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The first day after that battle, Steve woke up feeling... fuzzy. He remembered the feeling from what seemed (what actually was) a lifetime ago: his childhood and his endless colds and the lassitude that clung to his bones and pressed his head deeper into his pillow as his fever climbed, unwelcome passenger of his body.
Any other day, he would have fought it, would have rallied his forces and got up anyway, but... but it was early, rain lashed against the windows, evil had been vanquished the day before, and the house (the mansion, Stark Tower, now Avengers Tower) was peacefully and uncharacteristically quiet.... Steve slipped right back into sleep.
He was in a cave. He'd been here before, he knew. The light was dim and rosy, and it was warm, with just a hint of chill coming from outside that made the warmth all the lovelier. An oddly musical roar filled the whole space, like a cathedral filled with distant singing. It was peaceful. It was home. Steve closed his eyes, settled more comfortably on the floor, and slept.
He woke up feeling refreshed and at peace with the world. Nothing could rock his good mood; not Tony and his well-meant but painful jabs, not Natasha and her unsettling secrecy, not Clint's brashness, not Bruce's constant hesitance. Only Thor caused him a spike of annoyance and Steve buried it under politeness until it might as well have never existed.
That night, he went to sleep early, not wanting to admit to himself that he was a little hopeful, and he fell asleep almost at once.
The cave was still there, though now the light was cooler, fainter -moon instead of sun, perhaps. There was a persistent chill in the air, but it was a good cold, a refreshing cold, a cold that made Steve want to breathe deeper and smile wider. The choir that filled the air with a constant vibration was the same, and the peace Steve felt was the same too.
He was home. He belonged here, to the dim light and the wonderful noise and the creeping chill. When he woke up Steve still had a smile on his face.
The smile didn't waver all day, not even when something in Tony's workshop short-circuited and the power went off in the whole tower and the five surrounding blocks. Apparently, this caused one of Bruce's experiments to be ruined, and the Hulk burst out of the lab in a shower of glass and plaster. Tony was swearing, Natasha took off running after the Hulk, and Clint couldn't stop laughing long enough to answer Thor's questions about why “the poptart machine” wasn't working.
Steve contacted S.H.I.E.L.D., welcomed the technicians sent to help Tony fix whatever it was he'd broken, went to pick up an exhausted Natasha and a tired -but still angry- Bruce, and he did it all with a smile on his face. And if he happened to avoid Thor, well, it'd been a busy day.
That night he went to bed by candlelight, like when he'd been a child and there'd been a blackout, leaving the others bickering unhappily around the rig Tony had installed in the kitchen to provide them with some electricity. Steve fell asleep the moment his head came to rest on his pillow.
The cave was dark now, the only light a cool blue glow that seemed to seep through the walls. A different, sharper thrumming seemed to resonate slightly out of synch with the louder music, but it only went to enhance its rhythm. It was cold, and the walls and ground were frosted over.
Steve felt a warm fluttering in his stomach. Something great was going to happen. Something wonderful was going to happen to him. He could feel it in his bones, hear it whispered in the roar around him, see it in vague shapes floating in the darkness.
He woke up later than usual, but it could be forgiven because the power was still out. The warm fluttery feeling survived a cold shower, a cold breakfast, and the steady stream of profanity coming from a sleepless and frazzled Tony Stark. It survived a morning of trying to help the technicians in spite of his absolute ignorance about engineering (but he could lift heavy rolls of cable, and climb on tables and under cabinets to make connections, and this seemed enough). It survived an urgent call from Fury and a quick trip to an undisclosed location to extract a S.H.I.E.L.D. operative who had got into something way over his head.
The fluttery feeling was there, stronger than ever, when Steve arrived back to the tower late at night and herded Tony away from his workshop and into the first available sofa; then he went to his own bedroom and got into his great, wonderful, amazing bed, and fell asleep immediately.
