her words as true competing with the dread of her being wrong.

"Because you stopped whispering Loki's name in the shadowy corridors when you thought no-one would hear, and replaced it with his," Sif replied softly, and the world seemed to still with her reply. "You may have spoken of Jane in the crowded rooms during daylight, but it was not her name you called in the dark hours of loneliness."

Such a small thing, yet so revealing—Thor had not even been aware of the change. Now he could suddenly recall each moment, and the name nearly escaped from his lips again but he hurriedly bit it back, lest it fall from them with both hunger and lament.

"Let go of the memory of Loki," Sif pleaded, "let go of the dream of Jane, and seek out the one you truly long to be with."

"And my heart, is it now mine to give?" Thor inquired, uncertain if he was ready to hear the reply. He kept watch on Sif, seeking to see what would be written on her face when she would answer the one question that could alter his future forever. Sif's smile was wide and warm as she reached to place a hand over Thor's chest.

"You already gave it to him in New York."

~~~

In a few short days everything Steve had started to believe in had turned out to be lies buried within secrets that were covered up with half-truths and good intentions, all paving way to hell. But none of it mattered now. Even as he fell towards his death, none of that mattered, because Bucky was free.

Steve closed his eyes and waited for the water to take him.

"I love you, Bucky," Steve breathed out as the water hit him, and then he started sinking into the murky depths. He loved Bucky, and that love didn't hurt any longer. In the last seconds of his life Steve finally found the strength to give up that which he could not have, and accept in its place what had belonged to him all along. A friendship that nothing could ever break, ever wipe out from existence, even if they tried.

Red and gold suddenly filled his mind, a warm laughter echoed in his ears, and before darkness took him Steve could at last see the face he'd been dreaming of, perfect in every last detail.

I wish I could have told you too....

~~~

Thor had sought resolution, but finding it had brought no peace. For that to happen, things needed be brought full circle, for only then could he follow his heart to where it now resided. As Sif had said, some things must come to and end for others to begin.

Perhaps that was why after Sif's departure Thor had found himself drawn to this desert bathing in rosy light of dawn, and the small town near which he had crashed onto Midgard and had met Jane Foster for the first time. Thor's recollection of the actual event was hazy and wrought with emotion. He remembered the devastating loneliness, his longing to go back home, but also the tremendous rage born out of frustration. He had not understood what he had done wrong, and thus had behaved like an impetuous and petulant child. But he had come to learn humility soon after.

He did not wish his appearance to attract any unwanted attention, considering what had taken place the last time he was here, so Thor decided to hide Mjölnir in a nearby cave and let the Asgardian armour vanish. He replaced it with Midgardian garments—namely a worn shirt with short sleeves and what he had come to know as 'jeans'—clothing that he had found hanging outside one place of residence and stolen, vowing to reimburse their owner at a later time. The clothes weren't quite enough protection against the chill of the early morning air, but they would suffice for now, he had suffered worse.

Thor gazed into the horizon, towards another place of memories. The crater where Mjölnir had landed would be long abandoned by curious townsfolk and men in dark clothing, now that there was nothing to see anymore, nothing to investigate. Thor contemplated going there, but he did not need to revisit that chapter of his life again. Trying to lift the hammer then, on the muddied ground and under the eyes of strangers and a rain that no longer obeyed him, Thor had finally realized how far he had fallen from grace to have become unworthy of wielding it. There he had lost all hope—until Jane and the others had helped him regain it, and Thor had understood what being worthy truly meant. With all that Thor was at peace, other things awaited ahead.

Thor entered the town's streets barefooted, but hopefully appearing human enough. He received some curious looks from the few people he met, but none approached him. It pleased Thor greatly to see how things had healed, how life had returned to this little hamlet after such havoc had been wreaked upon it. The damage caused by the Destroyer Loki had sent after Thor had been all but mended; new buildings had risen to replace those that had been demolished, less damaged ones had been repaired to near-pristine condition.

The first rays of the rising sun escorted Thor to where he had met the Destroyer, and had faced Loki's wrath. He stopped by a patch of slightly discoloured road, amazed at how small a mark had been left there. Unto the very last moment Thor had still believed that Loki could be persuaded to see reason, that underneath he was still the brother Thor loved. Dust swirled at his feet as Thor looked down on the ground where he had died a mortal man, and risen once more as a true Asgardian.

A sudden noise from behind him derailed Thor's thoughts—a wheeled vehicle slowly approached, and its owner was quite vocal about his displeasure of Thor being in his way. Thor bowed and apologized politely, moving aside and sitting down by the edge of the street instead, where he resumed his pondering.

As he sat there and watched the light of the sun slowly conquer over the shadows, Thor thought of Jane, and of bidding her farewell for the first time before returning to Asgard. Only now he could see things as he had not then—that while in their short span of time together he had grown to love and cherish Jane, his heart had still undeniably belonged to Loki. In her fervent kiss, Thor had tasted a faint trace of that which was forbidden from him, and he had mistaken the flavour for the real thing. He now silently bid farewell to her again and the future that was not meant to be theirs, and felt a touch lighter for it.

But while the sun now blessed his face with its warmth, his feet still rested against the frosty earth, tendrils of cold air caressing their bare skin like icy fingers. Much in the same manner did the ghost of his brother still haunt Thor, the bond between them frayed and unravelling, but fighting hard to be severed.

When Thor had followed Loki home from this place, his heart had been torn asunder, by the true depth of Loki's treachery, and then by his apparent death. Once again, Thor had been forced to choose his kingdom over his brother, but he could not have betrayed who he was any more than Loki could have. If only Loki could have seen how loved he had been, perhaps things might have ended differently.

Even after all that Loki had done, Thor could not help but to grieve for his loss. He had mourned long and deeply, but with time his heart had mended, much as the Bifrost had; slowly, and piece by piece, though it would probably never be as whole as it once had. And then New York had happened.

To think of what had transpired there was like looking into a murky pool. The reflection on the surface was clear, but, of the truth that lay beneath, you could only see glimpses. Clear in his mind was Loki, the happiness Thor had felt seeing him alive again, but also the anguish of watching him release the Chitauri upon the innocent. Sharp and focused was the joy of victory, the memory of fighting beside his newfound allies against a common enemy. Yet none of it had quite altered Thor's world like a pair of blue eyes and a sincerely open smile.

