𝓐𝓷𝓷𝓲𝓮

The next morning, all of you gather in the briefing room again.

Everyone falls into familiar positions, but not quite the same. Steve stands close enough to you that your shoulders brush—not by accident.

At the front of the room, Tony paces. Screens behind him flicker through satellite feeds and data logs, the glow reflecting sharp angles across his face. He fidgets with a rubber-band ball, snapping it between his fingers as he talks, his agitation obvious in every movement.

“Hydra went loud last time. They don’t do that without a follow-up.”

Natasha’s voice is steady. “They got a reaction.”

Bucky’s comes lower. “They’ll want another one.” His eyes flick to you.

You meet the look without hesitation. “Then we deny it.”

Thor watches from the wall, silent, his gaze shifting between each of you before settling—briefly—on you again.

Sam studies you for a moment longer than the others, concern still lingering, before he looks back to Tony. “What’s the plan?”

Tony exhales, snapping back into something closer to control. “Simple. Convoy with high-ranking Hydra brass. We intercept, capture if possible, eliminate if not, and get out.”

No one argues.

The room breaks, and you move out as a unit, you and Steve falling into step at the rear without a word.

The quinjet holds steady above the convoy.

Tony signals, and Thor drops first. Lightning strikes before he lands, the impact carving a crater into the road and forcing the lead vehicle to a halt.

Sam follows, already airborne, circling into overwatch. No drones—yet.

You, Steve, Bucky, and Natasha drop behind the last vehicle and move forward as one.

Like before, you and Steve sync naturally, side by side.

Unlike before, Bucky stays close—just off your shoulder, but not drifting.

Tony’s voice cuts over comms. “Nice and simple. Let’s keep it that way.”

The Hydra agents pour out to meet you.

The first wave goes down fast. Clean. Efficient.

Then—

Something shifts.

Their movement slows. Angles change. Formation breaks in a way that is not chaotic—it is intentional.

Sam catches it first. “They’re stalling.”

Natasha’s already there. “No—they’re setting something.”

A door on the center vehicle slams open. The sound cuts through everything.

For a second, the fight stalls.

A lone figure steps out. And looks directly at you.

He has your brother’s face. Not perfect.

The posture is wrong. The way he holds himself is off—subtly, but enough. Something in the movement doesn’t match the memory burned into you.

But the face is there. And that’s enough.

The blood drains from yours. You stop.

Steve stills beside you immediately.

Bucky sees it a second later—your reaction, then the figure—and something hardens in his expression.

Over comms, Tony does not even try to hide it. “…no, no, no—what the hell is that—”

The copy tilts his head, studying you.

Then he says your name.

The voice is just off enough to make it worse.

“Looks like you found our father.”

Steve goes still. He remembers.

The memory flickers—training rooms, old footage, the word used just to throw him off balance.

This is not random.

You try to hold onto the differences. The stance. The tone. The way he breathes.

You know it is not him. You know it.

“You’re not—”

The words slip out before you can stop them.

You clamp your mouth shut.

Hydra moves. All of them.

Every line tightening, closing toward you.

Natasha, Bucky, and Steve shift instantly, closing ranks around you.

Steve’s voice is firm, right at your ear. “Hey—stay with me—”

You take a breath. Then another. And move.

You break from the formation, driving forward through the Hydra line.

There is no hesitation now. Every strike is clean. Brutal. Efficient. You do not stop.

Not until you are standing in front of him. Your face is tight with something sharper than anger.

Your voice drops, low and final. “You’re wrong.”

Your hand drives forward. Through bone. Through muscle. Through everything in between.

Shock flashes across his face.

Your fingers close around his heart. Still beating. You rip it free.

The body collapses at your feet.

Silence hits for half a second.

Then—

“Fuck me.” Sam’s voice cracks through comms, stunned.

Thor looks at you once—just once—before turning back to the perimeter.

Tony exhales sharply. “Yeah, okay, they’re officially insane—”

Natasha does not miss a beat, dropping another agent. “No. They’re precise.”

Bucky stands close now—closer than before—watching you with something that is not surprise.

Recognition. Too close to his own past.

Steve is already there, just behind you. He does not say anything. Does not pull you back.

He just turns with you as the fight resumes.

Hydra does not hold. They begin to pull out almost immediately.

Sam calls it. “They’re pulling back!”

Tony’s voice sharpens again. “Yeah. Because they got what they wanted.”

The quinjet lands.

You regroup quickly and board without discussion.

At the back, you sit beside Steve again.

Calm. Composed.

Like nothing happened.

Except for the blood still dripping from your hand onto the floor.

The silence holds for the entire flight back to the compound.

No one breaks it.

Steve shifts beside you at some point, his arm settling loosely around your shoulders. Not restraining—just there.

Your hand hangs low at your side, angled away from your body so the blood will not stain your suit.

It drips anyway. Slow. Steady.

No one speaks.

No one looks at you for long.

Sam swallows, glancing back once before turning away just as quickly, like he is not sure what he is allowed to see.

Up front, Natasha watches through the reflection in the glass, her expression unreadable—eyes tracking, cataloging, not judging.

Bucky does not look away at all. His gaze stays fixed on you, something in it shifting as recognition settles in, piece by piece.

Beside Natasha, Tony flicks through screen after screen at a sluggish pace, movements mechanical. He is not really seeing any of it.

Thor sits across from you and Steve, completely still, his head tipped back against the wall, eyes closed—whether in thought or restraint, it is impossible to tell.

The only sound is the low hum of the engines.

And the quiet, intermittent drip of blood hitting the floor.

Steve’s eyes track it eventually.

His arm tightens just slightly around your shoulders.

He still does not say anything.

All of you file out of the quinjet in silence.

It reminds you, distantly, of the first time you walked into the compound with them—but the mood is nothing like it was then.

No one says anything as you move inside.

Without discussion, the group drifts toward the briefing room, pulled there more by habit than intent.

The silence follows.

You take your usual place by the glass, leaning into it lightly.

Steve stays at your side.

After a moment, he steps away just long enough to grab a cloth and a small container of water. When he comes back, he takes your hand without asking and stands in front of you, carefully cleaning the blood away.

You let him.

Tony pulls up the mission footage, the screens flaring to life—then almost immediately dismisses them. He turns instead, focusing on you, his voice low.

“They built that for you.”

Natasha does not look away from where she stands. “No. They deployed it.”

Sam drops heavily into a chair, elbows braced on his knees as he stares at the table. “That wasn’t random.”

You lift your gaze from your hand, from the slow, deliberate way Steve is working, and look at him. “No.”

Bucky watches you, then Steve, then your hands—your fingers in his, the blood coming away in dark streaks. “It was close.”

You catch it immediately. Physically. Psychologically.

Steve does not look up, but his voice is firm. “Not close enough.”

He finishes cleaning your hand but does not let go right away.

You give his hand a small squeeze.

He looks up then, meeting your eyes.

“It wasn’t him,” you say quietly.

Bucky does not hesitate. “I know.”

The words settle.

You look at him for a moment.

“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hit the same,” he adds, just as steady.

Natasha’s gaze shifts between the three of you, taking it in. “They’re learning where to apply pressure.”

Tony drags a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “Yeah, well. Next time we push back harder.”

You glance toward him only briefly before your focus returns forward. “They’ll escalate.”

“So will we.” Bucky’s voice is lower now, only half-directed, but it lands all the same.

No one argues. No one adds to it.

The room begins to empty without instruction, each of them peeling away one by one, the quiet holding.

You and Steve are the last to move.

When you step into the hallway, Bucky falls in on your other side, the three of you walking together for a few steps.

He keeps his eyes forward as he speaks. “You didn’t hesitate.”

You shake your head. “No.”

His hands flex once at his sides before easing again. “That’s the part that sticks.”

You glance sideways at him. “It was necessary.”

Bucky looks over, meeting your eyes. “Yeah.”

A small nod. “Still sticks.”

The understanding passes between you without needing anything more said.

Then Bucky turns off toward his room, leaving you and Steve to continue down the hall together.

You stand in front of your brother. No— the copy.

Your hand is warm. You feel it—the contraction. The heart. Still beating in your grip.

His voice carries to you. Not the copy. The real one.

Then, over it—

cold, precise—

“Terminate.”

The world fractures. Blood. Debris.

His face—again, again, again— overlaying itself until it stops making sense.

The words echo, overlapping, distorting.

He hesitated.

You did not.

You do not know which one is yours.

You jerk upright in bed.

The movement is violent enough to tangle the sheets tighter around you, trapping your legs as you try to move.

Air will not come.

You double forward, hands braced against yourself, dragging in shallow, broken breaths that never quite fill your lungs.

Your chest tightens, throat closing down on every inhale, each one thinner than the last.

Your body shakes. Uncontrolled.

You cannot place where you are. Cannot place when.

The room does not exist yet—only fragments of the nightmare still clinging to your vision, bleeding into the dark.

Your head spins, vision narrowing at the edges as the lack of oxygen catches up with you.

You try to breathe—

fail—

try again—

Nothing settles. Nothing slows.

Your fingers curl into the sheets, gripping hard enough to anchor yourself to something real—but it does not feel real.

Not yet.

Several doors down, in another room, FRIDAY speaks into the quiet. The lights come on at the same time, cutting through the dark.

“Captain. Ms. Rogers needs you.”

Steve blinks awake, vision still blurred, mind not fully caught up. The name does not land at first—then it does, all at once. He is moving before the thought finishes, out of bed and into the hallway in a single motion, already heading for your room.

The door slides open just before he reaches it. He does not slow.

You are doubled over on the bed, fighting for air that will not come, sobs tearing through your chest hard enough to make your whole body shake. You do not see him. You do not register anything beyond the panic closing in around you.

Steve crosses the room in two strides. He does not hesitate—just gathers you up and sits, pulling you into his lap, his arms wrapping around you with a firm, steady hold that does not waver.

“Hey—hey—I’ve got you.”

His hand moves into your hair, fingers threading through slowly, grounding as he repeats the same words over and over in that same calm, even tone. You cling to him immediately, disoriented, your vision blurred, your chest tight and refusing to cooperate. Words fall out in fragments that do not quite connect, catching on each broken breath, but he does not try to piece them together. He just stays with you.

After a moment, he shifts slightly, instinctively rocking you both in a slow, steady motion, the rhythm matching the cadence of his voice. It takes time—long enough that it almost feels like it will not—but gradually your breathing starts to change. Still uneven at first, still catching, but deeper. Slower. Syncing with his.

The tension drains out of you in pieces, leaving you heavy, exhausted, but still holding on. You do not let go of him.

When your breathing steadies enough, Steve leans back just slightly, enough to see your face. His hand comes up, gentle but sure, guiding your focus back to him.

“Talk to me.”

You hesitate, your gaze dropping to the collar of his shirt. You take a breath. Then another. A third before the words finally come.

“It was brutal,” you say, your voice quieter now but still edged with something raw. “He paused. Had me pinned. Blood and sweat—both of us. His hands were around my throat. I was seconds from blacking out… and then his grip loosened.”

Your fingers tighten slightly in his shirt without you noticing.

“I moved on instinct,” you continue. “I killed him the harshest way possible.”

You look up then, meeting his eyes. There is no hesitation in him. No flinch. No disgust. Just steady, grounded understanding—and it lets you keep going.

“The fight lasted twenty-seven hours, five minutes, and thirty-two seconds.”

A tear slips free before you can stop it. Steve brushes it away with his thumb without interrupting.

“We were both raw by the end. Trading insults as much as blows. Neither of us wanted to kill the other at the start. I thought I could talk him around. That I wouldn’t have to finish it.”

You shake your head faintly, the memory pressing harder the longer you sit in it.

“We tore each other apart. Inside and out.”

Your eyes close for a second, but it only sharpens the images, so you open them again, locking onto his, grounding yourself there.

“I lost control,” you admit, the words coming more evenly now, even as they land heavier. “Completely. I tore through the town we ended up in. Anyone who crossed my path…” You swallow. “They didn’t survive.”

The room feels smaller for a second.

“It lasted longer than the fight. Three days. I moved through the countryside like a weapon.”

A pause.

“They had to shut me down.”

Steve’s jaw tightens, but he does not interrupt. Does not look away. He just stays there, holding you steady.

“Reconditioning wasn’t punishment,” you say after a moment, your gaze slipping off him briefly. “It was correction.”

His hand comes up, two fingers under your chin, guiding your face back toward him. When your eyes meet again, his voice is low and certain.

“You’re not that anymore.”

Your brow creases slightly. You cannot fully agree with that—not honestly.

“I can still do it.”

Steve nods once, accepting the truth of that without hesitation.

“Yeah,” he says. Then, after a beat, “But you’re choosing not to.”

That lands differently.

You do not argue it.

Instead, you lean into him, your head settling against his shoulder, your hands still holding onto him as if letting go might undo the fragile calm you have found again. Steve’s arm tightens slightly around you, his other hand moving slowly along your back, steady and grounding.

He does not say anything else.

He does not need to.

And for now, neither do you.

Part Eighteen

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The music was too loud.

That was the first thing you thought whenever you watched one of Steve’s USO shows.

Too bright, too polished, too full of cheering strangers who only knew the version of him printed on posters. The broad shoulders. The perfect smile. The shining uniform. Captain America as an idea.

Not the boy who used to cough into his sleeve in the cold, the boy who sketched in the margins of newspapers, or the boy who once offered you the last half of his sandwich when he barely had enough for himself.

Not your Steve.

You stood near the side of the stage, hands clasped in front of your dress, watching him bow dramatically to another screaming crowd.

He caught your eye for half a second.

And smiled differently.

Softer, real and loving.

Your heart did the same foolish thing it had done for years.

-

By the time the audience was gone and the dancers had disappeared backstage, the hall felt like another world entirely.

The lights had been dimmed to a golden hush. Somewhere in the distance, a record crackled softly. Glitter still shimmered across the stage floor, forgotten remnants of costumes already packed away.

And in the middle of it all, Steve held you close.

You swayed together in the empty space, moving slowly to music meant for no one else.

His hand rested at your waist with such careful reverence it made your chest ache, as though some part of him still couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch you there.

Your arms circled his neck.

He was larger now… stronger.

Everything they had wanted him to become.

But when he looked at you, he was still Stevie.

Still the boy who blushed if your fingers brushed his.

Still the boy who got flustered when you stood too near.

Still yours.

“You were wonderful tonight,” you murmured, unable to resist.

He blushed instantly. “Don’t start.”

“Oh, I’m starting. I counted at least twenty girls screaming your name.”

“Yeah,” he said, drawing you a little closer. “But only one of them matters.”

Your breath caught.

Even now, after he’d changed, after the serum and the fame and the spotlight, he could still surprise you.

You lowered your gaze for a moment, suddenly shy.

The song drifted around you like a secret.

Then, quietly, before you could stop yourself, you asked the question that has been on your mind, “Stevie… would you still love me when I’m no longer young and beautiful?”

He stopped moving just enough to tilt your chin up.

There was no hesitation in him.

No confusion. Only certainty.

“Yes,” he said softly. “Of course I would.”

Your eyes stung unexpectedly.

He smiled and pressed his forehead to yours.

“I’d love you when we’re old and grey and arguing over the radio on the porch.”

You laughed through the tears threatening to rise.

“And if I’m grumpy?”

“You already are.”

You gasped, smacking his chest playfully, “Steven Grant Rogers.”

He grinned.

Then he kissed you for the first time under dim stage lights and fading music, with the whole world waiting outside and neither of you caring.

-

The world changed anyway.

War took what it wanted.

Time took the rest.

And Steve Rogers fell into the ice, while you…. you had lived your life, alone.

-

When he woke, nothing felt right.

New York City was louder, brighter, and busier.

People rushed past with glowing boxes in their hands and empty urgency in their eyes. Streets he had once memorized had vanished beneath towers of steel and glass.

Everyone he had loved belonged to history.

Until they didn’t.

The file had been thin. Inside contained a name, a picture, and history and the address that stuck out like a sore thumb.

Current residence: assisted living.

Steve had stared at the paper so long Natasha eventually plucked it from his hands, pressed it back into his chest, and told him to go.

So he did.

-

The retirement home smelled like honey and polished wood.

His heartbeat hadn’t steadied since the ride over.

What if it wasn’t really you?

What if it was?

What if you hated him for disappearing?

What if you’d forgotten him entirely?

A nurse guided him down the hall and stopped outside a half-open door.

“She’s been expecting you,” she said gently.

Steve froze.

Then stepped inside.

You were sitting by the window with a blanket over your knees, a book in your lap and the glowing sun covering your skin.

You were older, your hair silver at the temples. Fine lines at the corners of your eyes. Hands softer with age.

But you, were still you.

You looked up.

And smiled like he’d only been gone a week.

“There you are, Stevie.”

His heart shuttered and his breath staggered.

He crossed white and black tiles in three desperate strides and immediately dropped to his knees beside your chair.

Your trembling hands reached up to move his hair, “My handsome boy,” you whispered.

Steve laughed once, choked and wet, and gently grasped you hands guiding them to his lips as he presses a soft kiss to them.

“I’m late.” He managed to choke out.

“Terribly late,” you replied. “Same as always.”

He bowed his head into your hand.

“I thought you’d have… more. A family. A husband. Children and grandchildren.

You were quiet for a moment.

Then you gave him a small smile, the same smile that made his 20 year old scrawny self melt.

“I had a good life.”

His eyes met yours.

“But no,” you said gently. “None of those things.”

Pain and hope tangled painfully in his chest.

“Why not?”

Your smile turned wistful.

“I suppose I was waiting for someone to finish our dance.”

The room fell silent.

Steve looked away towards the window, overcome by every lost year standing between you.

You saved him from drowning in it, just as you always had.

“Stevie.”

He turned back immediately.

Your gaze was soft and certain.