The light had gone, except for the blue glow localised in an elongated shape that shone through one of the walls, brighter than ever and yet leaving the cave itself in darkness. It was cold, a cold that was so absolute that it went straight past discomfort and pain and into a sort of delicious numbness Steve's bones remembered well. The walls of the cave sometimes caught the blue light as it reflected off the ice growing there.
The warm fluttery feeling was now a hot knot of excitement pulsing in Steve's chest as he sat in the darkness and waited for what seemed like hours, until it burnt with a painful pleasure Steve never wanted to see come to an end.
But it did come to an end, and for something better than Steve could have imagined. Under the twin thrumming of the cave's own music and what Steve now realised was the song of the blue light, there was a rustling, a sharp intake of breath, and Steve realised he wasn't alone in the darkness.
All through that day, Steve went around with a bubble of happiness firmly lodged in his chest. His body (his amazing new body which had yet to fail him) seemed too small to contain all he felt. At times, he'd take his new knowledge from a corner of his mind and he'd bask in its radiance: he wasn't alone!
Natasha found him while he was carrying a large bolt of wire to Bruce's lab because, as it turned out, the whole building needed to be re-wired, and there were areas too sensitive for even S.H.I.E.L.D-vetted technicians to access. She stood in front of him, blocking the narrow corridor, and looked at him with eyes that wanted to be cold (but Steve knew cold, and ice, could still feel them in his bones and in his heart, and Natasha's eyes were nothing like it).
“Are you alright?”
If there was something which Steve hated -apart from bullies, and seeing innocent people get hurt, and beets-, it was being coddled. And worse than being coddled was being coddled by people who didn't care, who had no interest on him other than as a valuable asset, who demanded answers just like they demanded loyalty.
“I'm fine,” he said, and waited -face politely blank- until Natasha huffed and walked away, hopefully satisfied at having obtained the answer she had wanted.
And he was fine, Steve reasoned as he walked into the wreck that had been Bruce's lab. He was even (dare he say it?) happy. Surely there could be nothing wrong with that.
He was calm and patient (and yes, happy) even in the presence of a very frustrated Bruce and a Tony made manic by guilt and impatience, and he didn't complain even as the repair work went long into the night.
If his heart was beating a little bit faster than it should when he finally got into bed, well, that didn't stop him from falling asleep at once.
The cave was fully dark now, the blue glow localised into a point it hurt to look at, on the other side of the wall, offering no light to see by. Steve sat down and... there, between the musical roar of the cave and the light, a quiet breath... and yes, a quiet rustling. Steve's every sense strained in the darkness -waiting, hoping, longing for more. Was the rustling coming closer? It was! Steve sat very, very still, hardly daring to breathe in case he missed it, in case he scared it away...
There!
Steve sat up in bed with a jolt, his heart racing in his chest. He raised his left hand and stared at it reverently: there, on that small strip of skin on the back of his hand, he'd felt it, the whisper of a touch colder than anything he'd ever known.
He wasn't alone; he was wanted.
When he went into the kitchen, Tony called him Sleeping Beauty and informed him the power would come back on in a couple of hours, while Bruce stared moodily at the tray of cooling coffees to go that some brave soul had brought back to the tower. Steve thanked them both for their work (conveniently forgetting to mention they were responsible for said work needing to be done) and started to put together his own breakfast.
The moment Thor lumbered into the kitchen, Steve's stomach let him know without a doubt that he didn't want to eat. With a mumbled excuse, he got up quickly and left for one of the living rooms, leaving the milk abandoned on the counter and Bruce staring at his retreating back.
For the first time since that battle and that first dream of the cave, an alarm bell rang in Steve's head, loud enough not to be drowned by the musical thrumming that echoed on the back of his mind. Overly realistic dreams that followed him into real life weren't between the many, many things his S.H.I.E.L.D-assigned therapist told him he could expect after his... awakening, but they were just dreams. What harm could they do?