The effect on Thor had been much as that of the sun rising over the town; that which was good and true shone brighter, while what was in shadow seemed to turn even darker in contrast, and seeing the Captain and Loki side by side had been like comparing a starless night to an endlessly brilliant day. Thor had still been blinded by his lingering feelings for Loki and his longing for Jane, but apparently, according to Sif, his heart had not suffered of such hindrances.

In the Captain, Thor had recognized a kindred spirit, a man who would defend his people, lead them, but who did not wish to rule over them. A man whose orders even Thor had taken without question, who he would have followed with equal willingness to a battle or a banquet, and yes, if he was honest with himself, even to a bed. How all that had translated to Thor falling in love was a mystery hidden in the muddy waters of the metaphorical pool, but the realness of it could not be questioned.

Placing a hand over his heart Thor felt the beat of it, strong, steady, and calm. Only time would tell if this love would be any easier to bear, but at least Thor should be free to answer its call, if he would decide to do so. In the end Loki had died with honour, had perished in Thor's arms after saving his life, and to not live it well would be to waste that sacrifice.

"Fare thee well, my beloved brother," he said, quietly, with reverence and love, and with tears that he had not yet shed for Loki filling his eyes. "I shall remember you with kindness, and love you as you once were, but it is time for me to leave the past be, and seek a new future." His bond with Loki would always be there, however frail it might become, but the strands of it would be woven of affection that gave strength, not of the desire that had for so long drained him.

A large mug appeared in Thor's field of vision, steam rising from its contents, bringing along a potent and delicious scent. He lifted his gaze from the hand holding the mug up to a smiling face of an older Midgardian woman, wearing a uniform of some sort with an apron.

"You looked like you could use a cup of strong coffee, dear," she said warmly, "and perhaps a bite to eat too?" She glanced over to her side, and the building behind Thor. He noticed the word 'diner' on the window, and a picture of food below it. Thor's stomach chose that time to growl loudly, and suddenly the idea of getting some nourishment became very appealing indeed. He hadn't eaten properly in days.

Thor wiped the tears away with his arm, then accepted the offered beverage with a smile, thanked her, and followed the lady into the warmth of the house of dining. That was where Darcy eventually found him, sitting by a small table, lost in thought over what was left of his meal.

"Never thought the saying would hold true for you, Goldilocks," Darcy said as to Thor's surprise she took a seat across the table and started snacking on the neglected remains of fried potato sticks. Apparently his plan to stay unnoticed had not worked as well as he had intended.

"I almost wish you were married instead of gay though," Darcy told him. "Mmm, I've missed these fries, they're really good." Thor let her continue eating. The lady who worked at the establishment had been kind enough to offer the food free of charge, no doubt having taken in Thor's looks and thinking he had no currency to pay for it—which on this occasion happened to be true. The servings had been generous in size, and Thor had been lavish with his gratitude.

"You are mistaken if you think I feel any merriment," Thor told Darcy, the sentence earning him one of her broader grins. Her arrival could be coincidental, yet Thor doubted that. So why had she come? If there had been a need for Thor to once more join in battle against an enemy of Midgard, surely she would have mentioned that by now?

"You are so adorable! I keep forgetting you're technically an alien," Darcy said, not making matters any clearer. "Let's just say that 'being gay' has a meaning in our language that describes what Jane suspects you feel for certain spandex-clad someone you met in New York." Thor could feel his face redden slightly, more with shame than embarrassment. Clearly Darcy had spoken with Jane, and thus was aware that they had gone their separate ways, had perhaps even been told the details of how it had occurred. Darcy stopped eating for a moment, her sharp eyes staring at Thor thoughtfully.

"But even that's kinda inaccurate since you obviously don't find women repulsive. I guess you're more of a closeted bi then, right? Unless you really are gay, but date women to hide it and only go for the slightly boyish types who don't have my luscious curves—"

"Is she still angry with me?" Thor quickly interjected her ramblings, before they could veer any further into a realm of subjects Thor had no proper grasp on.

"Well duh!" Darcy rolled her eyes at him and picked the last morsel of food from the plate, consuming it with obvious pleasure before speaking again. "Something like this isn't gonna blow over as easily as disappearing for two years to restore peace to the nine realms and all that shit, and that took some doing let me tell ya."

Thor had suspected as much. Jane had fire in her nature, and she had every right to be angry. Darcy on the other hand seemed much more forgiving, though Thor hardly felt deserving of such mercy.

"So, how long are you gonna hide here and pretend you don't wanna go see him?" she inquired, wiping her hands on a napkin. Straightforward as ever, and observant; Thor had long since ceased to underestimate the unique wit behind the seemingly care-free behaviour.

"That is yet to be determined," Thor answered her question truthfully. His mind was still unsettled. Thor had halted at a crossroads on his journey, unable to decide whether to listen to his reason or his heart; one insisted he should return home and be of service to his kingdom, to choose a future that held the certainty of at least some happiness—the other pleaded he finally be true to who he was and what he felt, even if that choice might lead to nothing but more suffering.

"How did you find me?" Thor asked the young woman in return to escape his conflicted thoughts. Darcy let out a laugh, her countenance decidedly smug.

"Just because you managed to snag jeans and a t-shirt from somewhere instead of wearing your usual getup—both of which look incredibly hot on you by the way—doesn't mean you don't stand out from the crowd my mythical friend," Darcy told him, and flashed an almost predatory grin. "Plus, I asked JARVIS, he has some seriously awesome facial recognition software that can find you in any corner of the world that has cameras linked to the internet."

Darcy briefly pointed her finger at something across the street from the diner. The gesture was lost on Thor, who had no clue as to what this 'software' was that Darcy was talking about. But he did recall the polite and very helpful gentleman from Stark Tower she had mentioned, though Thor had yet to meet him face to face.

"And for a guy on a guilt trip, you're pretty predictable. Knew you'd end up here eventually," Darcy continued, her voice a little softer now, her smile gentler as her gaze met his once more. She laid her hand on Thor's.