“Do you still love me even though I’m no longer young and beautiful?”

His throat tightened.

He took your hand and kissed your knuckles with reverence.

“You are still beautiful,” he whispered hoarsely. “And i will always love you, always..”

Tears shimmered in your eyes.

Good,” you said. “I wanted to hear it again.

-

Unfortunately Steve had lost you once more, but this time it was peaceful for you.

Only a quiet hospital room, your hand in his, and a final breath so gentle it somehow hurt more.

Steve stayed beside you long after the room went still and the line on the monitor stayed straight.

And for the first time in nearly a hundred years, he didn’t know who he was meant to be next.

-

Then came the stones. The mission.

The chance to put everything back where it belonged.

One last job.

He returned each stone.

Each weapon that took away family from each other.

Each borrowed piece of time.

And then, standing in a world that was no longer asking anything of him, Steve made one selfish choice.

He went back to you.

Not the older version in the quiet room, or the one who’s breathing had stoped.

The younger version, the girl in the dance hall, the one who still had years ahead of her, the one who hadn’t had to wait alone, and the one who he had loved the most.

-

When the platform glowed to life, Sam stepped forward first.

But there was no old man waiting.

It was Steve. Still young. Still dressed like Captain America. Smiling with a peace none of them had ever seen on his face.

The only new thing about Steve, was the woman standing next to him who had her hand intertwined with his.

Young, radiant, and laughing softly.

Bruce blinked. “…How…who?”

Steve scratched the back of his neck.

“It’s complicated.”

Sam stared, then broke into a grin.

“You rewrote history for a woman?”

Steve squeezed your hand.

“For my woman, Sam.”

Warmth climbed your cheeks.

Then Steve looked past them.

“Buck.”

Bucky stopped dead.

His eyes moved from Steve, to you, then back again.

“You vanish for five minutes,” Bucky muttered, “and somehow come back married?”

“We never married,” you said quickly.

Steve glanced sideways at you, entirely smug.

“Not yet.” He snuck in.

You hit his arm.

Sam doubled over laughing.

Bucky just shook his head.

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s definitely him.”

-

A few weeks later, sunlight filled your now shared apartment. Your dog, Isla, lay curled at your feet as you finished washing the dishes, the warm water running over your hands in a steady rhythm that almost made everything feel normal.

The sound of the front door opening and closing made both you and Isla perk up instantly. A second later, the two-year-old German Shepherd was already on her feet, tail thumping wildly as she rushed to greet the man who had saved her.

Steve.

You smiled before you even saw him.

“Hey,” you called softly.

He appeared a moment later, rolling his shoulders like he was trying to shake the weight of the world off with it. “Hey,” he said, voice lighter the second his eyes found you.

Isla nearly tackled him. He laughed under his breath, crouching down to scratch behind her ears like she was the best part of his day—and honestly, she probably was.

You leaned against the counter, watching him for a moment. “Long day?”

“Avengers meeting,” he answered, standing back up slowly. “Tony tried to turn it into a debate about shawarma again.”

That earned a soft laugh from you. “Sounds serious.”

“World-ending, apparently.” His eyes softened as they came back to you. “How was your day?”

“Quiet,” you said. “Just Isla being dramatic and me pretending I have my life together.”

He hummed like that was acceptable information, then crossed the room toward you.

You opened your arms without thinking.

He stepped into you immediately.

Warm. Solid. Safe.

But after a second, he gently pulled back just enough to rest his hands over your stomach.

Your breath caught softly.

His thumbs moved in a slow, careful circle over the small curve there, like he was still getting used to the idea that this was real—that you were real, that this little future between you was real.

“How are my girls doing?” he asked quietly.

You smiled down at him. “We’re good,.”

His eyes flicked up to yours, softer than anything the world ever saw from Captain America.

The room felt warm in a way that had nothing to do with the sunlight.

For a moment, neither of you moved—just stayed there, like the world outside didn’t exist, like time wasn’t something trying to steal you both away anymore.

Then Steve leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“I love you,” he murmured.

Your heart softened instantly.

“I love you too, Stevie.”

The first time you seen his naked torso, you had padded into the kitchen half-asleep, hair a mess, still clutching your phone like a lifeline in the wee hours of the morning. The sun was barely rising above the horizon in the distance outside of the tower. The coffee pot was nearly empty, and you grumbled under your breath as you poured what little was left into your mug.

Then the fridge door opened, and you nearly dropped the mug right there on the counter.

Steve Rogers, bare-chested, wearing nothing but gray sweatpants that hung dangerously low on his hips, stood squinting at the contents of the fridge like he was making a life-or-death decision about eggs for breakfast. His hair was mussed from sleep, and he rubbed one eye with the back of his hand as he muttered, “Morning.”

That was it. No warning, no explanation. Just a casual, everyday god standing five feet from you like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Morning,” you squeaked, too high-pitched to sound sane.

He pulled out a carton of orange juice, closed the fridge with his hip, and reached up to grab a glass from the cabinet. The stretch pulled every line of his muscles taut, and you had to physically wrench your eyes away before you embarrassed yourself further.

Coffee abandoned, you mumbled something about needing to check emails and bolted, heart hammering. By the time you collapsed face-first into your bed upstairs, your cheeks were on fire.

So much for professionalism.

The second time it happened, Natasha had asked you to help her sort through supply lists in the training room. Easy enough. You had your clipboard, your pen, and a whole pep talk running in your head about how you were definitely not going to humiliate yourself again.

That lasted all of thirty seconds. Because the moment you walked through the doors, you heard the sharp smack of fists against punching bags and the grunt of effort—and then you saw him. Steve. Shirtless again. This time sparring with Bucky, sweat dripping down his temples as his muscles shifted and flexed with every punch.

You froze mid-step, clipboard clutched to your chest.

Natasha raised an eyebrow and leaned close. “Careful, you’re staring.”

“I’m not,” you hissed back, eyes glued to your paper. Except your peripheral vision betrayed you, and you caught another glimpse of Steve pivoting, dodging a strike, his chest heaving.

Bucky noticed first. “Hey, Steve,” he called, grinning. “Think she’s gonna combust.”

You whipped your head up, mortified. “Excuse me?!”

Steve glanced over his shoulder, lips twitching like he was holding back a laugh. “That’s enough, Buck.” He didn’t deny it. He didn’t even try. He just went back to sparring, but the faint smirk never left his face.

Natasha smirked too as she tugged the clipboard from your hands. “Let’s finish this before you short-circuit.”

You followed her, face burning. Professionalism: 0. Steve Rogers’ abs: 2.

By now, you were convinced fate hated you. You were typing so furiously on your laptop as you sat in the common room of the tower that you didn’t even register the common room doors sliding open. Not until you caught the faint scent of soap and aftershave—clean, sharp, distinctly masculine.

Then you saw him.

Steve Rogers, hair still damp from the shower, towel draped casually around his neck, and absolutely no shirt in sight.

Your brain stuttered. Your fingers froze mid-keystroke.

“Sorry,” he said, voice low and warm. He grabbed the sweatshirt hanging over the back of a chair across from where you sat. “Didn’t mean to distract you.”

“Distract?” Your voice cracked. You cleared your throat and tried again, too fast, too high-pitched. “You’re not distracting at all. Nope. Totally fine. I’m—uh—I’m fine.”

A small chuckle rumbled out of him, sending heat crawling up your neck. He pulled the sweatshirt halfway over his head, then paused—arms lifted, bare torso still on display as though he’d deliberately stalled. His mouth curved into a half-smile.

“You sure about that?”

You snapped your gaze back to your laptop, mortified to realize you hadn’t typed a single coherent word in the last thirty seconds. “Positive,” you lied through clenched teeth.

The sweatshirt finally went on, but instead of leaving like a merciful person, Steve sat down on the couch beside you. Close. Too close. His arm draped casually along the backrest behind your shoulders, fingers brushing just barely against the top of your chair.

“I’m not that oblivious, you know,” he said softly, leaning just close enough that his breath tickled your ear.

You swallowed hard. “O-oblivious to what?”

“That you notice.” His tone was calm, unhurried, but there was a glimmer of mischief there too—the faintest spark of someone who knew exactly what he was doing to you.

Your cheeks burned hotter than ever. “I don’t notice anything. You—you’re just… loud. And tall. And… obnoxiously shirtless.”

That laugh again, deeper this time. He shifted just slightly, his knee brushing yours. “Obnoxiously?”

“Yes.” You crossed your arms tightly, more for self-defense than emphasis. “Nobody needs to walk around looking like that all the damn time. It’s rude.”

For a long moment, he was quiet. You forced yourself to look at him, prepared to glare, but the expression on his face nearly undid you. Blue eyes, steady and unflinching, full of amusement but softened with something gentler—something that made your stomach flip.

He leaned in, lowering his voice to a near whisper. “So… should I apologize?”

You blinked, completely undone. “For what?”

“For distracting you.” His lips tugged into that soft, infuriating smile again. “Or maybe for not doing it enough.”

Your breath caught. Every nerve in your body screamed at you to answer, to say something witty, to break the tension before you drowned in it. But nothing came out—just a tiny, strangled sound that only made him smile wider.

Steve leaned back then, finally giving you space. But his arm stayed on the couch behind you, and his knee still brushed yours, and his presence was so overwhelming you could barely think.

“Don’t worry,” he said lightly, picking up the remote from the coffee table as though the air between you wasn’t electric. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“Tell anyone what?” you asked weakly.

His smirk was downright criminal. “That you don’t hate me.”

Back at base, the debrief is quick and efficient. Status updates. Confirmations. Next steps. Then they break.

For once, even Tony steps away, letting his algorithms run through the night.

Steve does not follow the others.

He slips down the same darkened hallway, heading for the small intel room without drawing attention.

The door shuts quietly behind him.

He moves straight to the terminal, already pulling the paper from his pocket as the screen flickers to life.

No hesitation this time.

He unfolds it fully. His breath catches—just once.

This is not coordinates. This is a schematic. Complete. Intentional.

The end product of everything she has been building.

Steve’s jaw tightens as the pieces fall into place. She is not just helping him stop the trafficking. She is helping him stop her.

He turns to the terminal and begins typing. Careful. Precise.

Each keystroke exact, following her instructions without deviation.

No second-guessing. No pause.

The system gives a faint acknowledgment tone. And continues.

Steve does not wait this time.

He clears the terminal immediately, wipes the screen clean, and powers it down.

The paper is folded and back in his pocket in one smooth motion.

He is already moving. Out the door. Back into the quiet hallway.

By the time he reaches his room, the decision is no longer a question.

He showers, the heat washing away the last of the tension, and drops onto the bed without another thought.

For the first time in days, his mind does not race. Sleep takes him quickly. Clean. Dreamless.

Early the next morning, Tony is back in the lab.

Screens surround him, data streams layered and shifting as he works.

Using the intel from the trafficking operation, he starts pulling at threads—tracking movement, following patterns, watching how the system reacts to the false data still feeding through it.

“FRIDAY, keep the noise steady,” he mutters. “If she’s watching, I want her working for it.”

“Yes, Mr. Stark.”

The false stream continues—clean, controlled, just convincing enough to hold.

Tony shifts focus, pulling up footage from the previous mission. He scrubs to the moment she appears. Slows it.

Her movement. Her timing. The way she engages Steve—And then disappears.

Tony leans in slightly. “How do you do that?”

Something shifts on a screen to his left. Subtle. Easy to miss. He does not miss it.

FRIDAY chimes in, “Mr. Stark—”

“I see it.”

He is already moving, isolating the data, pulling it apart, testing how it holds under pressure. Again—it holds.

Tony exhales sharply as the pattern resolves. A schematic begins to form. Incomplete at first—then locking into place piece by piece.

The tech finally makes sense.

“FRIDAY, validate.”

“Yes, Mr. Stark. The design is viable. All components align. The information is verified clean.”

Tony studies the projection, eyes tracking every detail as the structure becomes clear.

Not just fragments. A full system.

Behind him, the door opens.

Natasha steps in, already scrolling through incoming intel on her tablet as she takes a seat.

Tony barely registers it. He is still looking at the schematic. Then something clicks.

He leans back slightly, shaking his head. “Well… that’s not subtle.”

Natasha looks up. “What is it?”

Tony turns to her, a sharp grin breaking through. “It’s not what she’s doing.”

He looks at Natasha. “It’s what she’s building.”

He turns back to the screens. “FRIDAY, get the others in here.”

“Yes, Mr. Stark.”

Tony is already moving ahead, cross-referencing the schematic with known supply chains, recent thefts, and projected needs. It lines up. Fast.

“Next component’s obvious,” he mutters, pulling up a location and pushing it to Natasha’s tablet.

Natasha leans back slightly, reading through it—cautious, but this time there is something like momentum behind it.

She shifts forward again, already working angles, entry points, timing.

The others filter in—Sam, Bucky, Thor, Steve—

Tony does not wait for them to settle.

“I’m on a roll,” he starts, already projecting the data. “We’ve got what she’s building, and we know what the next piece is. Red’s already building the op.”

Sam moves to the screens, pulling up satellite feeds. “Bigger footprint than last time,” he notes.

“Yeah,” Tony replies. “Because they’re getting close.”

Bucky steps in, scanning the layout. “Hydra won’t leave this one light.”

“Already accounted for,” Tony shoots back. “They’re moving in, not set yet. We hit before they lock it down.”

Thor studies the structure, considering angles. “We will need to control the interior. There may be civilians.”

Natasha nods once, already adjusting the plan.

Steve takes his place by the glass, leaning back, arms loose at his sides.

He watches. Says nothing. No one clocks it this time.

The room is moving too fast, the advantage too clear—finally turning in their favor.

He already knows where they are headed. She told him.

Sam and Natasha fall into rhythm, working aerial coverage and timing.

Bucky adds likely Hydra movement patterns, tightening their entry.

Thor refines the breach, ensuring minimal collateral.

Tony stands at the center of it, pulling everything together.

For the first time in a while— it feels like they are ahead.

“Alright, kids,” Tony is already midair, flying lower than usual, tight to the structure as he tracks the incoming vectors. “Hydra’s inbound, but we beat them here. Let’s get set.”

Sam sweeps the perimeter above, wings cutting wide arcs as he watches for movement beyond the tree line.

Thor holds the roof, stance solid, eyes scanning the horizon.

On the ground, Steve, Bucky, and Natasha position near the exits, covering angles. They are not here to take the tech—Just to keep Hydra from getting it.

Above them, Tony watches the feed as it updates in real time, fingers moving through commands, feeding Hydra just enough bad information to push their approach exactly where he wants it.

“Come on… take the bait…”

The comms crackle to life.

“Contact,” Sam calls. “Large force, like we expected. Heavier presence northwest—right where we want them. Smaller group southeast.”

Tony grins. “Perfect. Let’s invite them in.” He angles toward the incoming wave.

Paratroopers drop onto the roof. Thor meets them immediately, hammer swinging, taking them down before they can fully land.

On the ground, the first wave hits—

And falters.

Hydra was not expecting resistance. Not like this.

Steve and Bucky move as one, covering each other without looking, driving the line forward and breaking their momentum before it can form.

Natasha holds the entrance, precise and efficient, cutting down anyone who gets too close.

Drones descend. “I’ve got air,” Sam calls.

“Not alone you don’t,” Tony replies, splitting off to assist, repulsors flaring as he intercepts the first cluster. “FRIDAY, keep feeding them bad data. I want them confused and committed.”

“Yes, Mr. Stark.”

Tony scans the ground between passes. Looking for her.

Steve feels it before he sees anything—

A shift. A familiar pull down his spine.

At the same time, Thor’s voice cuts in over comms.

“Copycat on the roof. I repeat—she is on the roof.”

She stands at the edge, just out of reach, Thor held back by the remaining soldiers swarming him.

Tony breaks off immediately, dropping altitude.

“Got her.”

She moves first. Sprinting across the roof—Then jumping.

She collides with him midair, not enough to knock him down but enough to force an adjustment.

Tony corrects instantly, banking hard and driving toward where she lands.

“You’re getting predictable,” he calls, already firing.

She rolls through the blast, coming up smooth. “Am I?”

Tony narrows his eyes, recalibrating. “You adjust. I adjust faster.”

He fires again—closer this time. She slips it by a hair.

Below, Steve tracks the fight but does not move toward it.

He and Bucky fall into rhythm, the shield passing between them in tight arcs, clearing groups of soldiers with controlled precision.

Natasha holds the door, eliminating anything that slips through their line.

Thor clears the roof and launches back into the air, joining Sam as they dismantle the remaining drones.

Tony drops to the ground and closes on her. Hand to hand now. Faster. Tighter. He lands a hit to her hip—solid.

“Look at that,” he says, circling. “You’re sweating.”

She absorbs it, pivots, avoids the follow-up. “Must be the humidity.”

Above them, lightning cracks as Thor strikes again, Sam redirecting drones downward into the remaining Hydra forces, scattering their formation.

The pressure shifts. Hydra starts to thin.

Tony presses. “You’re slipping, Copycat.”

A sharp strike—She goes down. Rolls. Recovers. “You still using that name?”

Her eyes flick—just for a second.

Tony sees it. Registers it.

“She’s getting input,” he mutters, already closing the distance again. “Didn’t expect that, did you?”

She deflects his next move, shoving him back into a cluster of soldiers.

“Sorry, rust bucket,” she says, already disengaging. “Gotta go.”

She’s gone before he fully recovers—darting into the trees at speed.

Tony takes off after her—

Just misses. He pulls up short, frustrated. “Damn it.”

He huffs out a breath. “Spangles, you’re rubbing off on me.”

Steve does not answer.

He and Bucky finish the last wave, back to back, clearing the remaining soldiers efficiently.

“Airspace clear,” Sam reports as he and Thor descend.