And his reaction to Thor... well, it didn't mean anything. The group (The Avengers) were still getting used to one another, and clashes of personality were inevitable. Steve wasn't obligated to like everyone (God knew that Natasha didn't seem to like any of them -except for Clint- and that didn't make her less of a good operative). In the army he'd learnt to work along people he'd despised, and this wouldn't be any different.
Not that he despised Thor. No, he'd proved someone to trust in battle and a well-meaning soul outside of it. He just... made Steve uneasy.
There was nothing wrong with that. There was nothing wrong with any of it.
As always when he felt he needed some peace, Steve reached for a sketchpad and some pencils and sat by the window to draw whatever was in front of him. The glint of sunlight against glass in a nearby building caught his eye and he settled into the rhythm of drawing, focusing on making the lines clean and crisp while in the back of his mind, dark thoughts churned.
A fleeting, pulsing pain on the back of his hand made him look up after a moment. No, there was nothing there. The skin was perfect, unmarred, as always. There was only the memory of that fleeting, cold touch. But that, that had been a dream. He was fine. He was always fine.
Unconsciously, his hand drifted to his chest, just above his heart. That's where he'd been wounded the last time, a small cut from Loki's icy spear (no magic, just a thrust and a twist that made it past his shield and skittered harmlessly along his ribs before Loki swung away under the threat from Clint's arrows). By the time the battle was over and Loki had been forced to flee, the wound had already been healing over and Steve had told the S.H.I.E.L.D medics to go and see to Natasha's twisted ankle instead.
There was no reason to think about it now, five days later. There was no reason to feel a twinge of cold over his heart like he did on the back of his hand. It was nothing. He was fine.
The drawing of the shiny building in front of him felt flat, fake. Steve turned a new page on his sketchbook and chose to draw something else, something that would engage his imagination as well as his hand. Sweeping curved lines and lots of shadowing soon covered the paper, and Steve bit his lip as the cave he'd been dreaming of came to life, every detail exactly as he remembered it.
“That's... a bit morbid, don't you think?”
Steve jumped. He hadn't heard Bruce approach.
“Morbid?” he asked, snapping the sketchbook shut.
“The ice.” Bruce handed him a plate and a glass of milk. “Thought you would like some breakfast.”
“Thanks.” Steve put the things on the coffee table in front of him. “Oh, it's not... it's not from memory. I don't remember any of it, anyway. It's just... a drawing.” He took a sandwich, feeling his stomach growl. “Thanks.”
“No problem. Noticed you left without eating anything.”
This wasn't Natasha's pragmatic worry, tinged heavily with irritation. Bruce looked wary but sympathetic, asking without asking in case Steve wanted to pretend nothing was happening.
“I am pleased to inform you that I am back online, Captain Rogers, Doctor Banner,” said Jarvis' voice.
Lights flickered on and off, the TV beeped, an array of lights came from the entertainment system.
“Power is back on,” said Steve, quite unnecessarily. He stood up, sandwich still in hand. “Better go and check that everything is alright.”
Bruce followed him out of the room, obviously not willing to press the issue. Steve felt suddenly, wildly grateful to him, and he threw him a smile over his shoulder as he followed the smell of smoke and the sound of Tony swearing.
That night, Steve sat on the edge of his bed for a long time. It wasn't that he didn't want to go sleep, it was that he wanted to, so desperately that he was beginning to doubt himself and his motivations.
But he couldn't stay awake forever. He didn't even have a reason to do so, except for suspicions so unreasonable that he was ashamed to admit them to himself, let alone talk about them to Bruce.
Steve got into bed, rested his head on the pillow, and fell asleep at once.
He was in the cave, in total darkness except for the pulsing light, like a star, on the other side of the cave wall. The song of the cave and the song of the light were almost completely drowned by the frantic beating of his heart. His left hand was resting on the icy floor and -slight and trembling like a dying bird- another hand rested on top of it, colder than the cave around them.