"Look, Jane is strong, she's survived worse and you of all people should know that. She might be royally pissed with you right now, but deep down she knows you had no choice. Sometimes you just gotta go with your heart, even if it means breaking someone else's." Darcy was nothing but sincere in her tone and Thor did not doubt her words, but she still had not guessed the whole truth.

"I neither worry for Jane's recovery, nor for my own ability to face the consequences of my actions. Guilt I can deal with." Thor replied, pulling his hand away and lowering his head as the dread that was building a home in his chest threatened to suffocate him.

If what he had felt for Loki had been the true strength of his love, what would it mean for Thor if he were to meet with the one who was the object of it now? No, this was beyond guilt; Thor feared for his sanity. One kiss with Loki and Thor had barely been able to restrain himself, so to even consider giving in willingly to an attraction equally powerful was close to madness in itself.

"What then? What could possibly scare a god that wields a hammer that no-one else can lift and has lightning bolts in his arsenal?" Darcy asked, and then added as an afterthought most typical of her. "Where is Meow Meow anyways?"

Thor was about to answer that Mjölnir was hidden in a safe location, when something caught his eye in the box of visions that stood on the diner's counter—something, someone, was falling from a great high towards the waves below.

The very thing Darcy had been so keen to learn about reared to life, unbidden, unleashed.

"Make it speak louder!" Thor roared, rising from his seat, knocking the table over and rushing closer to the counter and pushing his face up to the screen. The man sitting near the box hurriedly obeyed, and the words uttered became clearer.

"—amidst the aftermath of the destruction, the investigation continues into the recent events in Washington D.C. and how exactly S.H.I.E.L.D. is related to the matter. Rumours claim that Captain America still remains hospitalized after what can only be described as another heroic act that saved countless lives. I believe I speak on behalf of everyone when I wish him a speedy recovery, and—"

The rest of what was said fell to deaf ears. Thor just stared at the still image of the familiar smiling face that appeared in view, breath stolen from his lungs, fear and fury gripping his heart. While he had remained here, arguing with himself over the right course of action, he had not even been aware that soon there might not be a choice left to make.

"I must leave at once," Thor rumbled, the sky outside growing darker with each word he spoke. The air began to crackle with electricity, and the people sitting at the tables took that as a sign to clear out and fast, rushing through the door until the place was empty.

Darcy appeared by his side, shoving a piece of paper into Thor's palm. He twisted around and growled at her, but she just firmly squeezed his hand around the note, smiling a little apologetically.

"This is where the Cap is, they made sure he's in the best care possible. Sorry I didn't tell you sooner, but I was trying to break it to you gently. You kinda looked like the news could make you go all vengeful on someone's ass." She had not been far from the truth in her assumption, for even now rage heated Thor's blood, calling for revenge, while every fibre of his being screamed to be beside his love.

Thor forced himself to calm down as best he could, curling his anger into a tight ball at the pit of his stomach to be stored and released later. He would gain nothing with violence and destruction, and that would never be what the injured man would wish for. But Thor needed to see him like he needed air to breathe, and by all that was holy he hoped he would not be too late.

"Well what are you still waiting for, go!" Darcy said and without delay began pushing Thor out of the building. "Fetch Meow Meow and go whoosh!"

"Will you be alright?" Thor managed to ask as he was shoved out into the street, his hand already reaching outwards and calling for Mjölnir.

"I'll be fine. Actually, I'll be more than fine, since they flew me in on one of Tony Stark's private jets, and it comes equipped with a seriously hot pilot and a really cute steward and lots of champagne and fancy foods. I'll be taking the very long scenic route back, if you know what I mean. You on the other hand need to be with Steve, like yesterday."

"Thank you, Darcy Lewis," Thor said, turning around and pressing a soft kiss on Darcy's cheek, feeling overwhelmed with gratitude for what the others had done. Perhaps this was the right choice for him, if they so eagerly wanted to help make it happen. Mjölnir slid into his grasp, and Darcy stepped back as Thor began to whirl it in the air.

"You owe me, big time!"

Thor barely heard her, the wind already rushing in his ears as he soared higher, a storm brewing in his wake.

~~~

The first time Steve woke up, he heard music. His vision was blurry and he felt like he'd been hit by a truck, but there was no doubt about one thing; for some reason he was still alive. A few cautious looks around revealed he was in a hospital. Sam sat beside the bed, reading something.

"On your left," Steve said, letting the other man know he was awake, and that he'd be fine, eventually. Sam just smiled, but that was enough, he'd gotten the message.

"Bucky?" Steve had to ask.

"He's the one who pulled you out of the water. We lost him, but he's out there somewhere. Once you get better we can start searching for him." Sam set the paper down, and looked thoughtful for a moment. "And Steve, I want to apologize. I never should have said he's not the kind you save. Don't know the whole history between the two of you, but if you believe in him enough to die for him, I'll believe with you."

"Thank you, Sam," was all Steve managed before he fell asleep again, weary beyond belief, but happy. There were no nightmares, only the sound of rain, and a blur of something golden and warm somewhere beyond his reach.

~~~

Thor leaned his fists against the glass pane of the door, his stolen clothes soaked by rain and dripping water onto the floor, and watched the sleeping figure on the bed. He'd left Mjölnir on the roof via which he had arrived, and had come in without armour, without titles. He'd still broken through several doors on his way down, and had given a few blows to people obstructing his path. They had not paid heed to his warnings, and Thor had not had the time for lengthy quarrels.

But no matter how dire his need had been to be here, now that he was, Thor suddenly hesitated to enter the small chamber and awaken the battered and bruised man. Fair hair lay dishevelled against the pillow and his restfully smooth forehead as he lay on his side, and Thor hoped his dreams were peaceful.

Such a different sight was he now than when they had first met. Gone were the mask and the suit of armour, as was the magnificent shield that had withstood a strike of Thor's hammer. Gone was the Captain—all that remained was a man, vulnerable and defenceless. Thor felt no less vulnerable standing there while things hung in the balance, waiting for him to make a move and see which way the scales would tip. Until the man beyond the glass awakened, none would know.