Together, they mop up what is left. The fight ends as quickly as it began.

Natasha does not pause. She moves straight inside, already shifting to secure the facility and negotiate control of the tech before Hydra can regroup.

Tony lands near the others as they secure the perimeter.

“Didn’t get her,” he says, brushing it off with a shrug.

“But that’s two.”

That earns a grin from Thor.

A nod from Sam.

Bucky exhales, tension easing just slightly.

Steve looks toward the trees where she disappeared. Not tense. Not angry. Just—thinking.

That night, after the debrief, Steve heads up to the roof. He stands near the edge, posture loose for once, staring out into the dark. The quiet settles around him.

Without warning, the hair on the back of his neck rises.

A shift. Movement in his periphery—

She is already there. Close.

Steve flinches back on instinct, turning toward her. Their eyes meet—

And it clicks.

Of course she knows where the compound is. The bug had been here for weeks.

She says nothing at first. Just holds out a folded slip of paper between two fingers. “I don’t have long.”

Steve takes it. No hesitation. A small nod. That is enough.

She turns—

And is gone before he can track the movement.

The door behind him opens.

Steve turns sharply toward the sound.

Bucky steps into the doorway. “You talking to someone?”

Steve answers immediately. “Just myself.”

One brow lifting slightly, Bucky studies him for a second. He does not push it.

Instead, he steps out onto the roof and joins him, settling beside him as he looks up at the sky.

Steve stays where he is. The paper still in his hand. Unopened.

Part Twelve

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It was once you were just about to climb into bed that there was a knock at your door.

“It’s open!” You called. The door opened slowly, revealing Steve, who was leaning in your doorway, arms crossed, that pensive look in his blue eyes. “Oh, hey.”

“Hi.” He chuckled. He seemed nervous, although you weren’t sure why.

“Everything alright, Steve?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I actually came in here to check on you. Wanda said you were…quiet.”

“Yeah, you could say that.” You hugged your arms around your frame and bit your lip, looking up at the super soldier standing in front of you. “Just…I don’t know. I’ve been looking forward to tomorrow for my entire life, but…now that it’s here, I’m so scared.”

“Hey, come here.” He said, pulling you to him, strong arms wrapped around you, as if he could protect you from the future itself.

“I don’t know what to do…”

“(Y/N), whoever they are, they are incredibly, incredibly lucky. You don’t need to worry about anything. It’ll all work out. It always does.” He said it like he was certain. Like somehow he knew what would happen in the morning when suddenly your life was turned on its head and you had to venture out to find your other half.

Since you’d met him, Steve wore a leather band around his wrist, covering his soulmate’s name. You’d figured he must have met them in the forties and…maybe they hadn’t made it long enough to see him come out of the ice. But you didn’t ask about it. You never dared to put that question into words. He’d been through enough heartbreak already.

“What if they don’t like me…?”

He scoffed, holding you tighter. “That’s impossible. They’re going to love you. So much. I promise.”

“And…and we’ll still be f-friends?”

Steve pulled away, looking down at you, a hand very carefully touching your cheek. “Of course we will still be friends. Nothing is ever going to change that. I promise.”

You nodded, a tear slipping down your cheek. “Good. Thank you, Steve. For everything.”

He gently wiped the tear away, the pad of his thumb warm. Once he was sure you were okay, he let go, looking at you with that knowing sparkle in his eye once more. He took a little extra time to look at the shirt you were wearing, the Star Wars tee you’d had since high school. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.” You agreed.

“And happy birthday, (Y/N).”

We’ll Meet Again

“Ma’am? Are you alright? Ma’am?” The voice sounded far away. You were pretty sure you were still dreaming. You opened your eyes slowly and immediately became aware of the pounding pain in your head.

“Ow, oh my God.” You reached up and felt there, but it didn’t feel like you were bleeding or anything.

“Ma’am?”

You froze for a second, slowly looking up at the figure standing above you, confusion written all over his familiar features. It took you a long moment to put the pieces together. You were on a porch somewhere in what appeared to be New York, but it was…different. A lot different than the parts of the city you knew. Alright, it had to be a dream.

You looked up at the man standing above you and did a double-take. But no, it was him. It was a tiny, frail version of Steve. Your eyebrows furrowed and you sat up slowly, staring at him for a long moment before whispering, “Steve?”

His mouth opened and then shut again and he made a face of confusion, like he was trying to place where he knew you from, but he didn’t know you yet, and wouldn’t know you for several more years, to say the least. “Do I know you?”

“It’s complicated.” You exhaled. “Can we go inside? You’re going to need to sit down for this.”

Dumbfounded, Steve nodded and you stood up from the porch, only to find that he was at your eye level when you did. Weird. He led you into the small apartment and you looked around. It was quaint. There was an easel in the corner of the room and…Bucky Barnes sitting on the couch? You stared at him for a good, long moment, a shiver running down your spine.

“Who’s the dame?” He read your shirt. “What is Star…Wars…?”

“About to find that out myself.” He chuckled, leading you into the living room. “Buck, could you give us a minute?”

“I’ll be in the kitchen.” Bucky got up and walked to the other half of their tiny two-bedroom.

You sat down on the couch and so did he. The silence was thick. You thought for several moments. You weren’t quite sure how you had ended up in the 1940s. You looked down at your hands and it was then that your gaze finally landed on the writing on your wrist. And then everything made sense.

“What’s the date today?”

“It’s July 4th, why?”

“July 4th…” You whispered. “What, 1943?”

You could see the wheels turning behind his eyes before he replied, “Yes ma’am.”

“Well, happy birthday, first of all. And second of all…” You held up your wrist so he could read it. Steve’s eyes went wide and he stared at the three words written neatly on your skin in his own handwriting.

Steven Grant Rogers.

“You’re my…” He looked at you for a long time, his eyes wide. He hastily undid the cuff around his wrist and held it out to you, your own name written there. He ran a finger across the letters, as if to prove they were really there.

“I’m your soulmate.” You said certainly.

It hit you like a truck, then. The weird look on your Steve’s face, the way he was so certain that everything would work out. It was because he had already lived through this. And that meant that in all the time he’d known you, he’d been hiding his mark not because his soulmate had died, but instead because you were his soulmate and you didn’t know it yet.

Your entire year of friendship, of memories, of roadtrips and missions and movie marathons…he had known the whole time. And that look in his eyes wasn’t just his protective side coming out. It was love. It had been love the whole time.

Oh.

Steve exhaled a long, shaking breath, really taking you in. Once again, he had a million stars in his eyes. He let out a whispered, “Wow,” as tears began to form.

You came back down to earth. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” He chuckled, sniffling as a tear ran down his cheek. “I’ve just, I’ve got a lot of…health problems, so I wasn’t sure if I’d ever…meet you. And you’re here and you’re great and I just…I’m sorry.”

That brought tears to your eyes. “Oh, Steve…” You pulled him into your arms and he didn’t hesitate to surrender to your embrace, his arms wrapping tight around you and holding you close, head nestled into the crook of your neck. “Just breathe. It’s okay. I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

Always.

He took your advice, doing his best to avoid an asthma attack on what was shaping up to be the best day of his life. Once he finally caught his breath, he pulled away to look at your face again. “I have to ask…How did you know?”

“I don’t know if you can tell from these clothes,” you motioned down to the t-shirt and sweatpants you were wearing, “but I’m not from around here, exactly.”

“I kind of thought so, but I didn’t want to be rude.” He smiled softly. “Um, where are you from, then?”

“I’m from the future. Like…a while from now. It’s hard to explain why or how, and I’m not really sure how I got here, to be honest, but I’m glad I am.” You sighed, thumb grazing his cheek, wiping away his tears. He crooned at your touch. “I don’t know how long we have before I have to go back.”

“Am I there? Where you’re from?”

“You are. It’s complicated. We’re really good friends and…when I get back, I’m sure we’ll probably be even more than that.” You smiled, shaking your head. “I can’t believe I didn’t put the pieces together sooner.”

“(Y/N)?” Steve asked, trying out your name for the first time.

“Yeah?”

“Let me take you out today, show you a good time here before you have to go back.” He took your hand and carefully laced his fingers through your own, testing the weight of it, the feel of it.

You smiled. “I’d like that.”

“Not to eavesdrop, lovebirds — congratulations, by the way — but if you’re going to take her out, we’re going to need to find her some clothes that aren’t so…‘not from around here.’” Bucky leaned in the doorway.

“Yeah, I thought the same thing.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll call one of my girls and we’ll get her squared away. Sit tight.”

“Thanks, Bucky.” You said, chuckling when his eyes widened after you addressed him by name. “I know you, too. From the, uh, future.”

“Weird…” Bucky decided.

“Long story?” Steve asked, studying the look on your face.

“Very.” You agreed. After staring at him for another long moment, you pulled him back into your arms again, exhaling a long breath before whispering, “Steve, I’m so glad it’s you…”

***

“Wow.” You stared at yourself in the mirror, studying the way Bucky’s, ahem, lady friend, had curled your hair, done your makeup. You did a little twirl and relished in the way the skirt of your dress twirled. It was navy blue, short ruffled sleeves with a flared skirt and buttons down the front. “I think it suits me.”

“I agree. Blue is a good color on you.” Steve was sitting in a chair at the edge of the room, absolutely enamored as he watched you. “Although, I’m sure they’re all good colors on you, doll.”

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks. “Thanks.”

“I mean it.” He stood up and walked to you, slipping one of his hands into each of yours and staring into your eyes, looking at the way you looked standing next to him in his reflection. His soulmate. The kind of girl people write poems about. “You look great.”

“I don’t look out of place?”

“No one is gonna think you’re a time traveler. Well, unless you tell them.” Bucky said. “Maybe don’t do that anymore.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t planning on it.” You chuckled and gave Steve’s hands a squeeze. “Where to first, soulmate?”

His cheeks reddened as soon as you said the word. “Well, I was thinking we could go to my favorite little diner down the street to grab something for lunch, and then maybe we could take a walk through the park, catch a movie, and then go out for drinks tonight?”

“What, you aren’t gonna take her dancing?” Bucky teased, ruffling Steve’s hair under a large hand. “Show the girl a good time?”

“I would if I didn’t have two left feet.” Steve chuckled, a sheepish smile on his face. He looked at you, waiting for some kind of response. “How does that sound?”

“It sounds like a great time, Steve.”

He smiled. “Good.”

The two of you left the apartment not long after that, and walked side by side towards the diner. Your hands were swinging in the space between you and your hand brushed Steve’s once, twice, a third time, and then you slipped your hand into his, intertwining your fingers.

You caught him smile out of the corner of your eye. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah, of course it’s okay.” He grinned and chuckled to himself. “You can hold my hand as much as you want, doll.”

When the two of you finally got to the diner, a little bell rang over your heads and you got seated at a booth by the window. The two of you ordered drinks and you skimmed the menu while you waited.

“So, tell me about yourself.” You said, resting your chin against your fist and looking over at Steve. You studied the way his blue, blue eyes flicked up to your own and the blush that covered his cheeks shortly thereafter.

“You probably know a lot of it already.” He chuckled. “Unless we don’t talk a lot?”

“We talk quite a bit, but I still want to know about this you. Here and now.”

“I like art. Drawing and painting and stuff.” He said. “I haven’t had time to do much lately, but I’d like to get back into it.”

“See, that I didn’t know.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I didn’t know you were into art.”

“I could, uh, show you sometime.” He offered.

“I’d like that.” You smiled. “What else?”

“I like to read. I like going to Dodgers games with Bucky. One time he took me to Coney Island. I don’t like rollercoasters, but I liked playing the games. He wasted three whole dollars trying to win a teddy bear for a redhead named Dot.”

“Three whole dollars…” You chuckled. “Well you don’t have to worry about the rollercoasters too much, I can’t go upside down without throwing up.”

“That makes two of us. Enough about me, tell me about you.” Steve nudged, his hand slowly moving towards yours. “How do we know each other? When did we meet?”

“We’re…coworkers, I guess you could say. We met about a year back and now we live in the same building? I’m sorry for being so vague, I just—”

“Don’t want to give it away, yeah, I get it.” He nodded, understandingly.

“You took me under your wing as soon as I moved in and really made me feel welcome. You’re the one that brought me onto the team, actually.” You took a sip of your drink. “We’ve been through a lot together already, and I’m sure it’s just the tip of the iceberg.”

“Mmm…” Steve nodded. “I know I just met you, but I’m really glad you and I are close. Well, will be close.” He paused before chuckling and shaking his head. “There’s still some little voice in the back of my head telling me all of this is just some amazing dream.”

“That doesn’t even begin to cover it.” You chuckled, tucking a piece of curled hair back behind your ear. “I’ve…I’ve had a crush on you forever, Steve. I can’t believe this is happening.”

He stared at you, almost dumbfounded. “O-on me?”

“Yeah.” You agreed. You’d forgotten, you supposed, that Steve had had this phase, the self-depreciation, the insecurity. Your Steve, when complimented, was shy, sure, but you knew he understood what people were talking about. This Steve didn’t see it that way. Not yet. But it would be your job to use your one day with him to change that, to make your soulmate see that he was worthy of love, even self-love. “Yeah, of course on you, Steve. I can’t believe I get to have you.”

His cheeks reddened and he finally took the leap, taking your hand across the table, thumb grazing your knuckles with care. His blue eyes sparkled. “Funny. I was gonna say the same thing about you.”

***

Once the two of you were finished up at the diner, you took a walk through the park. It was gorgeous out, a bright, sunny, warm summer afternoon. Several couples were strolling down the paths, hand in hand, and you were one of them, your hand held tight in Steve’s, his thumb gently stroking the back of yours.

You went to the theater and caught a movie together. Luckily enough, they were showing the Wizard of Oz. Your current situation had you feeling like Dorothy in more ways than one. The movie had only come out four years earlier, which was definitely strange. Not to mention the fact that the tickets were only twenty-five cents, the popcorn a mere ten cents.

And then, once the movie was over and the sun was setting, you went to a bar, where Steve ordered each of you a drink. You took a sip of yours, something sweet, and smiled at him across the table.

“So, how’s your day been, birthday boy?” You asked coyly.

“The best I’ve had so far,” he replied, his eyes sparkling. The sparkle faded, however, when his expression grew somber. He hesitated, but then asked, “Okay, I have to know…How long do I have to wait to see you again?”

You exhaled a long sigh, biting your lip. If you told him the truth, he might ask questions you couldn’t tell him the answers to. And besides, the real answer would require some math. You didn’t know the specifics.

“I’ll be honest, Steve, it’s…it’s a pretty long time.” You thought for a long moment before continuing, “I…I can’t really tell you why. It’s all really complicated, and if I tell you too much, it might not happen the way it’s supposed to.”

“Oh…” Steve nodded and took a sip of his drink. Once he set down the glass, he reached across the table and took your hand. “Well, however long it is,” he looked straight into your eyes and a chill ran down your spine, “It’ll be worth it. Every second. I promise.”

You could have cried. “I hope so.”

“There you two are! I was wondering which bar you’d wandered into!” Bucky was, apparently, already slightly intoxicated as he approached you and Steve with a date of his own. “How was your day on the town, lovebirds?”

“Spectacular.” You replied. “I wish there was more time to soak it in.”

“New York sure is something, huh?” Bucky’s date asked, giggling innocently. If only she knew the half of it.

“Yeah, you could say that.” You laughed and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear.

“You guys wanna sit with us?” Steve asked.

“If you don’t mind too much, punk.” Bucky grinned.

Steve got up and switched sides of the booth so he was sitting next to you instead of across from you. You slid your hand into his, intertwining your fingers. He smiled, chuckling softly to himself as he gave your hand a squeeze.

“Did you give the lady her dance, Rogers?” Bucky asked, smirking.

“Not yet.” Steve chuckled. “We’ll see. The asthma makes it a bit difficult sometimes.”

“Never seems to stop you from getting into fights.” Bucky muttered, causing Steve’s cheeks to flush.

“Just wait until the band plays something slow,” Bucky’s date pointed out.

“There you go!” Bucky raised his glass to his lips. “Great idea, Maggie.”

“Glad to be of service.”

And so, the four of you chatted until the band started to play something sweet and slow. Steve looked at you for approval and you nodded. He led you out onto the floor with the other couples.

Steve blushed, flustered, and he looked at you before saying, “I don’t know how to do this.”

“It’s easy.” You promised, guiding one of his hands to your waist and holding the other. “That’s it. And then we just move to the music. You can twirl me around if you feel so inclined.”

“Alright.” He chuckled, swaying in time with you. “Hey, uh, (Y/N), I need you to know…I had a really, really great time today. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted in a soulmate and I’m so excited to spend the rest of my life with you someday, however far away that someday is.”

“I’m glad I met your expectations.” You smiled, tugging him a bit closer.

“No, you exceeded them. You’re better than anything I could have imagined. I’m so lucky.” He paused, and his expression fell a little. “I know I’m a lot. I have a lot of problems and they might complicate things sometimes, but…”

“Steve, you’re perfect.” You shook your head and leaned forward, resting your forehead against his. “The universe gave you to me for a reason and I’m so, so glad it did. You’re amazing. I can’t think of anyone better to spend the rest of my life with.”

He was quiet for a moment before whispering, “Can I please kiss you, doll?”

You leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, the music swelling around you as you guided his hands to your waist, cupping his cheeks to hold him close to you. When the moment had passed, you rested your nose against his, meeting his eyes and inhaling his scent, committing this version of him to memory before he was reduced to just that, a memory.

“Steve Rogers, I am so sorry you will not hear me say these words until after I go back tomorrow, but I love you. I have loved you for a very long time. And I know I will love you for the rest of my life.”

You spent the rest of the night together. Twirling across the dancefloor, talking, soaking each other in. But when you reached the front porch of the townhouse, Steve looked back down the steps to find you’d disappeared, leaving him with nothing but the memory of your lips, your laugh, your smile.