Carefully, hardly daring to breathe, Steve turned his hand around and loosely curled his fingers around that trembling hand. For a moment, he feared he'd made a mistake which would undo all his progress, but then freezing fingers hesitatingly twined with his.
“I'm here, I'm here,” he murmured, reaching out to cradle a body that felt both strong and vulnerable under his hands -hard muscle and soft skin, long limbs settling awkwardly in his hold, and silky hair brushing his cheek.
For a moment, he remembered Bucky and that night after he'd rescued him, how he'd held his friend for long hours as he shook from fear and pain, feeling so small in his arms even though Steve had always considered him a big man. So he did the same now, held on tight and whispered reassurances past the knot in his throat until the figure in his arms stopped shaking.
“I'm here, I'm here,” he murmured, his voice hoarse.
“Yes,” whispered the figure in his arms. “You are.”
This time, what Steve felt when he woke up wasn't easy to describe. He felt swamped in the despair of the figure he'd cradled in his arms all night, but there was also an underlying satisfaction that he'd been able to help, that his presence had made things better in some way. He got up, weighed down by sadness but held up by duty, and it was a good thing he did, because JARVIS informed him at once that Nick Fury wanted to speak to him, and the day went downhill from there.
Steve had forgotten that he had arranged a meeting with Fury to settle a long list of things that he -as de facto leader of The Avengers- was responsible for: not just boring things like budgets and logistical arrangements that Tony couldn't be bothered keeping track of, but matters like the divvying up of responsibilities in the field and an in-depth review of each member of the team. Not that Fury hadn't already made his mind, probably, but Steve knew his opinion was taken into account up to a point -after all, this wasn't the first time he led a motley group of individuals into danger.
The morning was dedicated to logistics and diplomatically dancing around the question of how many expenses Tony was really willing to foot, and what it would take for him to stop. By the time a junior agent came in with bottles of water and some plastic-wrapped sandwiches, Steve had a pounding headache and the urge to rest his hand over his heart was getting harder to resist.
At last, three hours later, over re-heated coffee and donuts that tasted like cardboard, Fury addressed the issue.
“Tony...” Steve sighed. “Tony is fine. He'll never be a team player, but he's... a valuable member of the team all the same.”
“His actions in the Chitauri crisis were admirable,” Fury said, somewhat grudgingly.
“Yes! Yes, of course. Tony... Tony has his heart in the right place.” Steve chuckled tiredly. “He'll do what he thinks it's best for the team... whether the team agrees or not. I have very little authority over him.”
“And it's still more than anyone else has.”
“I know.” Steve nodded; he knew, even Pepper came to ask for his help with Tony sometimes. “It's just... something to keep in mind.”
Fury nodded.
“Romanoff?”
Steve bit his lip.
“Agent Romanoff is very skilled...”
“Go straight to the point, Rogers, I don't want to be doing this more than you do.”
Steve took a deep breath.
“I just hope that Agent Romanoff's conflicting loyalties never become an issue.”
Fury raised his eyebrow.
“She's loyal to Clint, to S.H.I.E.L.D, and to The Avengers, in that order. And to self-preservation, too. I'm not saying that she's not reliable under most circumstances, but...”
“But?”
“But I don't like having people under my command that are under someone else's command first and foremost. Particularly when those people wouldn't think twice about sticking a knife in my back.”
“Rogers, we're not going to sic Romanoff on you...”
“As long as I continue doing exactly what you tell me to, sir. I know.”
But hung in the air, unspoken. But the day might come when The Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D's viewpoints didn't align exactly. But the day might come when S.H.I.E.L.D might look uneasily at the force barely under its control.
“Barton?” asked Fury, instead of saying anything else.
“I like working with Clint, and I have absolutely no reservations about his attitude.”
“But?”
“But he's only human.” Steve shrugged apologetically. “Usually it wouldn't be an issue, but lately we've been getting into situations where it's a frank disadvantage. He and Romanoff, even with their skills, can slow us down or even complicate missions. I'm not suggesting anything other than... maybe considering not having them along with the rest of the team all the time.”