"You caused quite the commotion upstairs," someone said as if amused by the fact. Thor took a look over his shoulder at the stranger; a dark-skinned man with a seemingly trustworthy face. The two uniformed men who had followed the newcomer glared at Thor from behind him, but remained still.

"Darcy called us to let us know you'd be coming," the man continued amiably, "but she neglected to mention you might be in too much of a hurry to use the front door."

"I must apologize for my earlier conduct," Thor replied with all sincerity, while at the same time eyeing and assessing the one who had spoken. There was something about his stance that brought to mind a warrior, yet it was relaxed enough to put others at ease, and in that regard he was not unlike the Captain. "I am ashamed to say that my concern for my friend's well-being led me to behave rashly, resulting in unnecessary use of force." The other grinned widely at the admission.

"Well, I can hardly blame you, seeing as the guards were foolish enough to strike after you warned them not to stand in your way. You must be Thor." A hand was offered in greeting. Thor slowly turned around and took it as per Midgardian custom.

"Thor of Asgard, son of Odin." He noticed the man was now studying Thor in turn, and apparently came to form a favourable opinion since he nodded at the guards who silently retreated further away, giving them more privacy.

"Sam Wilson, pleasure to meet you," he said, smiling widely and shaking Thor's hand before letting it go. "You fought with the Cap in New York, saw you on the news then."

"He is a man of great strength and valour, and I am honoured to have been at his side on that field of battle." Something in Thor's reply seemed to further amuse the other man as he gave a small laugh, but his eyes told another tale, one of concern and sadness.

"I've recently had that honour as well," he said, glancing into the room where the Captain lay. "Steve is as brave as they come. Loyal too, even if it kills him." Sam sighed, and shook his head briefly. "If you ask me it's a damn miracle he survived the fall, super soldier or not." A dark fear welled up inside Thor once more, but he managed to will it back to a slumbering state.

"How is he?" Thor asked, the question sounding broken even to his own ears. He faced the glass again, wishing for nothing more than to see those eyes open, to touch the skin on the pale wrist and make sure blood still moved through those veins. But Thor was no healer, he had no magic to ease the pain or seal the wounds. To witness the other's condition, and to be so helpless in the face of it, was almost unbearable.

"He'll make it," Sam said, with faith and comfort in his voice, and the words brought at least some solace. "Steve's a fighter. Never seen anyone heal so fast, but he did take a hell of a beating, so it'll take a while."

"Then I shall wait," Thor announced, and turned to leave, intending to return to the roof of the building. That at least was not beyond his abilities, and it was currently all he could do. "When he is ready, I shall be on the rooftop of this house of healing."

"You sure? Don't you want to be there when he wakes up?" Sam asked with an oddly beseeching tone, and by the look on his face Thor's arrival had not been the only thing Darcy had communicated to him. Was the whole world to be aware of Thor's plight?

"He should meet me out of his own volition, not out of mine," Thor replied, hoping the other man would understand why this was how things must go. Sam eyed him for a moment, but then nodded.

"Okay, I'll deliver your message once Steve wakes up. Shouldn't be too long anyway."

Thor nodded back his thank you, and started to make his way out.

"But hey," Sam called out, and Thor halted. "Would you mind if I came up later? Maybe we could exchange stories about Steve, help pass the time? I could bring you some coffee too, Darcy said you love the stuff."