“You gonna be alright?” Bucky asked, a hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t know.” He replied, words swallowed up by the sounds of the night. “Just give me a minute, pal.”

Bucky nodded, solemn. “Take all the time you need.”

The Beginning

Steve remembered the day you’d met—for the second time, though he didn’t realize it right away—like it was tattooed on his brain. It was a few years after he’d come out of the ice and he had taken Tony’s advice to get out more, which had led him to the local mall.

It had been an uneventful day. He strolled around the perimeter, taking in the storefronts, studying the fashion, browsing the menu of a pretzel place, reading the posters on the exterior of the movie theater, the things that were coming out in the coming months. Nothing interested him in particular. He didn’t really care for war movies.

After a few quiet hours, his peaceful walk was interrupted by screams, people running away at top speed, which, of course, caused him to spring into action, assessing the situation. He ran towards the source of the chaos, scanning, scanning, until his eyes landed on the attacker, a guy with a flamethrower, aimed at a teenage theater employee. Steve hurdled over a trash can, moving people out of the way, directing them to safety and trying to put himself between himself and the mallgoers, but before he could, you did, hands out in front of you and what seemed to be an invisible shield poised there, redirecting the flames and protecting the movie theater employee that had nearly been caught in the crossfire.

A quick flick of your wrist knocked the attacker’s gun out of his hands and it slid across the floor to Steve’s feet. He chucked it into the fountain without a second thought, where it fizzled pathetically. The guy lunged at you with heavy metal gauntlets, and you dodged the first swing but caught the second in the face, falling backwards. When you landed, however ungracefully, you sent a blast of energy at the guy, knocking him over a plant and sprawling onto the tile floor.

While the guy was on the ground, Steve tackled him, wrenching the gauntlets off of his hands and chucking them away, too. Soon, the police arrived, apprehending the guy while mall security comforted the distressed mall patrons, ushering them to safety and medical attention.

You sat on a bench after, breathing heavy, a cut on your forehead. Steve walked over, interested in this superpowered rescuer, someone who wasn’t yet on the Avengers’ radar, but would most definitely be on the news the next day if the sheer amount of phone footage recorded was any indication.

“Are you alright, ma’am?” He asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just glad everyone is okay.” You told him, meeting his eyes.

He finally got a good look at you and froze, looking bewildered. A deer in headlights. “You’re…”

There you are, doll. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.

It was you. Of course it was you. Since the moment he’d been unfrozen, he’d been looking for you. His soulmate. The girl from the future that popped in on his twenty-fifth birthday, turned his whole life on its head, and then left without warning, hours after their first kiss. Back when he was five-foot-nothing with asthma and more medical conditions than he could even remember.

Back before he was anything.

And you’d loved him anyway. You’d given him the day of a lifetime and hope for not only a future, but for love. That someone could love him for him despite it all.

“I know.” You knew? “I…I don’t know what it is or…why I can do it. I’ve been like this since college.”

Your powers, you meant. You thought he was talking about your powers and not your name, which was burning a hole into his wrist beneath the thick leather band keeping it hidden.

“Right. Well, it’s…” He sighed, gathering his words, hiding the elation and pain behind a warm smile. “It’s a good thing you were here. I don’t have my shield on me.”

“Mine is built in.” You chuckled.

“You, uh…have a cut. On your forehead.”

“Oh, do I?” You reached up and found it with your fingers and they came away a bit bloody. “Shit.”

“Come on.” He offered you his hand and you took it, letting him lead you over to the counter of the theater. “Hi, do you have a first aid kit we could borrow?”

“Yeah, of course.” The girl at the counter said, rushing to grab it.

Steve patched you up with gentle hands, off in a corner on your own, in the room the theater used for birthday parties. Staring up at him, you finally realized the obvious. This was Captain America. And he was using a careful finger to spread a triple antibiotic ointment on your cut.

Play it cool, (Y/N).

“Do you do this often? The hero thing?” Steve asked, trying to sound somewhat indifferent. He couldn’t be, though. Not entirely. Not when it came to you.

“No.” You shrugged. “Haven’t had much opportunity, thankfully. I mean…I’d like to, I just didn’t know how to…get into it, I guess. Any email I sent to Stark or S.H.I.E.L.D. or whatever would end up on a slush pile.”

“Well, I’ve got some connections. If you’re seriously considering it. I can’t say I recommend it, but…Obviously you’ve got that protective instinct and you seem to work well under pressure.”

“I don’t know about that. My heart is about to leap out of my chest.” You admitted, laughing as he carefully laid a Bandaid over the cut, closing the kit.

“That makes two of us.”

“Well, if you think I’m really cut out for it…I’d love to help.”

***

It was three days later that Nick Fury got in touch with you. You thought it was a scam call at first, but no one else would possibly have the info about you that he did. That was S.H.I.E.L.D. for you, you supposed.

You packed up your apartment, your boxes of books, your old journals, your clothes and makeup, your life, and hopped in the jet that was waiting for you at the meeting place. Inside was a pilot with flaming red hair, Natasha Romanoff. The Black Widow. It was hard not to get a little starstruck.

She helped you load your things into the jet, let you settle into the copilot seat, and then you took off, soaring away from your old life and towards your new one, the mysterious, magnificent facility tucked into upstate New York, that iconic A emblazoned on the front of the building.

“Steve said you’re telekinetic. That’s cool.” She complimented with a smirk.

“Yeah, I’ve got force-field stuff. I don’t know what else, exactly.”

“Oh, we’ll figure all that out. Banner already has a list of tests he wants to run. Nothing too intense. I made him promise not to give you the lab rat treatment too soon.”

“Reassuring.” You chuckled.

“Wanda’s been decorating your room all day. It’s not often we get new blood.”

“I appreciate it. I can’t wait to meet everyone.”

“They can’t wait to meet you.”

The jet landed a little under an hour later and Natasha helped you haul boxes towards the front door, where Steve was waiting. It was like time slowed, that look in his eyes, glistening little stars.

“Come on, Rogers, these boxes aren’t going to move themselves.” Nat waved him over, snapping both of you out of your trance.

“Right, right.” He jogged over. “Is there anything heavy?”

“That one.” You pointed. “It’s got my candles in it.”

“On it.”

You grabbed a few tote bags, slinging your computer bag over your shoulder. A few others came out to help, Clint and Wanda namely, the latter of whom used her shimmering red powers to speed the process along. Were you any more confident in your own powers, you would do the same, but you hadn’t had much opportunity to use them yet, and you didn’t want to drop anything fragile on your first day.

You started unpacking the essentials, your smart speaker, your laptop, some books and your favorite candle. You put some clothes in the dresser, hung some up in the large sliding closet in the wall. Upon further examination, you had your own bathroom, too, which was nice. There was a wall tapestry with sunflowers on it, and several little knickknacks. Wanda’s loving touch.

Someone cleared their throat and you turned to find Steve there, arms crossed, leaning in the doorway.

“Hi there, um, just checking in. Figured you might want a tour when you got settled in. No rush, of course.”

“I would love a tour. I can already tell I’m gonna get lost in this place.”

He grinned. “Not on my watch. Come on. I’ll show you around.”

Steve walked with you through the office spaces, the computer labs, Bruce’s lab, Tony’s. Tony was in the city, but Bruce was home and introduced himself with a dad joke about the Hulk and a warm handshake. You saw the training facility, a giant room with floor to ceiling windows, a wall of mirrors, practice dummies, landing mats, and plenty of sparring weapons. There was, separately, a fully furnished gym, and then the basics, a large, modern kitchen, living areas and lounges, study spaces, a library, a party room with a bar, and a very fancy coffee machine.

You could see yourself making a home here.

Steve walked you back to the hallway where all the bedrooms were. “If you need anything or have any questions, my room is just down the hall on the left. Wanda is next door. Dinner is at six.”

“Six o’clock it is. Thank you, Cap.”

“You can call me Steve.”

“Steve.” You nodded, slowly accepting the fact that you were now on a first name basis with Captain America. “And you can call me (Y/N).”

“Nice to meet you, (Y/N).” He said, some twinge of nostalgia at the end of his words. You turned back into your room to get some more unpacking done and Steve walked back down the hall, taking a deep breath and looking up at the ceiling, doing his best to hold in his tears.

…Ready For It?

You spent the first few days in your room for the most part, unpacking but also hiding, if you were honest. You met Vision. He seemed nice. He also had the ability to phase through walls, apparently. Still no sign of Thor, but you weren’t holding your breath. You were sure he was a busy guy.

Sam Wilson introduced himself with the same offer everyone else had so far, to let them know if you needed anything. You appreciated it.

And then, finally, there was Tony, whose dry humor came across immediately. He sized you up, drilling questions about where you went to college, what you majored in, what your top three movies from the 1980s were. You were pretty sure he liked you, but you didn’t think he trusted you. And that was okay. You knew that was something you’d have to earn around there.

“No soulmark yet, kid?” He asked, eyeing up your bare wrist.

“Not yet.” You confirmed.

“That makes you what, twenty-three? Twenty-four?”

“Twenty-four. As of last month, actually.”

“Okay.” He nodded. “Well that’s exciting. I’m sure you’re counting down the days.”

“More or less.” You chuckled, catching Steve watching you out of the corner of your eye. He did that a lot, you noticed.

Before Tony could come up with some witty comeback, the lights flashed red, accompanied by a loud siren.

“Vis? What’s going on?” Tony asked as Vision walked into the room, his sophisticated sweater melting into the uniform you’d seen on the news, red and green with a golden cape.

“There seems to be a stir at the local fairgrounds. Tremors and gunshots. Hostages.”

“Alright, let’s go pay them a visit then.” Tony pressed a button on his watch and transformed into Iron Man in front of your very eyes. “You can stay here or come with us. Up to you. But suit up fast. We’re out in five.”

You stood there for a moment, waiting for the shock to wear off, but the sirens definitely weren’t helping.

“Stick with me.” Steve instructed, voice calm, confident.

“Okay.” You nodded, following after him, towards the hangar where they kept the jets.

Natasha was standing at a locker, pulling her catsuit on with impressive speed, Clint beside her, loading a quiver with arrows, checking his bow.

“Nat, can you get her ready?”

“Baby’s first mission?” She asked, impressed.

You nodded, waiting for orders.

“Well, it should be an easy one, from the sound of it. Here, put this on. We’ll get you your own gear in the next few weeks.”

She chucked you an extra suit and you did your best to shimmy into it. Surprisingly, you could actually move in it. There were holsters, but you weren’t gun trained, so you figured it was best to leave that to the professionals. Instead, you followed the others onto the jet, hoping your forcefields and blossoming battle instincts would be enough to protect you out there.

***

The fair had devolved quickly into madness. There was fire, screaming, running, and gunshots. You flinched at the onslaught of it, but followed the others out anyway, listening to the voice in your earpiece, Steve’s voice, as he issued orders. You were put on civilian evacuation with Sam while the others engaged with the attackers. Six of them.

You did your job diligently, ushering people to a safe distance while law enforcement arrived. Until one of the attackers engaged with you, however, mistaking you for a civilian. Something snapped. In an instant your flight instinct vanished, replaced with the need to fight. He punched at you and you countered, sweeping a leg under him and then using a forcefield to knock him into the cornfield.

One of them launched a bazooka at Tony while he wasn’t looking, and without a thought, you trapped the explosive in a bubble, forcing it into the air where it exploded harmlessly, away from everyone.

And when the dust settled, the rest of the team turned to look at you, sharing looks with each other.

“Thanks for the save, kid. I owe you one.” Tony complimented, clapping you on the back on his way into the jet. “Let’s get something to eat. I’m starving.”

Your heart raced with the adrenaline of battle, the feeling of a job well done. Steve gave you a thumbs-up, a proud grin. His risk had paid off. You weren’t a total failure.

“You doin’ okay?” He asked, slinging his shield onto his back.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You replied, letting the energy fizzle back into your palms.

He watched with interest at the faint crackles of blue that made up your powers. “You did good out there.”

You felt your cheeks flush. “Thanks, I—"

“Alright new girl, were are we stopping for food?” Natasha asked, slinging an arm around your shoulders.

“I get to pick?” You asked with a laugh.

“And don’t be afraid to pick something fancy. It’s Tony’s treat.” Clint added, walking with the rest of you onto the jet. You strapped in while the others tried their darndest to influence your pick, bickering like siblings. Like your family.

Yeah, you could get used to this.

Waypoint

Your training started shortly after that first mission. Bruce took all your vitals, measured them before, during, and after use of your powers. He recorded said powers with every device known to man until he had your ability down to a science. He had a hunch they were of cosmic origin, but you had no idea when you could have possible come in contact with something like that.

Next came a uniform. At the moment, it was a dark indigo color, something similar to navy blue, but leaning a bit more purple. The chest area was left blank, Tony claiming he’d add a symbol once his graphic design team came up with something. He did add some accents up the arms and down the legs, thin, light blue lines that matched the color of your powers.

Natasha and Clint gave you a few crash courses on weapons and your aim left a bit to be desired, but your hand-eye coordination wasn’t bad. Sam put you on a modified military workout regimen to get in shape, get your stamina up with the rest of the team.

You practiced making forcefields, seeing how big you could make them, how small, how much force they could endure before they broke. Natasha shot some bullets at them, and your fields caught them, allowing you to kill their momentum and drop them harmlessly to the ground. They could withstand some electricity, but not Wanda’s powers. And they held against Steve’s superstrength, but not for long. Still, a few hits from a supersoldier was more than most could endure, so it would buy you some time in the field.

Eventually, you moved on from just forcefields and started learning to move objects. It turned out, you were not limited to bubbles. You could create platforms underneath things. This evolved into creating platforms underneath people, that they could jump on, or ride on top of while you moved them.

You practiced using them for transport too, but it was harder standing on them while controlling them, especially if you tried to jump from platform to platform. It was a bit like patting your head and rubbing your tummy, and it would take a lot of practice.

There weren’t many missions, and the ones that popped up, you didn’t get sent on. They were high level things, and while your powers were improving, and very quickly, Bruce was always quick to reassure you, you weren’t ready for covert ops yet, especially ones that had been months in the making.

Every time Steve got sent off, he left with that sad little half-smile of his, the one where he pressed his lips together, eyes glittering like a lake under moonlight. He’d give you some words of comfort, usually dealing with how short the mission was supposed to be. It didn’t often make you feel better.

Bruce stayed behind with you, most times. More like all of the times. Code Greens, as they were called, were seldom necessary, and besides, as they had learned with Wanda back during the Ultron days, Bruce could be a liability if someone else got in his head. But it was nice not being completely alone in the big empty facility.

“He always looks so sad when he leaves.” You noted, sipping from a mug of warm tea. Steve had left only moments before, the last member of the team that was shipping out.

Bruce thought about it for a moment. “Does he?”

“Oh. I don’t know. Maybe I don’t know him that well.” You shrugged, the sounds of Animal Crossing resonating from the TV.

“You know, he has, lately. He didn’t used to.” Bruce noted.

“Weird.”

“Uh-huh.” He replied absentmindedly. “So explain to me this game?”

“Okay, so you move to this island and have to spend all your money paying off debt to this raccoon…”

It was in another training session that there was a malfunction. A shock grenade went off dangerously close to Sam. Before you could even process what you were doing, your hand shot out, a bright, pulsating star crackling in front of him, another, second star on the other side of the room. Steve assessed the situation and used the shield to knock Sam into the star, neutralizing the grenade right after. There was a bright flash and Sam appeared on the other side of the room, tumbling out of the second star.

You froze, curling your fingers and closing both of them. There was a slight pinch in your shoulder, near the base of your neck. The others all stared.

“Wait, what was that?” Bruce asked over the intercom.

“You did that?” Steve asked, motioning to Sam as he walked over.

“I think so.”

“What was that?”

Natasha asked, looking you up and down. Sam stared at you like you’d sprouted a third eye.

“I don’t know.”

“Do it again.” Bruce insisted. “Hang on, I’m coming in there.”

The door from the observation room opened and Bruce joined the rest of you in the circle that was steadily forming, all of them watching you, waiting.

“I don’t know, it was just like…” You focused on that feeling again, the desperation to get Sam the hell away from that grenade, and as though you were punching a hole through reality, it opened in the center of the circle, an eight-pointed star, bobbing and ebbing and flowing, made of the light blue energy you were so familiar with.

Carefully, you opened another one, ten feet in the air above the first. Clint shrugged and chucked a tennis ball into it. Sure enough, it popped up to the second one, before falling down through the first one again. This continued until eventually you closed the bottom one, letting the tennis ball bounce harmlessly across the floor.

“Well shit.”

“Waypoints.” Bruce said, deep in thought. “Teleportation. This…this opens up a lot of doors.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Steve murmured.

“Hey, that’s kind of cool. Waypoint.” Clint said, drawing attention to it. “What do you think?”

“What, like as a codename?” You asked, weighing it as an option.

“I like it.” Sam grinned. “Waypoint.”

“Waypoint.” You repeated, trying it out. Hi, I’m Waypoint. I’m an Avenger.

It sounded silly, but it was getting more official by the day. There was, of course, only one way to make it official official, and that was with one of Tony Stark’s famed parties…

Wonderstruck

You let out a sigh, staring at your reflection in the mirror. It was the night of the big party. Your first, as an Avenger, and the official induction of what Tony was deeming the second class of Earth’s Mightiest Heroes, Sam: the Falcon, Wanda: the Scarlet Witch, Vision, and You: Waypoint.

He’d gotten you a dress to wear, one that matched your uniform. It was long, sleek, that navy blue/indigo color. It glittered like stars and moved like a dream. And in the middle of it, poised at the base of the sweetheart neckline, was the eight-pointed star that Tony had turned into your symbol.