“I wouldn't have taken you for the type to refuse to work with us mere humans, Rogers,” Fury told him.
“You know it's not that. But you bring someone unprotected into the kind of missions we keep getting into, and sooner or later something like... like the Loki situation will happen again. Or worse. Listen, sir, if there was a mission in outer space, where only Tony in his suit and Thor could go, I wouldn't insist they dragged me along because I'd know I'd be putting them in danger. It's the same. I'm not... I'm not trying to put down Clint or Natasha.”
Fury sighed. Steve felt a small spark of triumph over the cold, sharp, dark sliver of pain over his heart.
“Banner.”
“Doctor Banner is fantastic,” Steve said. “He's... really invaluable to the team. And he's making really great progress in controlling the Hulk, I think we're reaching a point where the possibility of communicating with him is almost a certitude. And, of course, he keeps Tony grounded. I don't know what we'd do without Bruce, actually.”
“I'll be sure to tell General Ross that,” Fury said under his breath, unnecessarily looking at a file in front of him. “Thor?”
Steve's hesitation was glaringly obvious. He couldn't even resist raising his hand and resting it briefly over his heart; it hurt, distantly.
“Rogers?”
“Thor is...” Steve swallowed, tried to keep the dislike from his voice. “... you know what I said about Natasha, sir? Or what I said about Tony? Take both and increase it...” Steve gestured, since 'a whole lot' didn't seem descriptive enough. “Thor has very peculiar ideas of what is right or wrong. He'll listen to the team, for now, but... I don't know how long that will last. And he's made clear that his Asgardian loyalties come first. To be honest, sir, I'm not entirely comfortable with Thor knowing certain things about us.”
“That bad, huh?” Fury didn't seem surprised; Steve felt relieved, and the pain in his chest faded a little, until it was just a cold, faint pulsing just out of synch with his heartbeat. “I'm not going to lie to you, Rogers, the thought has crossed my mind before... but the diplomatic consequences can be terrible, whatever we do. For now, it's best if we keep him in the team, as happy as we can... but your reservations have been noted, captain.”
“Thank you, sir.” Steve was incredibly thirsty, but he didn't want to reach for a bottle of water and drain it right there and then; Fury knew well enough how tense he'd been, there was no need to give him proof of it.
“Thank you for your insight and for your honesty, Rogers.” Fury stood up, then shook Steve's hands when he followed suit. “I won't take more of your time.”
Steve left the S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters on foot and refused the offer by one of the agents to drive him back to Avengers Tower; he needed time to think. He hadn't planned to be so sincere with Fury. In fact, he hadn't planned to be sincere at all; he knew what to say and how to say it to keep the upper echelons content, and he didn't think that appeasing Fury was harder than appeasing Colonel Phillips. So why had he said all he'd said? Where had those carefully chosen words come from? Had he really been keeping those suspicions at the back of his mind, ready to flourish under Fury's inquisitive look?
Well, he supposed that explained his unease around Thor lately. Fury had agreed with him about that, so it wasn't as if he'd been wrong in his suspicions, or gut feeling, or whatever it was. He felt lighter now, freer, and he threw back his head and walked all the way back to Avengers Tower with more purpose in his step than he'd had in months.
Meeting the team after the conversation with Fury felt strange, as strange as it had felt to sit with them around that battered table in the shawarma joint and think that these were his new comrades, the people he'd risked his life for (and who'd risk their lives for him). Now, he struggled to contain a vague feeling of shame (as if he had betrayed them, which he hadn't, he'd only spoken what was in his heart) and creeping sense of dread (because if what he'd said to Fury was right... and it was, Steve felt it in his bones... then sooner or later they would stop being a team and become enemies).
He pleaded tiredness from his meeting with Fury and went to bed early.
He delayed the actual sleeping until nearly midnight, reading a book Bruce had lent him a few days before, and even after he got under the sheets and turned off the light, he stared at the ceiling for a long time before letting his eyes fall closed.