"The refreshing beverage would be most welcomed, Sam, son of Wil," Thor said and paused to ponder. "As would be the company," he finally added, though a part of him resisted. To quote another of Lady Sif's astute observations on life, a warrior might be brave enough to bear his burden alone, but sometimes he would be wiser to share it. Sif was rarely wrong.

~~~

The second time Steve woke up, he heard the rain. It sounded different to him somehow, and it took a while to figure it out, but when he did, Steve smiled.

The memories that came with the rain were still there, vibrant and sweet as always, but the bitter edge of them was gone. Steve could recall Bucky's constant and persistent attempts to find Steve a girl via double dates, and how Steve always gave in just to be with Bucky instead of at home alone. He thought about how Bucky had been there for Steve after his mom had died, had always promised to, to the end of the line. Or how each time that Steve and Bucky had shared a meagre meal together in their apartment, made from whatever they'd scrounged up or bought with what little money they'd had, the food had tasted better just for having Bucky around. Steve remembered Bucky's lively eyes, and how they'd crinkled at the corners when he'd smiled, and how he'd slung his arm around Steve's shoulder as they walked home together.

None of the memories hurt, not even the newer ones of the Winter Soldier—all the pain, all the loneliness that had accompanied Steve's thoughts of Bucky had disappeared, leaving only the deep affection that had always been there, almost the same as before, but not quite. Steve still loved Bucky, God did he ever and nothing would ever change that, but no longer did the feeling take over all of his heart. There was room now for new love to take root, to grow. And something already had, as if the seed of it had only been laying in waiting.

"About time you woke up, sleeping beauty, I was worried if I'd have to kiss you again."

"Come on, I wasn't that bad," Steve quipped back and opened his eyes. He found Natasha standing by the end of the bed, and smirking. Sam was once again in his chair—Steve could hear him barely stifle a chuckle.

"I don't think I'm the one you'd prefer anyway," Natasha replied cryptically, and she and Sam gave each other a strange, knowing look.

"Is there a joke I'm not getting?" Steve asked, a little puzzled, and then tentatively stretched his arms over his head. He couldn't remember when he'd last slept so well, and it had done him a world of good.

"We're just happy to see you awake, Steve," Sam said, smiling as he stood up and joined Steve's bedside. "That was a long nap you took." Sam used the controls on the bed and it cautiously rose from its slight tilt to a more upright position, bringing Steve up with it. His head was still a bit fuzzy and his muscles were sore, but otherwise he felt fine. Sam offered Steve a glass of water, from which gratefully took a few sips to wet his dry mouth.

"How long was I out?" Steve asked as he put the water away—probably wasn't the best idea to drink too much at once, at least until the doctor said he could. Clearly it was daytime, even if the weather was grey, but other than that he had no idea of the time. Steve idly scratched his arm, the lines stuck to it itched where the needles had been taped to his skin. "And when can I get rid of these?"

"Three days," Natasha and Sam said simultaneously and sounding exactly the same; reproachful on the surface, relieved underneath. Suddenly the subtle signs of too much worry and not enough rest on his friend's faces made a whole lot more sense to Steve. He'd slept for three days?

"Wow, I guess I had some catching up to do," Steve said apologetically, rubbing his neck with his hand.

"And if that wasn't enough," Natasha continued, "the weather's been wretched the whole time." Something about the way she said it seemed strange, including the way the corner of her mouth quirked up. Steve was still missing something.

"I'm gonna go find the doctor," she said. "I think it's time to unhook you from the machinery." But before leaving Natasha walked up to Steve and kissed him on the cheek. "It's good to have you back. I just hope you're up for what's coming," she whispered, and then she was gone, leaving Steve to stare after her in confusion.

"Please tell me she hasn't set me up with one of the nurses," Steve said, looking up at Sam with pleading eyes and hopeful smile.

"No," Sam said and grinned, "but I think she's been eyeing one cute doctor, says he'd be interested in you." Sam's smile faded along with Steve's, as the whole thing slowly sank in. Sam knew.

"Steve, I know things were different back in the day," Sam started cautiously, and put his hand on Steve's shoulder. "But you don't need to hide things like that from your friends. Makes no difference to me or Natasha who you love, as long as they make you happy, okay?"

"Okay," Steve said, flashing a brief smile and feeling more relieved than he wanted to admit. Not that he had feared any judgment from Natasha or Sam, or even the rest of the Avengers, but Steve had learned to play it safe with people. Sam gave his shoulder a firm squeeze and then pulled back, taking a seat again but dragging the chair closer to the bed.

"Now, you wanna talk to me about this Thor guy, or do I have to get Natasha in here to interrogate you?" Steve's eyes blinked open in surprise, and this time it was Sam's turn to look apologetic. "I didn't mean to pry, but when we brought in some clothes for you for when you'd get out, this one scrap of paper fell out of somewhere, and I couldn't help taking a look..." No doubt one of Steve's many attempts to capture his memory of Thor on paper.

"It's... complicated." Steve shuffled a little higher and pulled his knees up, wrapping his arms around them and lowering his gaze.

Steve didn't really know how to put it all into words. How at first he'd thought it was because Thor reminded him of Bucky—both so alive, boisterous even, with an easy smile and a laughter that pulled you in and made you almost feel enveloped in its warmth. Both brave, both beautiful, inside and out. Only later, after Thor had returned to his world and Steve had settled into a life of S.H.I.E.L.D. missions interspersed with days of wallowing in memories and lonely sleepless nights, had he seen the flaw in his thinking.

It wasn't that Bucky and Thor were alike, they were just both the kind of people Steve could never help but fall for.

"I think I'm in love with him," Steve confessed and sighed, burying his face in the shelter of his arms. "And it makes absolutely no sense because I know next to nothing about him. Bucky I grew up with, there was rarely a day we were apart from the day we met to the day he joined the army and got shipped out to fight in the war. But Thor..."

"Is a good man," Sam said, with unexpected emphasis. "He might have some anger management issues, though nothing on the Hulk scale, but he has a good heart, and he cares about you. More than you know."

In the brief time since he woke up Steve had already gotten tired of the feeling that there was something going on that he hadn't been read in on. So he lifted his head and subjected Sam to a stern 'where the hell is all this Thor cares about you stuff coming from' glare. Sam backed off as much as he could in his seat, and bit his lip like he'd already said a little too much. But he glanced outside and then back at Steve, in an all too meaningful manner.

The steady rainfall caught Steve's attention again, and certain pieces of the puzzle started falling into place. He began to listen to it more closely, then shifted on the bed until he was standing on his knees and looking out the window.

There was no thunder. No crackle or rumble, no lighting, only the soft, continuous static of a gentle downpour, and the faint patter of droplets hitting the glass panes. The sky was overcast but not dark enough to block out all sunlight. It was a rain that waited, patiently, hopefully. For what, Steve had no clue, but there was no doubt who was responsible.

"How long has it been raining?" Steve asked quietly, his heart beating a little faster as he slowly moved his gaze to Sam again.

"About three days," Sam replied, and the expression he wore only baffled Steve more—he looked like he badly wanted to tell Steve something but was holding back, a thoughtful frown on his forehead, a smile dancing on his lips. "It's been raining for three solid days in nearly every corner of this city, except over this hospital, and there's a god on the roof that's waiting to meet you."

"Thor?" Steve had to ask, just to make sure he wasn't still dreaming.

"Uh-huh," Sam said without disclosing any more details.

"And what, he's been there the whole time?" If Thor had come out of courtesy to simply wish Steve well, why would he be on the roof making it rain all over New York? How did he even know what had happened and where Steve was—shouldn't he be with Jane? Things seemed to make less sense by the minute, yet they fed a hope in Steve that he wasn't sure he dared to even have. "Did he say why?"

"I think he'd rather explain that to you himself," Sam replied evasively. "And I think you've kept him waiting long enough, so as soon as the doctor clears you—" Sam paused, lifting a duffel bag from the floor and tossing it on Steve's bed, "—you're hitting the shower and getting dressed for a date.

Only then did it occur to Steve to wonder what was taking Natasha so long in getting back.

~~~

Thor had never in his life remained so still in one place for so long, for his nature was as restless as of the storms he commanded. The visits from Sam, son of Wil, had become a welcome distraction, and Thor had enjoyed their discussions. They had eased the pain of waiting, and had allowed Thor to learn more about the man he so anxiously waited to meet. Thor had also been told of the Winter Soldier, and of the fate that had befallen the Captain's friend, James Buchanan Barnes. Sam and Natasha still held hope for the man's recovery and the return of his memory, as did the Captain.

As he gazed over the rainy city of New York, wondering if the tortured man still roamed the streets of it, Thor silently beseeched those who weaved the destiny of all beings to show mercy on the poor soul, that he may find his way home.

Thor's wait had become longer than any of them had expected, so he had eventually allowed the others to persuade him to take advantage of the amenities the house of healing had to offer. He still did not wish to don his armour so he had also been provided with new clothing, courtesy of the Captain's friends; a new pair of jeans that was well-fitting but still stiff from lack of wear, a long-sleeved shirt of thick, vermillion cloth, and something they had called 'sneakers'. A suspicious name for footwear in Thor's opinion, but they were comfortable. Sam had promised to make sure Thor's previous attire would be returned to its rightful owner, and that the wear and tear on them would be compensated for.