Your hair and makeup were done, and all that was left was the zipper.

Someone knocked on the door.

“It’s open!” You called, expecting Natasha or Wanda. Instead, it was Steve, who, when he saw you were unzipped, pulled the door almost all the way closed and shielded his eyes with his hand.

“Sorry! I’ll leave—”

“Wait, actually, could you help me zip this up? I can’t reach.”

Steve nodded, slowly lowering his hand and entering the room. He closed the door behind him to give you some privacy. He was dressed in a sharp black suit with a blue tie. His lapel pin looked like a tiny version of his shield.

“Wow…” He murmured, taking you in. “You look great, (Y/N).”

“You think so? I’m not sure blue is really my color…”

He scoffed. “It most certainly is.” He swept the hair off of your shoulder, meeting your eyes in the reflection in the mirror as he gently pulled the zipper higher until it was secure in place. “In more ways than one.”

“Yeah, guess so.” You agreed, nervous energy crackling around your fingers, blue as ever. You dispelled it, snapping out of it.

Steve looked at the two of you in the mirror for a long time before turning towards the door again. Halfway there, though, he turned back around, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a flat velvet box. “This is, um…for you.”

“Oh! Thank you.” You reached for it, heart racing. Inside was a necklace, its pendant a silver star with eight points. In the center, an aquamarine gem. You gasped, looking at it. It was beautiful, delicate. “Steve, this is beautiful. Thank you so much.”

“It’s the least I could do.” He said, offering his hand. “May I?”

“Please.” You said, handing him the necklace and moving your hair out of the way. He did the clasp behind your neck. It settled between your collarbones.

“There. Now it’s official.” He whispered.

“Almost.”

“Almost.” Steve agreed, offering you his elbow. “Right this way.”

You looped your arm through his, letting him lead you out into the initial murmurs of the party. What Natasha dubbed the “extended family” had shown up. Rhodey, Maria Hill, Nick Fury, Happy Hogan, Pepper Potts, and, of course, Thor.

He was a sight, that was for sure. He towered over everyone else at 6’5”, arms the size of tree trunks. It was a bit intimidating to say the very least.

“Rogers!” Thor bellowed.

“Thor! I didn’t think you were coming.”

He grinned. “I never miss a feast.” His eyes fell on you. “And you must be this new team member Banner spoke of.”

“I’m (Y/N). It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“The honor is mine.”

“Here.” Natasha handed you a champagne flute. She eyed up your necklace. “That’s cute.”

“Steve gave it to me.”

She quirked an eyebrow and looked up at the supersoldier, who still had your arm. “Steve has good taste.”

“Steve had help.” He admitted, smiling sheepishly.

“I’d get you one too, Rogers, but Thor has the strong stuff.” Natasha said, patting his other arm while you took a sip of the champagne. It was sweet, tangy. “God’s favorite boy scout has trouble getting drunk.”

“My tolerance is too good.”

“I think we just need to get you a Four Loko. Or two.”

“A what?” Steve asked.

“It’s like four drinks in one can. They’re insane. I tried in college, but tapped out halfway through.”

He considered it for a moment, letting out a laugh. “See, that just might work.”

Tony wandered around the lounge, greeting everyone. He looked you up and down. “You look beautiful, Portal Girl.”

You internally chuckled. The others had advised you not to feed his ego when he used his nicknames. “Thank you, Tony.”

“And you’re also here, Rogers.”

“Tony.” Steve nodded.

“You her date tonight?” He asked, motioning to your joint arms.

“Oh. Yeah, I suppose I am.” Steve agreed, not budging. Neither were you.

“Well, I hope you’ve taken some dance lessons since last time, Rogers. I’m sure (Y/N) wouldn’t want to have her feet walked all over.”

Steve chuckled and rolled his eyes as Tony moved onto his next targets. Sam emerged, looking very sharp in a red suit. Even Vision had dressed up for the occasion, Wanda beside him wearing an elegant red dress. The two of them talked and laughed on the other side of the room and you smiled. You could tell when you moved in that he cared about her.

You wondered if robots could have soulmates, too. If any android had a soul, surely it was Vision. Maybe you’d ask him about it sometime.

Once all of the expected guests were accounted for, Tony did the briefest ceremony in the history of ceremonies, introducing you all to the few members of the press he had allowed to come. You spent the beginning of the evening shaking hands, networking, and then once the strangers left, the real party started.

Nat switched you to something a lot stronger to champagne, and she was running the bar, so it was easy to get refills. Clint and Thor were arm wrestling on one of the tables which was…hilarious, admittedly.

Steve found you after a few hours apart. “Hey, will you be my partner?”

“Sure, for what?”

He laughed, loosening up quite a bit with Thor’s Asgardian mead in his system. “Sam and Bruce are trying to teach me how to play Beer Ball or something.”

“Beer Pong?”

“That one, yeah.” He nodded. “Winners play Clint and Nat.”

“That checks out.” You chuckled. “Yeah, I’m game. I haven’t played since college, though.”

“I haven’t played ever so I’m sure you’re a step ahead of me anyway.”

“We’ll see about that. Your physics skills are pretty good, what with the shield and all.” You complimented, earning that charming smile of his. “We might just give them a run for their money.”

“Enough flirting, kids, get over here.” Bruce grinned as he finished lining up the cups.

“You know how to play Beer Pong?” You asked, plucking a ping pong ball off of the table and fiddling with it.

“Kid, I have seven PhDs. I have played my share of Beer Pong.” Bruce admitted.

You couldn’t help but smile at that. It was nice to see the Avengers loosen up like this, have a good time together, really truly bond.

You gave Steve the basic rundown of the rules: no elbows past the edge of the table, balls back, stoplight, island, and that if you let Sam and Bruce get too many cups, you and Steve would get “schwaisted” as the kids said, or, at the very least, you would. Steve would probably be fine.

“Ladies first.” Sam said, giving you the second ping pong ball, one of which, you handed to Steve.

“You’re gonna regret that.” You said, rubbing the ball between your hands before perfectly bouncing it into the cup at the front of the pyramid. “Your turn, Steve.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” He said, sinking the ball into the same cup. “I believe that’s three cups, gentlemen.”

Sam’s jaw dropped. He shared a look with Bruce. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”

“You’re telling me.” Bruce chuckled, retrieving the ping pong ball and rolling it back. He started drinking the contents of the first cup, leaving the other two to Sam. “Alright, do your worst.”

Needless to say, you wiped the floor with the other two. Barely even gave them a chance. Which is why it was only fair that Clint and Natasha kicked the absolute shit out of the two of you.

You struggled to down your third cup, which is why when you reached for the fourth, Steve shook his head and took it from you, only offering a wink when you opened your mouth to protest.

“Hey! Steve, it’s supposed to be five each.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, she already finished hers.” Steve shrugged, chugging another like it was water. “Right, (Y/N)?”

“Yeah absolutely. What he said.” You shrugged.

You helped clean up the mess a bit after the game was over, rounding up empty cups, wiping down the table, and then washing your hands as Tony switched the music to something upbeat, dancing music.

“Come on, let’s dance.” Steve urged, clearly toeing the line between tipsy and drunk. He reached out for your hand and you couldn’t resist. You didn’t even try.

You let him lead you out to the middle of the room, where Wanda and Vision were already dancing together and looking adorable doing it.

“I thought you couldn’t dance.” You laughed as he spun you around to the music.

“I’m a quick learner.” He whispered, mouth against your ear.

You swore your entire body flushed red, but you let your feet lead you through the dance. Steve took both of your hands, swinging you out and then back in, spinning you around. You blamed the alcohol on what happened next. Your heel caught on the fabric of your dress and you fell over the back of one of the couches, tugging Steve down with you.

He laughed, using an arm to push himself off of you, hovering, eyes soft. “Sorry.”

“It’s my fault. You’ve got me falling for you, Rogers.” You murmured, gazing up at him through your eyelashes.

You said it as a joke, a quip, but there was some truth in it. More than some. It had been a magical, magical night. And if it weren’t for the leather cuff on his wrist, you could see yourself spending the rest of your life with him.

Steve closed his eyes, smiling and sitting up, helping you upright again. “I’ll go get us some water.”

You sighed and sat back against the couch, heart hammering in your chest.

Natasha perched on the armrest, looking down at you. “What was that?”

“Not sure. I think I fumbled the bag. If…if there even was a bag I guess.” You chuckled, shrugging.

“No, there is something there. I can see it.” Natasha said, thinking as she nursed a glass of wine. “Hmmm…”

Steve stood in the kitchen, getting two glasses of filtered water from the fridge. He exhaled a deep sigh, leaning against it. He replayed the moment in his head over and over. The look in your eyes, the way your necklace glimmered in the light, the sound of your voice, the flush of your cheeks. You were catching feelings for him, that much was clear. He wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing.

Steve Rogers, I am so sorry you will not hear me say these words until after I go back tomorrow, but I love you. I have loved you for a very long time. And I know I will love you for the rest of my life.

Maybe it was a good thing, he reasoned, thinking back on his first night with you all those years ago. But you still couldn’t know why. Not yet.

It was going to kill him to keep it a secret for ten more months.

Timeless

Sherbert rays of the sunrise lit the training room, filling it with a warm orange glow. You were sitting on the floor, stretching your legs while you listened to music. That was another thing on the growing list of skills that had improved during your stint as an Avenger: your flexibility.

Suddenly, Steve was standing over you, saying something you couldn’t hear due to the noise cancelling headphones over your ears.

You slid one off, looking up at him. “Good morning.”

“Morning. You’re here early.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” You shrugged, reaching for your other leg.

“Sorry to hear that. Wanna talk about it?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. I think I drank too much caffeine before bed last night. Learned my lesson. No caffeine after six.”

“That’s a good rule. Mind if I stretch with you?” He asked.

“I don’t mind.” You tossed your headphones onto your workout bag and connected your phone to the Bluetooth speakers, putting on some music you could both listen to.

“I recognize her. This girl’s voice.”

“Taylor Swift.”

“Ah. Yes, her. I keep hearing about her.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.” You laughed. “Have you liked any of her songs so far?”

“I don’t know if I could name one for you, to be honest.” He listened to the song that was playing. “This one’s not bad, though.”

“I’ll send you some recommendations. There are some I think you’d really vibe with.”

He smiled. “I’d really like that.”

The others came in not long after, did their warm-ups, and then Steve briefed everyone on the plan for their training session, one in which everyone would swap weapons, practice using each other’s things in case they ever had to in battle if one of their teammates got disarmed.

You started with Clint. He showed you the absolute basics of archery, how to pull back the bow, how to notch an arrow, how to aim, taking into account distance. You fired a few arrows into a target and did okay, you supposed, but you would need some practice if you wanted to actually get good at it. Years of it, realistically.

Natasha showed you how to use her electric batons, which were fun, but did intimidate you a little. You definitely did not want to end up on the wrong end of those things.

And then, inevitably, you were standing in front of Steve. He offered you his shield, which on its own seemed daunting. You held it for a second, assessing the weight of it. It was noticeably lighter than you thought it would be.

“Woah.”

“Yeah. People always expect it to be heavier.” He said, a hand resting on his hip as he watched you hold it. It looked so right in your hands, he decided. “It’s good for a lot of things, but first…” Carefully, he helped you put your arm through the straps on the back of it, holding it in front of your body in its primary and most famous purpose.

You let out a sigh, shaking your head. “This is so crazy.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah, you have no idea.” You chuckled, waving it around a bit.

“You keep looking at it like it’s Thor’s hammer or something.” He teased.

“Feels like it.”

“Well the good news is, this thing is not password protected by some Asgardian magic words. The bad news is, that means the bad guys can pick it up, too.” Steve said, gently positioning your body in an offensive stance, nudging a foot with his own, switching your arms around. “You can use it to bash somebody head on, or you can angle it a bit to get a more direct blow. It will take the force of most things. I…I actually kind of don’t know the limits. Hasn’t failed me yet. The paint does come off from time to time, though, so don’t worry about that.”

“Okay, wow.” You nodded. “Good to know.”

“I trust you with it.” He said, eyes meeting yours.

You smiled, heart racing. “I’m honored.”

He showed you a few other tricks, and then training wrapped up for the day, everyone grabbing some water, taking a shower, or making plans for lunch. Once you walked off with Wanda, Nat cornered Steve.

“What was that?” She asked, that catlike grin on her face.

“What was what?”

“I saw it, you know, the way you looked at her. I think you’ve got a soft spot.”

“Yeah, well, I did rope her into all this. Can’t say I don’t feel responsible for her.” He dodged expertly, weaving through Natasha’s mental gymnastics with skill and precision, or so he thought.

“Uh-huh sure. Well, she, Wanda, and I are going antiquing this afternoon. You should come. After all, you know quite a bit about vintage valuables.”

He laughed. “Hey!”

She walked off, smiling to herself. Steve thought about it for all of four seconds before he decided he would tag along. He hadn’t been to an antique shop in this century, so he couldn’t imagine the kinds of things they had there now. He might even learn a thing or two.

***

After a quick lunch, Steve did decide to tag along. It wound up being him, Vision, and the girls, which he certainly didn’t mind.

You and Wanda were buzzing with excitement, Natasha looking on and following behind with Steve. Vision lingered, studying everything, picking things up to get a closer look. He had projected a human disguise over himself, something Steve didn’t know he could even do, but it seemed to work. No one had batted an eye at him since they stepped foot in the shop.

“This place is…huge.” Steve said, glancing down the hall of the seemingly endless store.

“Biggest one in the state.” You chimed. “It’s the whole city block.”

“There’s a basement, too. And a second floor.” Natasha informed him, patting his arm. “This is gonna be an all day kinda thing.”

“Oh undoubtedly.” He said, setting down the teacup in his hands, a petite, floral thing.

You sifted through a box of records, picking up the soundtrack of the Muppets Movie.

“Is that a frog?”

“This is Kermit thee Frog, show some respect.” You laughed, putting the record in your basket.

“Kermit?” Steve asked again, seeming genuine.

“Oh I forgot you missed the Muppets, oh my god.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t sound familiar.”

“We need to fix that as soon as possible.” You told him. “Can’t have you missing out on cultural icons like Gonzo and Miss Piggy.”

“Okay now you’re making things up.” He chuckled, shuffling through the records as well. You showed him a few good ones and he added them to his basket, saying something about how he’s been meaning to use his new record player.

Wanda browsed some vintage rings, picking out a few, and Natasha rifled through a rack of vintage dresses, most of them from the forties and fifties from the look of it. Nat held up a navy blue one, silky, with short ruffled sleeves and buttons down the front. Steve froze, looking at it. For a moment, it looked just a little too familiar. Like the dress you had worn that night.

Eventually Nat put the dress back. You hadn’t seen it. You were distracted by a shelf of VHS tapes, looking for the old Barbie movies, whatever those were. Wanda was with you, on the next shelf over, calling out movie names when she found something cool.

Steve wandered off on his own, looking around at the different trinkets and toys, old letterman jackets and jewelry, dishes that may or may not contain lead. Finally, he came upon a little room full of art, paintings and photographs, handmade pottery.

Time stood still.

He stared at the large painting on the wall, oil on canvas. Two star-crossed lovers dancing in a bar in Brooklyn, a little guy with a dream, dancing with the most beautiful girl in the world, twirling in her dark blue dress. His heart raced. He never thought he’d see this painting again.

It had been his last painting before leaving for Camp Lehigh, the last painting he did before his life and body changed forever. He’d used the last of his paints to make it, every color mixed with care to get the exact color of your hair, your eyes, your lips, all from memory.

And it was here in front of him. When he had been presumed dead, it must have been sold off. He didn’t really have anyone left it could go to.

In that moment, he wasn’t Captain America. Standing in his shoes was that little guy from Brooklyn.

“Woah.” You murmured, suddenly right next to him. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah, it…it is.” He agreed, looking away from it. He didn’t want you to get too close of a look at it. However, that didn’t stop you from walking forward to inspect it closer.

“‘Soulmates.’ Artist unknown.” You read from the plaque. “Oh, it’s from the 40s. 1943. Does it look familiar?”

“Yeah, actually. Bucky liked that bar.” Steve said, pointing to the details of the interior. “It’s a little place in Brooklyn, called Val’s. Well, it was I guess. I don’t know if it’s still open anymore.”

Your eyes lingered on the woman’s face, on the man’s. You didn’t say anything about how they looked, about the uncanny resemblance to yourself and Steve. Instead, you sighed. “Someday, I want to be that in love with someone.”

He just about cried. But instead, he gathered his words, put a hand on your shoulder, and told you with confidence, “You will be.”

***

Hours later, when you were all shopped out and you’d checked out with your things, Steve stayed at the counter while the rest of you went to the car.

“Hey, um, that painting in the art room. The soulmates in the bar. I’m interested in buying it. Would it be possible to have it held here for a while, though?”

“Oh I’m sure we could arrange something,” said the old man at the counter with a smile and a nod. He started writing out the purchase form.

Steve glanced back towards where it was, that fragment of his soul he didn’t think he’d ever see again. He knew the fact that he’d stumbled upon it was nothing short of fate.

Wildest Dreams

It had been Tony’s idea. Of course it had. It always was, wasn’t it? He’d insisted that all the members of the team who hadn’t yet been exposed to Wanda’s mind manipulation should be, just in case there was a misfire during combat and one of you got caught in the crossfire. It would be important to see how each of you reacted, the kinds of things you saw so you’d be able to snap out of it.

Theoretically, of course.

This left Natasha, Steve, Thor, Bruce, and Tony out, as they’d already had their fun with Wanda’s magic. The rest of you, however, were waiting for your turn.

Wanda felt conflicted about it. She didn’t want to hurt her friends on accident, let alone on purpose, but Tony was insistent, and he had some of the others on his side. Namely, Rhodey, who had been hanging out more and more, and Clint, who’d had his experience with a different kind of mind control shortly before the Battle of New York.