He was in the cave, in darkness. The figure in his arms wasn't trembling any more. Steve held on tight and listened as, over the rhythm thrumming of the cave, the figure spoke and spoke. Later, Steve wouldn't be able to remember their voice, or the exact words they used, or anything but the feelings of desolation, anger and helplessness that built up inside his chest as he listened to a litany of injustices, tortures and regrets, longer and more bitter than any war Steve could remember.
“I'm sorry,” Steve whispered, lowering his head a little. “I'm sorry. I'm here. I... I wish I could help.”
The figure in his arms stirred, turned their head just enough that instead of speaking against the delicate shell of an ear, Steve felt the next words being breathed onto his lips.
“You can help.” Cold lips brushed against his, and Steve's heart hurt so much he thought he would die -quite happily- in that dark cave, with the figure in his arms almost, but not quite kissing him. “Yes, you can help.”
The pain in his chest followed him into awakening. Steve lay on his bed, stared at the ceiling and, for about thirty seconds, wondered if the serum had failed him and he was dying of a heart-attack. Then the pain receded, leaving only the familiar shard of cold sharpness near his heart, and Steve got up, gingerly, feeling his lips for the taste of ice and starlight he remembered better than he remembered anything else in the last few days.
All through the morning, the anger and the helplessness churned in his chest; he didn't remember what caused it (chasing wisps of dreams that faded between his grasping fingers), but he knew it was there, in the back of his mind, ready to erupt when he remembered... if he remembered.
He was pulled out of his moody contemplation by the alarm sounding and Natasha striding into the common room: a disturbance near the coast, they were needed, S.H.I.E.L.D was already mobilising agents to the area.
Steve sent Tony ahead to do aerial reconnaissance ('and nothing more, Tony, please wait until we've arrived', 'yeah, Stark, leave some fun for the rest of us') while the rest of them suited up and got ready to travel there in a S.H.I.E.L.D helicopter.
“Let us forth, Captain!” Thor said with a smile, clapping Steve's shoulder on his way to the helipad.
Steve gritted his teeth and took a deep breath; his instinctive reaction had been to whirl around and punch Thor in the face, which would have been not only useless, but counterproductive to team morale. And out of character, Steve remembered belatedly, as he followed the rest of the team, not meeting Natasha's eyes.
Tony had arrived to the scene by the time they got on the helicopter and took off; his report was that there was 'a big fucking snake in the water' and a glow of greenish magic that seemed to indicate Loki's presence near the shore; S.H.I.E.L.D. agents had evacuated the area under pretence of a localised tsunami alert. Steve again ordered him not to approach without backup ('and no, that doesn't mean you can shoot it from where you are') and wished for the helicopter to travel faster.
When he caught himself holding his hand over his chest, where a sliver of cold pain seemed to be burrowing into his heart, Steve had a fleeting moment of worry about his ability to be a part of the confrontation that was about to follow. But, he reassured himself, he'd fought worst foes under worse conditions, and he had his team (as unreliable as they might be, as he had exposed them to Fury). He'd be fine.
“Is that Nessie?” asked Barton from where he was looking out of the window. “Jesus Christ, if it is, it's gone through a growth spurt.”
Steve caught a glimpse of a huge, undulating, scaly mass in the water before the helicopter swerved to deposit them on the roof of a nearby building, where Tony was waiting for them.
“I vote we deal with Loki,” said Tony over the roar of the helicopter; he pointed at a small rocky outcrop where they could see the greenish magical flames that in the past had signalled Loki's presence. “Get rid of Loki, the snake will follow, right?”
“Thor?” asked Natasha, who had been watching the Asgardian.
“Yes, milady?”
Natasha huffed softly.
“You've seen that before?” she asked.
“... yes,” Thor admitted with obvious reluctance. “My friend Stark is correct when he says that Loki is controlling it.”
“So, what are we waiting for?” Tony fired his repulsors and hovered a little above the roof. “Who's coming down with me?”