While it did indeed make Thor feel better to have the occasional meal and the chance to wash away the weariness of both mind and body—the bathing in the washrooms being a far more pleasant experience than the coffee they served here—he could not withstand the indoors for too long before the walls seemed to creep nearer. So he would always retreat back to the roof, to sit down on the gravelled surface and wait under the clouded sky.

Walking the halls of the building, Thor had heard many a complaint about the weird weather, but for all his powers he could not seem to send the rain away entirely, merely hold it at bay. It was a reflection of his current state, and to keep it from falling over the space that the hospital occupied was the limit of his control over it; held in suspension, like the emotions within him.

The door to the roof opened, and Thor glanced back expecting to see the son of Wil again, but was greeted instead by one the formidable allies who had helped him in capturing Loki. Thor had seen her spend time by the Captain's bed, and knew of their friendship. Her expression had been worried of late, but now she smiled as she approached, and it lit a hope in Thor's heart.

"He is awake?" Thor inquired as he stood up to meet her. "And feeling well?"

"Finally, and yes, he is fine," Natasha Romanoff replied. "The Cap sure kept us waiting, didn't he?" Thor could not contain his joy, so he pulled her into a tight hug. She offered no resistance and Thor could even hear her laugh, the sound muffled against his chest, but he released her soon nonetheless and composed himself the best he could.

"Have you informed him of my being here yet?" Thor asked, crossing his arms, nervously grasping at the fabric covering them.

"Sam is handling that part, my job is to make sure you're ready when we send him up here," she replied, her hand searching a pocket in her clothing and retrieving a small fragment of paper. She offered it to Thor, and as he gingerly reached out and took it, the image upon it left him in stunned silence.

The lines were hesitant, as if drawn without reference, yet the picture they formed was clearly of Thor. Only Thor had never seen himself like that—even with most of the details missing, the drawing merely a sketch of something captured in a moment, it was clear that the person in the picture was looking at someone he loved.

"This is how Steve remembers you, how he sees you," Natasha told him. "And for his sake I hope he got things right." The unspoken plea in her voice did not escape Thor's attention.

"He has seen what is true," Thor said, lifting his gaze from the drawing to her to assure Natasha of the sincerity of his words. "Even if my mouth could utter a lie, my eyes have never learned the skill where my feelings are concerned." He hoped it would be enough to ease her mind. Natasha moved a step closer, staring straight at Thor with a stern expression as she invaded his space, her demeanour suddenly more threatening.

"If you really love him then you've got a choice to make. If you can't deal with this then break his heart now and let go of him, so Steve can start getting over you—," Natasha paused, the lines of her face softening a fraction as she poked him in the chest with her finger, "—or take a risk, tell him how you feel, and see where that leads you. Not my concern which option you pick, but I sure as hell won't stand by and watch Steve suffer because of your indecisiveness. He's gone through enough as it is." The determined woman backed off, lowering her hand. Thor could only admire her fierce desire to protect her friend.

"I have no intention of breaking his heart," Thor said softly, handing the drawing back to Natasha. "My only hope is that he will not break mine." The implications of her words and her behaviour, the mere thought that Thor's feelings might be returned, made him unsteady on his feet. A spray of droplets hit the roof as Thor's control briefly faltered, not missing them both by much.

"Keep it," Natasha replied in regards to the sketch, a smile briefly returning to grace her features. "Somehow I don't think Steve would mind." Thor bowed his head in thanks and carefully pocketed the small piece of paper. Natasha glanced around the area, at the veil of rain surrounding the building.

"Can't wait for this to be over," she announced with exaggerated and only partly feigned displeasure as she took her leave of Thor and started walking towards the door. "All this dampness makes me cranky."

"May your wish soon be granted, and perhaps mine as well," Thor announced to her retreating form. After the door closed Thor turned his back to it and settled to wait again, the rain growing in intensity as the moment of truth approach, matching the anxiousness growing in Thor's heart.

~~~

Steve stood alone behind the thick metal door leading to the roof, his palm pressed against the cold surface. What awaited beyond scared Steve like nothing ever had before, and the solidness of the structure helped ground him while he gathered courage. Sam and Natasha had helped him up the stairs, against the doctor's advice to take things easy—but there was no way Steve could have put this off any longer without going out of his mind.

All he had to do was open one door, and he'd get his answers, whether they'd be what he wished for, or was afraid of. Didn't make it any easier to know Thor had been there for three days, like what he wanted to discuss was too important to wait anywhere else.

Before this, there had always been certainty in Steve's life, even if it was only the certainty of never loving anyone like Bucky. Right now things were in flux, and once he stepped through that door, things would change in ways he couldn't predict. This would be the last chance to leave, the last thing between what is and what might become. But Steve had never been the running away kind of guy, and he wasn't about to start now.

~~~

Thor took no notice of how the rain gradually stopped, or how the clouds dispersed and the sun came out of hiding, for through it all only Steven held his attention. He almost wished he could spend the rest of his days just kissing Steven like this, but then again, there were so many other things to experience with him. From this day forth they would have a life of shared moments, each to be treasured for their uniqueness, and for the love they would contain.

With one last heated breath stolen from Steven's lips, Thor took leave of his mouth, and withdrew to admire their lushness from a distance. He needed to escape their lure so he might finally speak the words that he had longed to from the moment Steven fell into his arms, but once again Thor found himself rendered speechless when he gazed upon his love. In the light of the sun, with a tender smile on his reddened lips and joy in his sky blue eyes, Steven shone like the most brilliant of stars. He untangled his hand from Thor's hair and returned it to caress his cheek.

"Thor of Asgard, son of Odin," Steven said, finding his voice before Thor, and it was as tender as his smile and filled with unabashed happiness. "Just so you know, I am utterly, and quite possibly totally irrevocably, in love with you."

Unnecessary as the verbal confirmation was now, to hear it still meant as much to Thor as it must have meant for Steven to say it. Unbeknownst to each other they had both travelled similar paths in their life, both waiting, both longing, both suffering. Now their paths would join, and should fate be favourable to them it would be easier to tread together.