It was part of why he’d volunteered to go first. Once he came to, he gave you a thumbs-up, shaking it off and walking over to Natasha.

“You sure you’re good?” She checked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. No big deal. Who’s next?”

Sam looked at you and the despondent look on your face before volunteering himself to go next. Rhodey went in solidarity, despite being too busy with his government responsibilities to be a full-time member of the team. And then it was your turn. You stood next to Wanda. She offered an apologetic smile before red crackled around her fingertips and it hit you.

For the first few seconds, you were fine. You felt tingly. You blinked a few times and your eyes felt weird. No doubt, your eyes were red, like the others’ turned when they were under the influence of Wanda’s powers.

“Hey, (Y/N), you okay?” Steve asked, voice urgent.

“Think so.” You replied, mouth full of cotton. It felt like that time in college someone had given you an edible that was too strong. The first and last time you’d ever gotten high. Like you were sinking and melting. Your legs buckled and Steve surged forward, catching you before you hit the floor, gently lowering you into a comfortable position. “Hey, you’re pretty strong…” You murmured, head lolling onto his shoulder.

The others all looked at each other. Clint dragged over a bean bag and Steve gently lowered you onto it, adjusting it so you’d be comfortable.

“She’ll be okay, Steve.” Natasha reassured him, the guilt in his eyes palpable, yet still not explained. Not entirely. She had a sneaking suspicion whatever it was had something to do with the name written on his wrist, the name he wouldn’t show anyone. Not her, not Nick Fury, not even Sam.

“Yeah, I know.” He nodded, slowly taking a step back. His eyes didn’t leave you. He had to force himself to look away. “I, um…I have to go…There’s a…” Steve motioned towards the door before leaving the room, while you sat there, catatonic, off in your own little world.

***

“Hey, (Y/N), you okay?” Steve asked, his voice close. “That was a long nap. Forget to set your alarm?”

You opened your eyes and you were laying down on the couch. Steve was standing at the island in the kitchen, cooking something. It smelled good. Really good. He was wearing a button-up, sleeves rolled to his elbows, still wearing his slacks from work. He had music playing from the record player, your vast collection of hits from decades of music, and he was still hooked on 40s jazz. You supposed you couldn’t blame him.

“You cooking?”

“Mmhmm.” He nodded. “Come over here and get a taste.”

You followed, out to the kitchen. He set down his wooden spoon and swiftly intercepted you, pulling you up onto the countertop, kissing you deeply, a hand running through your hair. Your hand came up to frame his cheek. He was growing a bit of a beard these days. You liked it, thought it suited him.

You sighed against his lips and then pulled away to look at him. He grabbed your wrist, pressing a long kiss to your soulmark. Three simple words. Steven Grant Rogers.

“I love you, doll.” His words cut through you, eyes tender and sincere. “Always have.”

But this wasn’t your Steve. And it wasn’t your reality, given away by the slightest tinge of red in his irises.

It wasn’t real. And neither was the glimmering wedding ring around your finger.

***

You blinked awake, the power dispersing from your head, leaving you shockingly sober. And hungry. That familiar sting was back, right between your neck and shoulder. You wondered how long it’d been.

Clint was in the room with you. So was Sam. Natasha was gone. Wanda too, surprisingly. As was Steve.

You got chills even thinking about him, the phantom of the wedding ring still clinging to your finger.

“You alright?” Sam asked, making eye contact with you first.

“Yeah, I’m good. How long…?”

“Three minutes. New record.” Clint said with a grin.

“Oh.” No wonder it had felt so short. Part of you wanted it to last longer.

“We’re sending Rhodey to get some food, if you’re hungry.” Sam said.

“Where from?”

“The golden arches.”

“I could go for some nuggies.” You admitted. “A McFlurry, perchance.”

Clint laughed. “How did I know you would say that?”

In the kitchen, Steve stood, hands on the counter, mug of coffee steaming in front of him, untouched. He stared at the cupboard door.

“That must be one interesting cupboard. You’ve been standing there for like five whole minutes.”

“It’s only been three.” Steve said, glancing at the clock.

“And the fact that you know down to the exact minute is why I’m so intrigued.” Natasha chimed, tilting her head. “What is going on with her? I have never seen you look at anyone like that in the entire time I’ve known you. Is she…what, the kid of an old friend? Grandkid?”

“It’s nothing, Natasha. She’s the newest member of the team, I’m just worried—”

“Steve.” She said, cutting him off, that look in her eye. “If you want to get all defensive about it, fine. Keep your secrets.” She sighed. “But if you need someone, I’m here. Whatever it is, you don’t have to carry it alone.”

Steve let out a long sigh, weighing his options. It was something to the tune of eight months until your birthday. That was still a long time. A lot of time for that secret to slip through the cracks and, potentially, break the timeline. The Butterfly Effect was something he had researched extensively. Your future together was something he wasn’t willing to risk.

No, it was too important that you stay in the dark, even if that meant keeping his friends in the dark, too.

“Thanks. I appreciate it. But I’m fine, really. It’s nothing.”

“Uh-huh.” She nodded unconvinced. “Well, she’s out of it. Clint just texted. She wants twenty chicken nuggets and an Oreo McFlurry.”

The relief was immediate. You were okay. He could only wonder what you had seen in there, and why it had been so quick. The others had been under for upwards of ten minutes. You’d only been down three. “Well good. I’ll let Rhodey know.”

Invisible String

It was late. A few weeks after your tussle with the Scarlet Witch, if you could even call it that. You could tell Wanda felt guilty about the whole thing, but it wasn’t her fault. If anything it was Tony’s. Sure, the exercise had prepared you for a worst case scenario, but it had also dug a very awkward gap between you and Steve. You could barely even look at him without wanting to burst into tears.

He had his soulmate, whoever they were. You really needed to let it go.

You walked down to the kitchen to get a cold drink, but there was already someone sitting at the table. Steve, sitting there, hand resting on his chin, papers spread out in front of him. There was a picture you recognized as Bucky Barnes.

You’d heard whispers of him around the Compound from time to time. Steve’s best friend turned Hydra assassin, brainwashed for decades and now, rogue, out there somewhere. Sam always seemed to be looking for the guy. Natasha and Clint, too. And there had never been any sign of him. Well, until now, it seemed.

On the TV, Star Wars was playing. Empire Strikes Back. Steve looked up at it every so often.

“Star Wars?” You asked.

He chuckled and nodded. “Yeah.”

“Your first time?”

“No. They were the first things I watched when I was out of the ice. I like them a lot. The hope, the Force, the Jedi stuff, the music.” He shrugged. “They’re good.”

“Who’s your favorite?”

Steve smiled, sheepish. “Han Solo.”

“And here I thought you’d say Luke Skywalker.”

“He’s great, too. You like Star Wars?”

“Yeah, I used to be obsessed with them in high school. Haven’t seen them in a while, though. I’m something of a Leia girl myself.”

“That makes a lot of sense.”

“Does it?”

“Oh yeah.” He nodded. “You’ve got that spark.”

“What order did you watch them in?”

“Nat made me watch the originals first.” He confessed. “I like the prequels, though. Well, two of the prequels. Phantom Menace is…”

“Oh yeah. You’re not alone in that.” You laughed softly. “You know, I never really pegged you as a sci-fi nerd.”

“Yeah, well, someone I really care about seemed to like them a whole lot, so I knew I had to check them out.” He shrugged. “What are you doing up so late?”

“Getting a drink. What are you doing up so late?”

He looked down at the papers and then back up at you. “Oh. Yeah, this is just…Trying to get some stuff figured out.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” You offered.

He thought about it for a long moment, letting out a little sigh before nodding. That was the only reassurance you needed before grabbing a can of soda from the fridge and plopping down into the seat next to him.

“They found him. Clint and Natasha. They think he’s hiding out in Kentucky somewhere.” Steve said. He shook his head. “He saved my life a few years ago. After all the brainwashing, he still pulled me out of the water. I don’t know how much of him is still him, but…”

“But it’s worth a try.” You reasoned. “Obviously he’s been through a lot, but he must be pretty strong to have made it through everything.”

“I don’t know when I’m going. They haven’t narrowed it down all the way. And Tony doesn’t want me to even go at all.”

“Tony is full of shit.”

He laughed. “Yeah…”

“If you want to go, you should go. And if you need me, I’m there. You shouldn’t have to do it alone.”

He met your eyes with a sobering gaze. “You mean it?”

“Yeah, of course.” You agreed. “When, uh, when I was in the eighth grade, my class took a trip down to DC. There’s a Captain America exhibit in the Air and Space Museum, it had just opened. We learned about you and Bucky. How close you were, what happened. There are videos of me just crying uncontrollably there, learning about it. They had to take me outside, get me some water. I couldn’t go back in. I don’t even know why. Something about it…”

“About me?” Steve whispered.

“That’s embarrassing. I shouldn’t have told you that.” You chuckled, shaking your head.

“It’s not embarrassing. It’s sweet.” Steve said, reaching for your hand on the table. You let him take it, fingers curling.

“So when you found me that day, I guess I always knew it would lead to something like this. A stroke of fate, or something.” You admitted. “Some part of me knew that you would mean something to me someday. I guess I never thought we would be friends.”

“How old were you?”

“God, this would have been like ten years ago at this point. I was like fourteen or something. I was twenty-one when they found you in the ice. It was all over the news my sophomore year of college, kind of right when I was figuring my powers out, actually. And then everything was all over the news and I…went into hiding more or less, hoping it wouldn’t be me on the TV next.”

“Until the mall?”

“Yeah. But I couldn’t just…let it happen, you know? It was like some part of me knew that I had these powers for a reason, and that if I didn’t stop it, who would? I didn’t know you were there, obviously, but, I think even if I had, I still would have jumped in.”

He smiled softly, eyes earnest. He gave your hand a squeeze. “Well I’m really glad you did, for the record. I think we’re all a little better off because of it.”

There was a moment of quiet. “Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“How old are you?”

“Oh, um…I’m ninety-eight.”

You chuckled. “No, like how old are you really?”

Steve took a breath. No one ever asked him that. No one really cared about that. No one except you, it seemed. “I’m not sure. I’d have to do some math. I think I’m twenty-eight maybe. Twenty-nine.”

“Thought so.” You smiled. “Well, Steve, whenever you get it figured out, say the word and I’ll suit up. We’ll bring him home.”

Out of the Woods

The next mission you were sent on wasn’t to bring back Bucky. Not yet. Instead, you were on the team that got deployed into a rainforest to break up a rogue Hydra base. It was warm, almost too warm for your uniform, but you were grateful for the coverage, especially when they started shooting.

You ran down the makeshift path, evading enemies and throwing up forcefields to stop them in their tracks. Thor was in town, so he was zipping around through the trees with his hammer, the force of it bringing some down every once in a while.

“On your six.” Steve reported through the comms. You dodged out of the way and sure enough, a Hydra agent tumbled ahead, tripped by a small field you cast at his feet. A few of Natasha’s bullets took care of that.

“Thanks.” You replied.

“Don’t mention it. I could actually use some backup. I’m in the building. There’s more of them than I thought there would be.”

“I’m on my way.” You reported, changing directions and sprinting towards the building housing the Hydra base. What they were doing here, you had no clue, but Bruce theorized it had something to do with a meteor that had landed out that way a few months prior. They were probably harvesting whatever materials had been inside it.

You kicked down the door. Steve had six guys on him, two of which he disposed of quickly. You made a portal beneath one guy, sending him falling down a flight of stairs with the second portal you opened.

The other three guys went down quickly enough, only for a guy in a giant mech armor to come crashing through the interior wall. He shot and Steve jumped in front of you, taking a hit to the neck. A tiny syringe filled with shimmering purple liquid.

“Fuck! Steve!” You ran to him, but that didn’t take care of the large problem looming behind you. Seeing red, you made another portal at the feet of the robot, opened it in the ceiling, and cut it off as it was halfway through, destroying it in a flash of sparks and shredded metal. It shut down, giving you time to get to Steve.

He was sitting against the wall, head slumped to the side. You took the syringe out of his neck, tucking it into a pouch on your belt for testing. If this thing was poison, you’d need Bruce to start whipping up an antidote as soon as possible.

“Steve, hey, stay with me.” You touched his face, trying to wake him.

At your touch, he blinked a few times, drowsy. He gave you a crooked smile. “Heyyy, there you are.”

“Come on, we’ve gotta get you back to the jet.” You told him, pulling him to his feet, but he slumped in your arms like dead weight. You had been working out since you’d been recruited, but he was still heavy. “You’ve gotta work with me, big guy.”

“They used to call me little guy.” He murmured, sounding drunk. “Back in Brooklyn.”

“I’m sure they did.” You slung his arm around your shoulders and started hauling ass out of the building. A few agents shot at you, trying to hit you while you were distracted with carrying Steve to safety, but they forgot you were the one Avenger whose specialty was defense.

You lit a forcefield in your left hand, using its faint blue light to guide the two of you through the dim hallways. It slowed all the bullets to a stop, causing them to drop to the floor harmlessly. There was something kind of poetic about it, you supposed. Steve was so famous for that shield of his, but now you were the shield, protecting him.

“Did you guys find anything in there?” Clint asked.

“The good news is, we cleared most of it out. Bad news is, Steve got shot with something. I’m bringing him back to the ship now. I don’t know what it was but he’s acting really drunk.”

“Tranq darts seem to have that effect on him, yeah.” Bruce explained. “Bring him back here and I’ll make sure it wasn’t laced with something else.”

“On it.”

You lugged Steve along, stopping to rest and readjust against a wall for a second.

“Thank you for takin’ care of me even when I don’t feel so good.” He said, leaning his full weight against you.

“Of course, Steve. I’ve got ya.” You pulled his arm around your shoulders again. “You would do the same for any of us.”

He smiled, face impossibly close to yours. “Oh, I’d do anything for you, (Y/N).”

You knew it was probably just the drugs talking but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t do something to you when he said it anyway.

Once you were outside, you opened a waypoint in front of the two of you, the second portal in front of the jet, and then stepped through, closing it behind you. Bruce opened the door and helped you haul Steve inside, onto the cot of the makeshift mobile infirmary.

You handed Bruce the empty vial.

“Thank you for remembering. Thor always breaks these and then I have to do bloodwork to figure out what was in them.” He chuckled.

“He’s very smash first, ask questions later.”

“No wonder he and Hulk get along so well.” Bruce joked. “Alright, get back out there. I’ll make sure he’s alright.”

“Thank you.”

“Be careful out there.” Steve advised, eyes half-lidded. “They have guns.”

“I’ll be extra careful, alright? I promise.” You met his eyes and he smiled immediately. Once you were sure he was okay, you stepped out of the jet again, getting back to help the others.

***

When you got back, you were nursing a bullet wound. They’d gotten you in the arm. It wasn’t too bad, though, the bleeding had almost stopped. Natasha went straight for the med kit when you two stepped foot on the jet, motioning you over to the stool.

Steve was there, still on the cot. He stared as Nat started cleaning your wound. “Wait, you got hurt?”

“I’m okay. It’s not that bad.”

He nodded and reached for your hand. “I’m really glad you’re alright, doll. Had me worried sick.”

Doll. You replayed the word in your mind. Steve had called you a lot of things in the past few months, but never once had he used that somewhat outdated term of endearment. You liked it, though.

You met Natasha’s eyes and she smirked while the supersoldier held your hand.

Sam walked in next, eyeing up the scene unfolding in front of him. “Woah, what’d I miss? Feels like I missed several chapters.”

“Steve is drunk.” Clint explained, counting his remaining arrows.

“Tranq dart. He’s fine. Just needs to ride it out for a few hours. He should be back to normal by the time we get home.” Bruce explained as he put away his tablet.

“You feeling alright, buddy?” Sam walked over and put a hand on Steve’s other arm. “You’re holding (Y/N)’s hand kinda tight there.”

“Huh?” Steve asked, directing his eyes to your joint hands. He let go. “Oh. Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Steve.” You reassured him.

The others trickled in slowly until everyone was accounted for, the base destroyed, the Hydra operatives in SHIELD custody for questioning. Fury and his team would handle it from there. You couldn’t help but play the mission over and over in your head.

Never had you used a waypoint to split something in half. But something had clicked in you when Steve was hurt. You’d never felt like that before, like part of your soul itself was being ripped out. He meant more to you than you cared to admit, especially when your fate was tied elsewhere.

Still, your new ability needed training. It was a dangerous skill to have, and if you didn’t hone it properly, you could end up doing some serious damage on accident.

Come Find Me in the Future

It was the night before you and a select group of the team were heading out to find and recover Bucky. Clint had finally gotten a hit on him. But if he had, that meant others could be after him, too. People that wanted him back. Badly.

You were nervous about it for that reason. You weren’t sure why the rest of you hadn’t already left, to be honest. You didn’t want to race with Hydra. It wasn’t one you were sure you’d win.

To stave off the feeling of dread, you had commandeered the living room TV and popped in Howl’s Moving Castle. You were nursing a mug of chamomile tea in your hands, playing games on your Switch.

You were near the end of the movie, at the part where Sophie was whisked to the past, when Steve walked into the room, in his pajamas, a tank top and a pair of plaid pants.

“Hey, Steve.”

“Hey. You’re up late. Big mission tomorrow.”

“Yeah, it’s almost over.” You told him. “Drinking my sleepy tea as we speak.”

“Sleepy tea?”

“Chamomile mint. It’s good. There’s some over by the Keurig if you want any.”

“Thanks.” He smiled, walking over. “What’s this?”

“Howl’s Moving Castle. One of my favorites.” You told him.

“What’s it about?”

“That is a complicated question.” You laughed. “I’d have to start it over, I think.”