Steve was well-aware of his own virtues and his shortcomings, as well as those of his team; he'd told Fury about them, after all. He only needed to give the briefest look around himself before he spoke.
“I'll go with you. Barton, stay up here and give us cover. Banner, go to ground level, but stand back in case we need the Hulk for back-up. Romanoff, monitor the creature in the water and keep us informed.” He took a deep breath. “Thor, you're with me and Iron Man. Let's try to start with a negotiation if we can, alright?”
“What are the odds of that?” Iron Man said, the derision on his voice clear even through the suit's speakers, but he landed and offered his hand to help Steve to help him get into position to fly with him. “I'll get the plasma rays heated up just in case, hm?”
“Tony, don't shoot until I give you the order or he's hostile first,” Steve said firmly as they took off.
“Aye, aye, captain!” Tony's mechanical voice replied, and Steve sighed as they flew towards the ground faster than was comfortable.
Loki was standing on a rocky outcrop, the wind buffeting his green cloak around him; he was surrounded by a faint glow of greenish magic, but he didn't appear to be doing anything else than staring into the sea at the evolutions of the sea serpent or whatever the monster was.
“Hawkeye is ready. Banner will be in position in two minutes. The creature's movements seem to be slowing down,” said Natasha's voice in his ear.
“Roger that,” Steve answered. “We're moving in.”
He stepped away from Tony the moment he landed, and held out an arm to stop Thor, who was moving towards his brother, hammer in hand.
“Don't just charge in,” he said. “You'll only make it worse.”
“Captain, the creature seems to be heading towards you,” Natasha said.
“Thor, can you intercept the creature?” Steve asked, thankful for a monster's presence for the first time ever; Loki was never so vicious as when Thor was around, whether trying to fight him or help him.
“Yes.” Thor gave two steps back, looking sullen. “Captain... don't hurt Loki.”
Steve opened his mouth to explain -again- that they would stop trying to incapacitate Loki when he stopped trying to kill them, but Thor raised a hand with such authority that Steve stopped to listen.
“If Loki is hurt, Jormungandr... the serpent, might become aggressive,” Thor explained.
“So much for these...” complained Iron Man, powering down something on the suit's arms Steve couldn't identify. “Cap, you want me to have a crack at talking to our favourite supervillain?” he asked as Thor whirled his hammer and took off towards the sea. “He's just standing there, doesn't even look like he's plotting our deaths. Well, not immediately.”
“I'll do it,” Steve decided. “You'll just get thrown into the sea, since there aren’t any windows.”
“Hey!”
“Keep an eye on the situation. If... if it gets bad, I'm trusting you to make the right decision.” Without waiting to hear Tony's response, Steve touched his communicator. “Romanoff, I'm moving in.”
“Roger that. Thor has reached the creature and seems to be trying to... wrestle with it? But you're clear.”
Steve set foot on the slippery rocks of the outcrop, and Loki turned to look at him; in his right hand he held a spear made of ice, the same one which had wounded Steve last time (his chest seemed to burn and freeze with the memory). His left hand was loosely curled at his side, but Steve could read the tension in the long lines of his body and the way his green eyes focused on Steve, wary.
Steve breathed through the pain in his chest, and moved forwards.
“Captain,” Loki said, when Steve had come within earshot. “Surely you don’t come to remonstrate me? I am doing nothing wrong.”
“Is that creature under your control?” Steve asked, stopping at what he hoped was a reasonable distance, far enough that he was out of the reach of Loki’s spear, but not so far that they had to shout over the sound of the crashing waves.
“Is the Hulk under your control? In a manner of speaking.”
“Its presence is causing floods along the shore, not to mention panic. Can you tell it to go back where it came from?”
“Why, captain, it’s not like you to begrudge a prisoner a day’s outing.” Loki smiled thinly and glanced at the sea as a particularly massive wave broke around him, the spray of saltwater somehow not touching him; Steve was soaked through his suit.