Thor slipped an arm from around Steven and raised the hand to press over the one on his cheek, guiding it so he can kiss Steven's palm before placing both hands on the damp fabric over his heart.

"Steven Rogers of Midgard," Thor said, looking into Steven's eyes as he spoke his name with both reverence and heartfelt joy. "I know my heart now, and it belongs to you, utterly, and without any doubt, completely irrevocably." Then he leaned in to kiss Steven's smiling mouth again, intending to enjoy the taste of him for a while longer before requesting they transfer to a location that offered more privacy. For he planned to take his time in finding out the flavour of each part of him, and to wrap Steven within his love forever.

The sun embraced them in light and warmth, painting the world and their skin with gold and glittering raindrops.

~~~ Epilogue ~~~

While Thor had grown more used to many Midgardian things, such as their clothing, he was still woefully unaccustomed to preparing a meal, but willing to give it his best effort tonight. He knew the importance of remembering significant dates in a relationship, and though he and Steven had only been together a month, most of which Steven had spent in search of his friend, Thor wished on this evening to show his appreciation and love by cooking dinner.

Meat and vegetables had been cut, sliced, and seasoned, all according to the recipe Jarvis had provided, and now they waited in the fridge for Steven to come home, when Thor would heat the large metal bowl over the gas stove and finish the dish of stirring and frying. Jarvis had ensured him that the process would be suitable for a novice, provided Thor remembered to add the ingredients and spices in the correct order.

Thor was washing his hands when he heard a faint noise from the larger room the kitchen was connected to. It could not be Steven, for he would not be home for quite some time, and would not sneak in unannounced. Therefore it must be a thief or other miscreant, Thor deduced, if not something worse. The Captain had numerous enemies, and even the advanced security devices Tony Stark had installed in their home could not protect from them all. Thor quickly dried his hands on a towel, then marched into the other room, ready to call for his hammer if needed.

What he found in the dimly-lit space was a man quietly sitting on the softly cushioned bench, his footwear removed and set next to the furniture, knees pulled up to his chin and arms wrapped around his legs. Even in the sparse lighting Thor could see that his clothes were dirty and threadbare, his head a mess of unkempt dark hair, and that the hand protruding from his left sleeve was not flesh but made of metal. Thor had seen his picture often enough to recognize the intruder, for even now several of them hung on Steven's walls, and one would always be placed beside the bed where ever he slept.

But Thor had no notion as to why the man had come here now, after evading all of Steven's attempts to find him. It was nevertheless obvious that he meant no harm to either Thor or Steven. His demeanour was not in the least threatening, if anything it was guarded, even fearful. This was not the Winter Soldier coming to take a life—this was James Buchanan Barnes, reaching out to the only person in the world he could trust.

"Been watching you for some time," the man said abruptly, and he sounded terribly weary. He looked up at Thor, his gaze observant yet oddly puzzled. "Don't really know what to make of you yet, but I can see that Steve really loves you." He spoke honestly, so Thor decided the best course of action would be to answer in kind. He carefully approached and took a seat beside him, choosing what he felt would be an unintimidating distance.

"I can hardly say that I understand you either, James Buchanan Barnes, but I know how important Steven is to you." The man flinches a bit at hearing his own name.

"Just call me Bucky," he stated a little irritably, but the corner of his mouth slanted into a smile nonetheless, "the long form is too much of a mouthful, and I sure as hell won't have you calling me James or Buchanan, and Barnes kinda feels too formal for a boyfriend of Steve's."

"Then I shall be honoured to call you Bucky," Thor replied, and gave back a wide smile, happy to have earned the privilege from Steven's most beloved friend. "Steven shall be relieved to hear of your return, he has worried a great deal for you, and missed you deeply."

"Yeah, about that," Bucky said, lowering his head back onto his knees. He appeared to be in conflict with himself, clearly wanting to be here but also poised to flee at a moment's notice. "To be honest I wasn't sure I was gonna come here. I know I still ain't right in the head, stuff keeps coming and going and it's hard to keep track of what's me and what's the Winter Soldier."

"The burden of such a divided existence must be hard to bear alone," Thor said quietly, and from the way Bucky looked at him Thor assumed he had made an accurate guess. "A friend of mine once taught me the wisdom of sharing what troubles your heart. Would you not stay and speak with Steven, allow him to offer his help and his guidance?"

"I wanna stay," Bucky told him, his voice becoming rough and desperate. "But I'm afraid I'm gonna hurt Stevie if I do. I keep having these nightmares where I just keep beating and beating and beating him and—" Thor grabbed the wrist of the metal hand which had risen into the air, fingers curled in an angrily tight fist and the whole of the constructed arm emitting a painful groan. The tortured man lifted his face and written on it were echoes of horrors that Thor could not even begin to comprehend, but also infinite sadness for having already brought pain to his friend.

"I do not believe you would be capable of such things, for you care for Steven too much," Thor said to him reassuringly, gently forcing the arm back down. Bucky offered no resistance. "And should it ease your mind and lessen the fear in your heart, then know that I would never allow you to inflict harm on Steven, nor unto yourself."

The metal fingers slowly unfurled, and the expression on Bucky's face became less fraught with anguish. He nodded silently, and with a relieved sigh relaxed back into the cushioned seating. Thor released his hold, setting the hand beside its owner.

"I can see why he loves you so much," Bucky says, a little calmer now as he stared at the ceiling, another smile playing at his lips. "You may talk funny but your heart's in the right place." Thor took no offence, for he has heard far too many witty remarks about his manner of speech from the man in the iron suit to no longer be bothered by them.

"And I know you love him too, and make him happy, and that's really all I need to know about ya." Bucky started to sound tired again, eyes fighting to stay open, yet he seemed to resist sleep. With the kinds or dreams he had told of having of late, Thor could understand his reluctance.

"Perhaps you would wish to bathe and change your clothing while you wait for Steven to arrive home," Thor offered, hoping thus to persuade the man to stay at least a while longer, "and have something to eat, if you are not averse to a meal prepared by someone who has not yet mastered the more complex nuances of cooking."

At first Bucky grinned, then he chuckled, then he burst into a most heartfelt laughter that caused him to hold his sides as he shook in its grip. So genuine was Bucky's joy that Thor was swept along by it, laughing though he was entirely not sure why, simply for the pleasure of it.

"Sure, I do believe I would like to bathe," Bucky eventually replied, a happy grin that reached up to his eyes remaining on his face even after the laughter faded. "Food sounds good too, though can't say for sure how much my stomach is willing to digest, been ages since ate a proper dinner."

"Then I shall endeavour to make the meal as palatable as possible." That almost caused another fit of laughter.

"I bet you cook better than Stevie, he's burned enough toast to build a mountain out of," Bucky told him, but it was with unconditional affection. He lowered his feet unto the floor and stood up and then aimed straight towards the bathing room, clearly knowing where it would be located. Thor read that as a sign that he intended to stay, at least for now, and it made Thor happy for both Bucky and for Steven. The two should be reunited, for it would help both of them heal.

Thor followed him as far as the bedroom, and searched the drawers for something for their guest to wear. He then lay the clothing on the bed, set a clean towel beside them, and with a broad smile on his face continued on to the kitchen and the challenge that awaited him there.