“Another time, maybe.” He chuckled, crossing his arms.

Steve watched as Sophie got sucked back through the wormhole to the present.

She called out “I know how to help you now! Find me in the future!”

He perked up. “Wait, she…there’s time travel?”

“Yeah, she gets pulled into the past for a bit and tells him to find her and then years later, the first words he says to her are ‘There you are, sweetheart. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.’ It’s really sweet.”

“They’re soulmates?”

“They are.” You nodded.

“Does that happen? Often?” Steve asked, hung up on it. “In real life?”

“I don’t think so. I’ve never heard of that happening before.” You shook your head. “I don’t think anyone would believe it, even if it did. Happens a lot in fiction, though.”

“Oh. Cool.” Steve nodded. He met your eyes and then looked down at his lap, tongue flitting across his pink lips. “I, uh, wanted to apologize.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “For what?”

“The mission last week. I, uh…I said some things and, uh…I just, I’d hate to make you uncomfortable. I’m sorry if I did.”

“You didn’t.” You assured him. “No apology necessary. You were drugged. I probably would have said worse, to be honest.”

He smiled. “Okay. Cool. Thanks. And thank you for agreeing to come tomorrow. We could really use the help.”

“Of course. I’ve got your back, always.” You told him, earning another one of those earnest, lovesick smiles. “Anywho, I finished that playlist for you. The Taylor Swift one. I can make you a more general one with different songs, but…figured that was a decent starting place.”

“Great, yeah, thank you.” He nodded, looking at his phone as it pinged with the notification you had sent it to him. “I’ll give it a listen.”

“Let me know what you think.”

“Oh I will.” He chuckled to himself. “Really, thank you. I appreciate it. And um, have a good night. See you tomorrow.”

“Bright and early.” You saluted.

He nodded before repeating, “Bright and early.”

Bygones

Bright and early was an understatement. The sun was barely peeking over the horizon when your alarm went off. You groaned, rolled over and silenced your screaming phone, forcing yourself to sit up so you didn’t drift back off.

Today was too important for that.

Instead, you got up, brushed your hair, and went out to the kitchen, where Vision had whipped up a full breakfast for everyone going out. It was you, Steve, Nat, Wanda, and Sam. A small team, but enough firepower to bring him back without overwhelming and/or scaring him off.

“Morning.” Steve said, eyes landing on you the moment you walked into the room.

“Morning.”

“Coffee?” He offered, pushing a cup of your favorite iced coffee over to you. You couldn’t lie, you were impressed.

“Thanks.” You grinned, taking a long sip to kickstart your morning. You loaded a plate up with eggs, sausage, bacon, and toast, plus a little side of hashbrowns, thanking Vision thoroughly.

“It is my pleasure, (Y/N). As someone who does not require sleep, it would be rude of me to let you all starve so early in the day.”

“(Y/N), you got him listening to Taylor Swift?” Sam asked, eyes drilling into you.

You laughed. “Uh, yeah. What about it? She’s a cultural icon, do you want him left out of the loop?”

“Hey, I’m not complaining.” Steve shrugged, sipping on his coffee.

“Of course you’re not.” Natasha chuckled, words warbled by her own cup. You noticed the way her lips pursed. If you weren’t mistaken, you’d say she was nervous. About what, you couldn’t tell. She seldom got nervous. Or at least, she seldom let it show. But it was definitely there.

Wanda was the last into the kitchen, already fully put together. She gave the chef her thanks with a warm smile and sparkling eyes. You couldn’t help but smile. Those two, beyond a shadow of a doubt, were absolutely made for each other. You wondered what her wrist would have to say about it when the time came.

Once everyone had eaten, those who weren’t suited up got ready, locked and loaded for a tense mission. You’d have Clint on the coms here, doing recon from a drone. The rest of you loaded up onto the jet, strapping in.

Nat and Sam hopped into the cockpit. Wanda sat next to you, Steve across the aisle, his eyes meeting yours every so often.

“It’ll be alright.” You said, trying to dispel his nerves.

He nodded, but didn’t reply, just giving a short nod and staring at the holographic map on the wall as you approached closer and closer. You could see that little guy from Brooklyn peeking through the eyes of the supersoldier sitting across from you, nervous about his best friend.

You unbuckled just before you landed, walking across the jet to strap on your weapons. The others did the same, arming themselves. Nat was going to keep the jet warm for a speedy exit, the look in her eyes still unreadable. The rest of you got ready for war.

It was an abandoned warehouse, large garage door, broken windows, slanted roof with a hole in it. Definitely not the most secure of places. According to Clint’s drone, Bucky was in the back room.

“Waypoint, I need you out here ready to get us a quick escape.”

“Got it.” You nodded, positioning yourself within eyeshot of the warehouse and the jet so you could make a portal either way.

“Wanda, Sam, you’re with me.” Steve instructed, taking a minute to breathe, to think. “He’s gonna be ready to run. We have to talk him out of it.”

“Uh, Cap. Might wanna work a little faster. There’s another plane incoming. About three minutes out.”

“Alright.” Steve nodded, taking off his helmet and slinging his shield onto his back. He led the other two into the building.

For a heartwrenching two minutes, you didn’t hear anything. And then you heard a plane. And then gunshots.

“(Y/N), now!” Steve instructed.

You did as you were told, opening the waypoint in the warehouse, another just outside. Nat had picked the jet up off of the ground, firing at the one Hydra had brought. She took another shot, damaging the wing and causing it to go down.

“Shit, wait—!”

There was a flash of light and you expected it to be Steve that came through first. Maybe Bucky, even. Instead, it was a grenade. And a split second later, it exploded, knocking you unconscious.

***

Steve stood over you, horrified. Thanks to your suit, the damage didn’t seem too bad. But you had blood and soot caked on your face, the ends of your hair singed.

It was his fault. He had told you to open the Waypoint, only for a Hydra agent to toss a grenade right through it.

He all but collapsed to his knees, collecting you in his arms. Bucky was on the jet already, Sam, too. Only he and Wanda were outside with you.

“(Y/N), come on. Open those eyes for me.” He pleaded, voice soft, eyes aching with tears. “Hey, come on. Please…”

“We should get her back to the jet.” Wanda goaded softly, a hand on Steve’s arm.

“Yeah.” Steve nodded, a tear slipping down his cheek. He scooped you off of the ground, an arm beneath your legs, the other around your back. Your arms hung down, limp. Your head rested heavily against his shoulder, eyes closed.

By the time Steve walked up the ramp, Nat already had the infirmary cot down, ready to go. Bucky watched, eyes intense. He looked up when Steve approached, eyes falling on you. They widened when he got a look at you.

“Woah, is that…?”

“Yeah.” Steve nodded. “It is.”

Natasha helped him get you situated in the cot, wrapping the cuff around your arm that would measure your vitals. With everyone accounted for, Sam closed the door, lifting the jet into the air.

“I’ve got Banner on the line.” Natasha told him.

“Good.” Steve’s eyes didn’t leave you for a second, watching as the breaths entered and left your lungs. “Tell him to get the infirmary ready for her.”

“Already on it, Cap. She’ll be okay. Her vitals look…well they look good, all things considered.” Bruce relayed. “Just get back here as fast as you can.”

***

As soon as the jet landed, Steve unhooked you from the vitals monitor and collected you in his arms, carrying you to the gurney Bruce had ready, walking with him as he wheeled you towards the infirmary. Bruce insisted he needed some time and sent Steve away, taking a piece of his heart with him.

Vision checked over Bucky, giving him the okay almost immediately before going to help Bruce in the infirmary.

Steve sat at the table, Bucky sitting down to join him. The others gave them a minute alone.

“Hey, pal.” Steve exhaled, trying to force a smile. “Glad you’re here.”

“Me too.” He agreed. “Thanks for coming to get me.”

“Of course.” Steve nodded. “I’m with you—”

“Til the end of the line.” Bucky smiled, eyes soft. His irises flicked towards the infirmary and back. “You wanna talk about it?”

Steve let out a sigh, the wall finally coming down and more tears slipping down his cheeks. “It’s my fault, it’s all my fault. She’s—”

“She’s gonna be fine. I promise you.” Bucky’s hand grabbed onto Steve’s wrist, the covered one. The one with her name etched onto it. “She has to be. Has she…does she know yet?”

“No one does. Just me. And you.” Steve confessed. He wiped his thumb under his eye. “So you’re right. She has to pull through.”

Steve held onto that spark of hope for the coming hours. He showed Bucky to the room that had been prepared for him, but Sam offered to give him a tour of the place, knowing their friend was in a fragile mental state.

Eventually, Vision found him and told him he could enter the infirmary. Bruce had finished treating you. When Steve walked in and saw you, still unconscious, laying on that bed, he choked on more sobs. The bruising on your face was pretty severe. You were hooked up to several monitors, an IV. Supposedly, your injuries were not too extreme, but you had a cracked rib and would need time to heal before you could do any missions or training.

Hours later, Nat found Steve in there, wringing his hands, tears in his eyes. He fiddled with the cuff around his wrist. The playlist you’d made for him played softly from a speaker in the corner of the room. Timeless. As if he wasn’t already crying enough.

“She’s gonna be okay, Steve. Bruce thinks she might wake up soon.” Nat comforted, sitting in the chair next to him. She put a hand on his shoulder, confused by her friend’s sudden mood. Members of the team had been injured before and sure, he checked on them, but he never reacted like this.

“I know, I just…” He shook his head. “I’m worried about her is all. It’s…kinda my fault this happened.”

Nat pressed her lips together, tilting her head. “This seems like a little more than that. You wanna tell me what’s really going on?”

He wanted to hold onto his secret. He did. But he was feeling fragile, vulnerable. It couldn’t hurt to have just one more person on his side. “I can, just…not here.” Steve nodded, leading her out of the room, out of your earshot, if you could even hear him while you were out, but still in sight thanks to the soundproof windows.

Nat’s hands settled on her hips, waiting for an answer. Instead, Steve took the cuff off of his wrist and held it out to her, letting her read the letters that had been etched there for the better part of a century.

Her jaw dropped. She stammered, arms crossing. She met his eyes and when she saw the sadness there, the guilt and longing, her expression softened.

“I should have told her. A long time ago, I should have told her but I can’t. In six months, on her twenty-fifth, she’s going back in time to 1943 to meet me on mine. And it…didn’t seem like she knew until she was already there.”

“So you’ve just been holding it in this whole time?” Natasha asked. “You’ve been in love with her…”

“Since the forties, yeah.” Steve nodded. “My great lost love, as Tony likes to call her when he rags on the band I wear.”

“Does he know?”

“No. Just you. And Bucky.” Steve amended. “He was there when she…”

“Right. Weird.” Natasha let out a long sigh, looking through the window. Her fingers reached for her own cuff. She hesitated, but pulled it off, holding her soulmark out to him. “Fair is fair.”

Steve stared at the letters for a long time, realization slowly filling his eyes. The name on her wrist was none other than James Buchannan Barnes. “Oh my God.”

“I didn’t know how to tell you until all the dust settled, but it just settled, so…” She shrugged, putting the cuff back on. “I’ll figure out how to tell him, too, if he doesn’t know already.”

“Buck’s mark was grayed out back then. We thought…well, we didn’t know what it meant.” Steve said, shaking his head. It was the reason Bucky had dated around so much back then. He’d figured if he just found someone else, his mark would change and he wouldn’t have to be alone. Never could he have guessed what it actually meant, that his soulmate wouldn’t be born for another forty or so years. “And then he lost his arm…”

“Yeah, that part I did know.” She smirked. “Well, I’ll keep an eye on her. Let you know if she says anything you need to hear.”

“She probably thinks my soulmate is dead, too. Everyone else does.”

“Ironic.”

“No kidding.” Steve sighed, gazing longingly through the window.

“We’ll get you through it, Steve. You’ve waited seventy years. Six months is nothing.”

“Yeah. I’m gonna sit with her for a while. I don’t want her to wake up alone.”

He slinked back into the infirmary and sat in the chair beside your bed, watching your steady breaths and listening to the beeping of the heart monitor. Natasha watched him through the window, feeling lighter and heavier at the same time. Nevertheless, she was glad they had talked. At least now, they could be there for each other.

Vol. 2 Here

You wake up slowly. There's no sound or light, so it takes you a moment to fully realize that you’re even awake. You can't see anything, but you can feel that you're slumped in a corner and that the surface beneath you is hard. You’re definitely not in your room. Where the fuck are you? You try to move into a more comfortable position, and that's when you hear the soft jingle of metal clinking against itself and feel a slight tug on your leg. Your hands immediately go to your ankle, and you find a leather cuff around it, with a chain connected to the wall. You're fully awake now, breaths coming out in short, uneven bursts. Don't panic don’t panic, you try to tell yourself, but that mantra seems to only be making things worse. There's so much to panic about. You reassure yourself that you're still dressed. Things could be worse. The thought strikes you as unbelievably bleak.

You take a deep breath and try to focus. What's the last thing you remember? You were leaving work. The sun was setting, but it wasn’t completely dark yet. A car came up behind you? Or maybe a van? Everything's fuzzy and disjointed when you try to remember anything beyond walking out the door of the coffee shop.

A door suddenly opens into the room, closer than you expected. The space is smaller than you thought. Light floods in from the hallway, blinding you painfully and obscuring the figure stood in the doorway. They flick on a light in the room and the pain in your eyes becomes worse. You cover your face with your hands, trying to lessen the glare and help your eyes adjust. You hear a chuckle from the doorway and slowly look up at the man you can now clearly see. 

It takes a moment to recognize him out of context. But only a moment. It's Captain America. Steve Rogers. You know him. Sort of. He comes into the coffee shop sometimes, since it's right by Avengers Tower. Tall whole milk latte with a sprinkle of nutmeg. He's usually with one of the others. He's nice, tips well, friendly. As friendly as he is with anyone he comes across. It's kind of his whole thing. Of course he's nice to everyone, he's Captain America. Big smile, patriotism, and apple pie. All that jazz. What is going on?

At first, your desperate heart thinks that he must be there to rescue you. But then you actually take him in. He's not in his uniform, but dressed casually, in a white t-shirt and jeans, barefoot, his arms crossed over his massive chest, leaning on the door frame. 

And he's smirking at you. 

"Good, you're awake," Steve says, voice calm and even, but there's a hardness in the way he looks at you that has you trying to cower further into the corner as he approaches. There's nowhere to go and it only takes a few strides for him to get to you. Now that you can see your surroundings, you seem to be in some sort of cleared out walk-in closet. There are bare shelves on the walls and two empty hanging rods line the longer sides of the room. He crouches down in front of you. "I wasn't sure how long you'd be out."

You want to scream at him to let you go, ask what the fuck is going on, something but instead what comes out is a pathetic "Please don’t hurt me!" 

His face completely softens and he coos "Oh sweetheart," as he brushes away a tear you hadn’t realized you'd shed. Maybe you got this wrong. Maybe he is here to help you. Maybe it's going to be al– "What else do you think you're for?"

And then, before you've even had time to process what he's said, he slaps you across the face. Hard enough to make you slump back into the wall, uselessly cradling your cheek, tears streaming down your face freely now. You've seen enough clips on TV to know he didn't put his full strength into it and that, more than anything else that's happened so far, has you so terrified you can barely breathe. 

Steve tips his head back and briefly closes his eyes, growling out an elongated "Fuuck." He touches the hot spot where he hit you and gives a satisfied smile when you flinch and whimper. "I was right," he mutters to himself. "This is exactly what I needed." 

You’ve never really felt like an especially small person, but even crouched like this, he dwarfs you. Up close you’re able to really appreciate how gigantic he is and it makes any fight left in you completely disappear. What are you supposed to do, up against a super soldier?

But you also can’t just completely give in yet, so when his hand starts to wander from your cheek down your neck and to your chest, you do your best to bat it away and put as much strength as you can into your “Don’t touch me!” 

When that same hand comes up to roughly grab your chin, you try to avoid him, but you’re shown once more that there’s really nothing you can do. Steve squeezes cruelly as he says “You are going to figure out very quickly that ‘don’t’ is a word you're not allowed to use with me. Along with no, stop, and wait. You’re mine now and I can do whatever I want with you.” 

He lets go of you with a slight push and the back of your head hits the wall. You let out a whimper and he chuckles again. You finally give into your confusion and let out a quiet “I don’t understand.”

“Oh, I know, sweetheart,” he says, and this time you recognize how that word drips with condescension. “This must be so hard for a stupid little thing like you.” He brushes your hair off your forehead with an exaggerated pout, and you don’t get how this could be the same man that always made a point to ask how your day was going whenever he ordered from you.

He stands up so that he’s truly towering over you now. “You have no idea how hard it is to be Captain America,” he says, “to always be expected to do the right thing, to be good and kind and wholesome,” he snarls the last word. “It’s impossible to keep up without losing your goddamn mind. I can’t just be a symbol of all things patriotic  and virtuous all the time. I’m a real person, not a fucking bald eagle. It's becoming a problem.” He looks down at you and smiles the most terrifying smile you’ve ever seen. “That’s where you come in. There are some days when I just need to hurt something. So now, every bad mood, impure thought or filthy desire I have, I’ll just take it out on you. And then I’ll be able to go back into the world and be the Captain America they need me to be.”

You just stare at him, wondering how you’ve never noticed it before. This man is insane. An actual sociopath. What kind of plan is this? This isn’t– no! “You can’t just do that!” You argue. “I’m a person, too! I have a family, a job, a life! People will notice I’m gone. They’ll come looking for me.” 

Steve laughs outright this time, and it’s startling in how cruel it is. There’s really nothing of the man you thought you knew in the one standing in front of you. He crouches down again and gets so close to you that you can feel his breath. “Oh baby, you really are a dumb bitch, aren’t you?” He turns his head slightly to whisper right in your ear, “Everyone already knows what’s happened to you.” He leans back so that he can see the horror on your face. How is that possible? It can’t be.