“Loki…” Steve said in warning; he fought the urge to rest his hand over his heart to soothe the freezing pain.
“Captain…” Loki turned to him and hefted his spear over his shoulder. “You would fight me on this?”
“If necessary.” Steve tried to get a better footing on the slippery rocks; he didn’t fancy falling into the waters churned by Thor and the creature’s confrontation.
Loki gave him a considering look, not really looking very belligerent. Steve, well aware that this was the longest conversation they’d ever had, and feeling Iron Man and Hawkeye’s eyes on them, gripped his shield more tightly and waited; the pain in his chest was a cold needle piercing its way to his heart.
“Yes, you would fight me,” said the demigod after a moment, as if it’d taken him that long to reach that conclusion.
“I would,” Steve confirmed. “Don’t make me.”
Loki grinned suddenly at this, baring his teeth like a hungry wolf.
“Of all the things I would make you do, fighting me would not be the first.”
Steve felt his eyebrows rise under the cowl of his suit. Really? Questionable double-entendres were usually Tony’s realm, not his.
With each beat of his heart, the pain grew sharper, colder; he coughed weakly and felt a massive wave hit him sideways, knocking him off his feet and into the water.
Did Iron Man’s suit even work underwater? Steve wondered as the churning water pulled him down. Would the Hulk get to him in time if not?
He tried not to scream or breathe in water as a sliver of something cold and sharp seemed to lodge in his racing heart. The churning water slammed him against the rocks, and he felt his suit tear over his shoulder and the sharp sting of salt water on broken skin. He tried to swim, but he didn’t know which way was up; the weight of his shield threatened to drag him down.
A dark shape appeared in his vision. Thor? Steve raised his shield in case it was, but the figure was slimmer, its cloak (billowing in the water), darker. Loki? But its skin was blue as the heart of a glacier and its eyes were red as fire, and the moment its hand closed around Steve’s wrist, a huge scaly body wrapped around the two of them and Steve lost the battle against the pain and surrendered to the darkness.
When Steve woke up, the pain in his chest which had tormented him for days was gone. He was in a cave, the walls made of ice. The light was dim and cool, and distantly Steve thought he could hear a rhythmic thrumming.
But no, it was only the beating of his heart.
“It was always the beating of your heart.”
Loki was sitting at the foot of his bed. Steve sat up at once, the sheets sliding down, and froze when he felt Loki’s fingertips come to rest over his heart.
“A shard from my spear, digging its way into your heart, day after day… that’s what you saw in your dreams, and I saw it too. The spear is made from the same ice I am made, did you know?” Steve shook his head. “Does it hurt now?” Steve shook his head again. “No, it won’t hurt any more, not now that it has reached its objective.” Loki tapped Steve’s chest, just over his heart. “A lesser man would have died, but you… you live, with a chunk of ice where your heart used to be.”
Loki stared at him for another long minute.
“Are you still cold?” he asked, and then he leant in and brushed his lips against Steve's.
It was cold, yes, it was freezing in the dim cave, but the cold when Loki kissed him was a thousand times sharper, until Steve thought he was going to die... and then it was gone, and Loki was smiling at him from a short distance as Steve shook his head dumbly.
He looked so lovely, Loki, sitting on the edge of the bed, his armour glinting in the low light, so lovely and so clever that Steve wasn't afraid any more; he wanted to say something, to offer something, but he was at a loss as to what.
When Loki continued to wait in silence, Steve realised he was waiting for him to speak.
“I’m here,” he said, remembering his dreams.
Loki smiled widely, and Steve smiled back, because how couldn’t he, when he’d make Loki happy?
“Yes, you are.”
“I can help,” Steve added, the words coming more easily now.
“Oh captain, my captain…” Loki’s face was a study in delight. “Yes, you will help me, won’t you?”
Steve nodded eagerly, and raised a hand to his heart. No, he wasn't cold. He wasn't cold at all.