~~~

When Steve got home the place was dark, but he could immediately sense that things weren't right. First of all, there was a lingering a scent of something delicious hanging in the air, something far removed from diner food and take-away. Had Thor cooked? Not such an odd thought in itself, but it wasn't the only thing that had Steve feeling suspicious. The apartment felt just a little too quiet.

Steve quietly removed his shoes and jacket, and proceeded to slowly sneak into the murky living-room. By the couch stood a pair of worn boots, dusty and muddy, and certainly not belonging to either Steve or Thor. He peeked into the kitchen, and found it a mess with a pile of dishes and a table set for three, with only one plate remaining unused. Then Steve heard a muffled sound from the bedroom, like someone had just woken up and groaned sleepily, and that's when things really took an unforeseen turn.

"We're here Stevie," a groggy but achingly familiar voice called out to him, and it damn nearly gave Steve a heart attack. "Drag your butt over, I'm too tired to get up."

Steve wanted to run but his legs felt like lead as he walked to the bedroom and stopped at the open door. What he saw might have been at the same time the most unexpected and the most welcome scene Steve could ever have hoped for.

Bucky lay in the middle of the bed and over the covers, slightly curled and on his right side, wearing a pair of Steve's sweatpants, one of his comfiest sweaters, and thick woollen socks. Flush against his back and dressed in equally laid-back clothing rested Thor, his arm set protectively over Bucky's frame and next to the fabric-covered metal arm. Both had their eyes closed, and neither seemed to mind their current position.

Stunned beyond speech Steve went to Bucky's side of the bed and knelt down, watching his friend sleep beside his lover, and feeling so happy he could hardly breathe. Steve reached a hand towards Bucky but drew it back. He couldn’t seem to stop if from shaking.

Bucky slowly opened his eyes, and Steve smiled at him, one eyebrow rising questioningly.

"I was cold, he's warm," was all Bucky said, but he smirked back cheekily, and Steve could see the old Bucky in that smile and in the light of his blue eyes. He had missed that look more than he could ever put to words.

"Yeah, that he is," Steve replied quietly, glancing over at the sleeping figure of Thor, and he couldn’t escape how affectionate he sounded. "Will you stay?" Steve asked Bucky cautiously, already afraid of losing his friend again.

"Not sure yet," Bucky said, confusion briefly passing over his features, as if he remembered how things used to be, but wasn’t sure if the memories were real. "Can I, Stevie?" Bucky pleaded uncertainly, and it hurt Steve to think of the hell they must have put Bucky through to ever make him doubt that Steve would let him.

"Of course you can," Thor said at the exact same time as Steve, and Steve looked up in surprise.

"You are Steven's friend, his brother," Thor continued, not even opening his eyes, "you shall always have a place within our home and our heart, as long as you shall be in need of it." For some reason that made Bucky sputter out a laugh, but it also broke the uneasy tension that had threatened to build up.

"It seems your friend finds me highly amusing as well as of a comfortable temperature," Thor says and squeezed his arm a little tighter around Bucky, and they both grinned like loons while Steve just stared with his mouth open, until he had to grin too. Whatever had happened between the two in Steve's absence really must have been something, but Steve couldn't be happier about it even if he never learned the truth.

"Bucky, I swear" Steve started with an unconvincingly stern tone, ruined by his own urge to laugh, "if you try steal my boyfriend, I am so going to make you suffer."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Stevie, you know he's not my type," Bucky said, still jovial, but Steve could read the serious meaning in his eyes. He would never come between the two of them, not in any shape or form. "I'm happy for you two, I really am," Bucky added more quietly, stretching his real arm across the bed, palm laid open in invitation. "God knows you deserve happiness more than anyone."

Steve placed his left hand in Bucky's and let himself be pulled into the bed. He leaned over Bucky to give Thor a brief but intense kiss and a shakily whispered, "Thank you" before settling down and crawling in close to Bucky, face to face, their hands still clasped together.

"Could've just told me you were more into guys," Bucky mumbled sleepily, his eyes closing again. "Wouldn't have wasted my time setting you up with all those gorgeous girls and found you some gorgeous guys instead." Steve could see him smirking again.

"They'd have just gone after you like all the women did," Steve replied with mock irritation. "Besides, none of them would have compared to you," he added, no longer afraid to admit it.

"No-one on this planet anyways," Bucky just noted smugly, accepting Steve's admission without a hitch, like it changed nothing. Like Steve always should have known it never would.

"Jerk," Steve told him and wrapped his free arm around Bucky's waist, placing it right next to Thor's. Thor's arm shifted to make room for Steve's, and his hand came to rest on Steve's hip, enclosing Bucky in the safety of their bodies.

"Punk," Bucky whispered, swinging his metal arm over Steve's shoulder, pushing his head under Steve's chin, and promptly falling asleep again. Tears that had waited forever to fall found their way out, but no longer sorrowful or bittersweet. Steve wept with pure joy, and his heart was full to the brim with love.

~~~ End ~~~