“You really think I just grabbed you off the street, all by myself? Oh no honey. I went through official channels for this. I requisitioned you. I meant it when I said it was becoming a problem. I’ve been… slipping, lately. And when I slip, it doesn’t just affect me or my team, but the entire country. It affects the fate of the entire free world. So when the president himself came to me and asked what I needed to get my head on straight, I told him what I’ve told you. A pretty little thing to hurt and I gave him your name. And so you were delivered to me today by a fleet of government vehicles. Your family’s been well compensated. They’ll never have to pay taxes again, for a start. And you, I’ve given you an incredible purpose. A chance to serve your country, a chance to help all of humanity. Everytime I’m able to go out and save the world, it’ll be because you’re here, serving me. You should take pride in that.”

You can’t help starting to cry again. This can’t be true. It just can’t be. Your family can’t have– No. Steve’s lying or they didn’t have a choice or– “Why me?” is all you’re able to eke out from the jumble in your head. 

“Because every time I went into that coffee shop and you looked up at me with those big eyes and that sweet smile, all I could think about was how badly you needed to be ruined. Broken. And how I wanted to be the one to do it.” 

You let out a sob at that. You always thought that when it came down to it, fight was your fear response. But now you understand, you’d never been truly afraid before. In the face of real, hopeless terror, all you can do is freeze. There’s nothing else to do. You can’t fight him. You can’t run. No one is looking for you. You’ve never felt so powerless in your life. You’re pathetic and weak. That’s what Steve saw in you, isn’t it? That’s why you’re here.

“Those tears are so pretty, baby. Got me so fucking hard.” He stands up with a slap to his thighs. “Alright, enough talk. I’ve waited too fucking long for this.” He walks to the opposite wall and gestures to you. “Get up, take off your clothes. I’ve been dreaming about what’s under that uniform.” You cry out and huddle further into the wall, but he clucks his tongue at you. “Trust me when I say that you don’t want me to have to tell you twice.”

You nod needlessly and get up, your legs shaking underneath you. You throw off your shirt just to get it over with and push down your pants until they get stuck on the chain. You pause at your underwear, but a growled out, “Keep going,” has you robotically removing them as well. 

And then you notice the flowers. They’re not wrapped fancy or anything—just a slightly crinkled paper sleeve, a little uneven like he picked them up last minute. But they’re beautiful. Soft colors. Fresh. Real.

“Buck?” you blink. “What—”

He shrugs immediately, like he regrets it already. “I brought you home flowers.”

“…You did.”

“Yeah.”

Silence stretches for half a second too long. He shifts his weight. Rubs the back of his neck. Avoids your eyes. “For the hell of it,” he adds quickly. “No reason.”

You sit up a little straighter, a smile already creeping in. “No reason?”

“Nope.”

“None at all?”

He walks over, a little stiff, and holds them out to you like they might explode if he doesn’t get rid of them fast enough. “Does it matter?” he mutters. “They were there. You like…pretty things. And I figured these would be pretty for you.”

You take them carefully, like they’re something fragile. “I do like pretty things.”

“Yeah, well—” he exhales sharply, clearly wanting to abort the mission, “we’ve been together three years, figured I could—y’know—do something normal for once.”

Your heart does a soft, quiet flip. “Bucky,” you say gently, looking up at him, “this is really sweet.”

He huffs, but there’s no bite to it. “Don’t make it a big deal.”

You eyes become wide in mischief. “I’m absolutely making it a big deal.”

“You better not—”

“I’m framing the receipt. I’m telling everyone. I’m—” you start giggling.

He groans, dragging a hand down his face, but there’s a hint of a smile tugging at his mouth now. “You’re impossible.”

“And you brought me flowers,” you counter softly.

That stops him. Just for a second. His eyes flick back to you, something warmer settling there—something quieter, deeper than the awkward deflection from before. “Yeah,” he says, a little rougher now. “Well.”

You tilt your head. “Well?”

He hesitates again. Then, quieter— “They’re pretty.”

You grin. “They are.”

Another beat.

“And so are you,” he adds, almost under his breath, like it slipped out before he could stop it.

Your expression softens instantly. “…Buck.”

He looks like he might combust. “Don’t,” he warns, pointing a finger at you, already backing up a step. “Don’t make a thing outta that either.”

“I’m absolutely making a thing out of that.”

You set the flowers aside on the coffee table and stand, crossing the small space between you before he can retreat any further. Your hands find his jacket, tugging him closer.

“You brought me flowers,” you murmur. “And called me pretty. And tried to pretend it didn’t mean anything.”

“It didn’t—”

“It did.”

He exhales, shoulders dropping just a little, like he’s giving up the fight. “…Maybe,” he admits.

You lean up, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “I love you too,” you whisper.

He freezes for half a second—then melts, just slightly, leaning into you in that quiet way he does when he forgets to guard himself. “Yeah,” he murmurs, voice low. “I know.”

You duck into the dimly lit corridor of the Hydra transport hub, pace steady, eyes flicking once to confirm no patrol is coming your way before slipping into a communications room.

The door closes behind you without a sound. You take the terminal, pulling up truck routing and internal comms in one smooth motion. Your fingers move quickly, efficiently—

Redirecting the trucks. Not randomly. Precisely. Straight into a waiting military presence.

Then you shift to the comms feed, inserting a delay. Small. Controlled. Just enough to disrupt timing. Not enough to be obvious.

You wipe the access clean and stand, already moving. Back into the hallway. Posture relaxed. Measured. Like you belong.

By the time you reach the main room, the noise has already started. Inside the command center, voices overlap—sharp, rising, uncertain.

A tech pushes to his feet. “We have military engagement.”

Your commander turns toward him, expectant, saying nothing—waiting for the system to correct itself.

It does not.

Over the comms, two voices collide—contradicting orders, stepping over each other until the structure breaks completely.

The room shifts from controlled to chaotic in seconds.

Your commander studies the screens, tension pulling tight across his shoulders. “Status deviation detected.”

He turns to you. “Explain.”

You do not look at him. Your eyes stay on the data as it unravels exactly the way you designed it to. “External interference.”

He turns back to the screens, jaw tightening. “We had control of this operation.”

Under your breath—quiet, but not hidden—“You lost it.”

His posture stiffens. He watches the collapse a moment longer before speaking again. “There seems to be a leak.”

He turns to you again. “Find it.”

You nod once. No hesitation. Then turn and walk out of the command room as the comms fall silent—

Every Hydra agent either down or in custody.

Natasha finds Steve in the main living area, stretched out on the couch with a book from his list, one arm draped along the back, posture easy in a way it has not been in weeks.

He does not look up when she enters.

She takes the seat opposite him, settling in without a word. For a moment, she just watches him. “…You’re different.”

Steve’s eyes lift from the page, meeting hers directly. No hesitation. “Sam talked some sense into me.”

Then his attention drops right back to the book. Too smooth.

Natasha tilts her head slightly, studying him. “That all it is?”

He turns a page. Shrugs. “It’s working.”

Like that answers anything.

She leans back into the chair, one arm resting along the side, gaze still fixed on him—watching for a tell, a shift, something out of place.

There is nothing obvious. That, more than anything, is the problem.

Her tablet buzzes softly in her hand. She glances down at it, scanning the notification, then looks back at him one more time.

Long enough to make it clear she is not convinced. Then she stands. “Don’t get too comfortable.”

She turns and heads out to follow the lead. A beat passes after she is gone.

Then Steve’s eyes lift from the page, tracking the doorway she disappeared through.

He watches it for a moment. Then lowers his gaze again. Turns the page.

The team circles outside a Hydra research facility, spread across positions as Tony feeds them updates in real time.

“Alright, this is your stop,” Tony says over comms, already juggling drones and security feeds. “Next component’s inside. Let’s not let them plug it in.”

“Wings, go right—more drones incoming,” he adds mid-flight, veering off to intercept a cluster while simultaneously killing the alarm system.

“On it,” Sam replies, banking hard as Thor shifts above him, hammer already in motion.

Thor holds the roof again, clearing the initial guards before turning outward, joining Tony and Sam in the air. Lightning cracks across the sky as another wave of drones drops.

On the ground, Bucky, Steve, and Natasha move. The door goes down clean.

They are inside before Hydra realizes they are there. Corridors. Corners. Controlled, efficient. Agents drop before they can react.

Tony’s voice stays constant in their ears. “Two ahead—no, three—left side—Nat, you’re good—keep moving.”

They do. The server room comes up fast.

Natasha is already at the terminal, plugging in. “I’m in.”

“About time,” Tony mutters, diving through another drone. “Pulling everything—stand by—”

Data floods across his screens.

“Got it. And… deleting their homework.”

Inside, Steve and Bucky peel off without needing to say it, moving into the adjacent room.

They find the physical component quickly. No hesitation. Destroyed in seconds.

“Piece is gone,” Bucky confirms.

“Copy that,” Tony replies. “Then let’s wrap this up before—”

“Too late,” Sam cuts in. “Backup inbound. A lot of it.”

Hydra floods the perimeter.

Thor drops from above, hitting the ground hard and scattering the first wave.

The trio exits into the chaos, splitting instinctively—angles covered, lines held.

Steve and Bucky take the front. Natasha controls the side corridor, keeping pressure off the exit.

Tony tracks everything at once. Then—“There you are.”

His tone sharpens. “Cap—Copycat incoming.”

Steve is already moving. He feels her before he sees her.

The shield leaves his hand, passing cleanly to Bucky as he steps forward to meet her. They collide. Fast. Tight. A few exchanged blows—real enough to sell it.

Then she shifts—

Pulls him around the corner. Out of sight.

Tony’s voice spikes. “Cap, you just dropped off my—hold on—”

The feed stutters. In the narrow space, the fight stops. Clean. Immediate.

She hands him the folded paper. “Next piece.”

Steve takes it without question. A small nod.

She turns and disappears before the moment can stretch.

Tony’s voice crashes back in, already irritated. “—and she’s gone. Again. I swear she’s—”

Steve exhales once. Centers. Then steps back into the fight. Like nothing happened.

Bucky sees it. Every second of it. The timing. The lack of urgency. The way Steve just… returns.

Irritation sparks sharp in his chest. But there is no time to push it. The fight presses on.

Hydra gets pushed back. Lines break.

The team regroups and moves for extraction.

No one follows them out.

By the time they reach the quinjet, the fight is already behind them. Inside, the noise dies down quickly.

Sam and Thor trade a quick look—another clean op.

Natasha checks her tablet, already reviewing what they pulled.

Tony is still muttering about her vanishing act.

Bucky does not sit. His eyes stay on Steve.

Steve stands near the cockpit, one hand braced lightly against the frame, gaze fixed out into the distance.

Like none of it touched him. Like nothing happened at all.

The team moves through the debrief quickly—status, confirmation, next steps.

No one lingers on it. It was a clean mission. Another win.

Bucky says nothing. He does not sit back. Does not relax. His focus stays locked on Steve. And when Steve repeats it—

“She slipped.”

That does it. Bucky is on his feet before the words finish settling. His chair scrapes sharply against the floor as he steps forward and drives a finger into Steve’s chest. “You’re not missing her.”

The room goes still.

Tony stops mid-motion over the screens.

Sam freezes halfway through sitting back.

Natasha’s eyes snap between them.

Thor straightens where he stands.

Bucky’s voice drops, tighter now. “You’re letting her go.”

Steve’s jaw clenches. “Really?”

Bucky shakes his head once. "You don’t hesitate like that.”

Steve looks away, the movement small but deliberate. “We’ve already established she compromised me.”

Then his eyes cut back to Bucky. “Drop it.”

Bucky sets his jaw. Does not move. “She’s not just getting away anymore.”

The words hang there.

Heavy.

Steve turns, putting his back to him, gaze fixed out the window again.

Every wall up. Nothing getting through.

Behind him, Bucky narrows his eyes—

Not backing down. Just waiting.

Two days later, the quinjet hovers low over a sprawling compound carved into the ground, most of it buried beneath reinforced concrete and steel.

From above, it looks contained. It is not.

Heat signatures crawl across Tony’s display—perimeter patrols, interior movement, layered defenses stacked on top of each other.

Hydra is ready for a fight.

“Yeah… that’s not discreet at all,” Tony mutters, already dropping altitude. “We found the nest.”

He launches from the quinjet before it fully settles, Sam and Thor peeling off behind him to take the sky.

“Listen up,” Tony cuts in over comms, tone sharper now. “This is it. Main base of operations. She’s in there, along with everything she’s been building.”

He angles higher, scanning the perimeter as new signatures light up.

“Search and destroy. We are not leaving anything standing.”

“Copy that,” Sam replies, already circling wide.

Thor grips his hammer tighter, eyes fixed on the structure below.

Inside the quinjet, the ramp begins to lower with a hydraulic hiss.

Natasha stands near the edge, watching the compound—but her eyes flick, just once, to Steve.

He stands still. Too still. Calm in a way that does not match the target in front of them. She files it away.

Bucky does not look at him at all. His focus stays forward, jaw tight, tension sitting just under the surface.

The ramp hits the ground.

“Ground team, stand by,” Tony’s voice comes through. “Let me thin this out first.”

Natasha steps forward without waiting. Bucky follows. Steve moves with them.

Together, they step off the quinjet—and into it.

The battle is already in motion when it breaks wide open.

Thor has punched a hole straight through the structure, tearing into the facility and driving Hydra forces out into the open.

They pour out like ants. Too many.

Above, Sam and Tony control the airspace, diving in bursts—clearing drones, breaking formations, pulling pressure off the ground team.

Tony’s voice cuts constantly through comms, rapid and precise.

“Watch yourselves—some of those ground units are carrying energy weapons. I don’t like those.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Sam mutters as he banks hard, forcing a drone into a cluster of soldiers below.

On the ground, Natasha, Steve, and Bucky are spread across the field, each holding their own front, cutting through waves as they come.

Not together—But in control. For now.

Then something shifts.

Sam sees it first. “Copycat on the field—Cap, six o’clock.”

Steve turns—

Too late. She is already there. The first punch comes fast.

He meets it. They fall into it instantly—tight, controlled, no wasted movement.

They know each other now. Every adjustment. Every angle.

The fight narrows around them even as chaos rages everywhere else. Then—

Over Steve’s shoulder—

She sees it. A Hydra agent. Energy weapon raised. Locked on Steve’s back. No time.

She grabs his shoulder—

And flips them. The shot fires. It hits her.

Steve’s eyes widen—just for a fraction of a second—Then he moves.

His arm hooks through hers, using the momentum she created, spinning through the motion—And driving straight into the shooter. The man goes down hard.

She resets immediately. No hesitation.

Now they are back to back. And the rhythm changes. They move together like it was always meant to be that way—

Shield passing between them without thought, strikes overlapping, space shared without collision.

Natasha sees it. Does not even break stride as she drops another soldier. “Of course.”

Across the field, Bucky’s jaw tightens. He does not look at them again. Just hits harder. Faster. Funneling everything into the fight.

Beside Steve, she snaps the neck of the next agent without pause. The shield arcs back into Steve’s hand.

“Try not to kill them,” he calls over his shoulder as he drops another.

“Habit,” she shoots back, already moving.

Behind them, the building erupts—

A chain of explosions tearing through what remains of the structure.

“Alright, that’s our cue!” Tony cuts in. “Fall back—now. Quinjet’s hot.”

He is already moving, pulling the jet into position.

The team breaks clean, fighting their way toward extraction.

Natasha clears a path.

Thor drives the remaining forces back.

Sam sweeps low, forcing Hydra to scatter.

Steve and her hold the rear. Together.

They move backward through the chaos, covering the team’s exit without needing to call it.

The quinjet lifts as they close the distance.

“Move, move—” Tony snaps.

They jump—

Catch the ramp—

Roll inside as it seals behind them. The noise cuts off.

Silence—Except for the engines.

Steve pushes up first, turning back toward her. He offers a hand. “Shoulder?”

She takes it, pulling herself up without strain. “Healed.”

That is when the room stills. Everyone finally looks.

Tony turns fully, staring between them—then at Steve.

“Spangles…you sneaky little shit.”

She smirks, glancing toward him. “What?”

A tilt of her head. “You thought you had the upper hand on your own?”

No one answers.

The team shares a look—

Quiet. Loaded.

Steve moves to the back without a word.

She follows.

They sit. Close enough to matter. Far enough not to explain it.

No one says anything.

Yet.

Part Thirteen

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You smirk and try to sit up. He shoves you back down; so easily it makes your heart somersault. The things he could do to you and what could you do to stop him?

"Hmm." He lifts a brow as he runs his tongue over his lower lip. "I'm an ideas man..." He slips his fingers under yours and swipes around your clit. "And I got a sweet tooth." He winks as he snickers. "So how about you give me another taste."

You nod and press down on his fingers. He tuts and shakes you off. You recoil, legs splayed unabashedly, and he smacks your pussy. You gasp, not just at the gesture but the tingle it sets off.

"You gotta ease me in," he pinches your thigh as he stands. "I just woke up so you gotta help me back to earth, sweetheart."

He grabs your wrist and tugs you up. You let him, standing on wobbly legs as you fight the urge to leap at him. You step up and brush your other hand up his stomach. He clenches and growls. He catches that hand too.

"You can't fucking help yourself, baby face. If every woman was like you... I'd be done for, huh?" He angles you around so his back is facing the chair. "Don't worry, I got a good seat for ya."

He sits and releases your wrists, his hands grazing yours. He shifts up onto the lounger, lifting his legs onto the end as he spreads his height out. His arousal flops onto his stomach and drags his hands across his chest and slaps it.

"Climb aboard, sweetheart." He drops one arm to lower the back of the chair until it's flat. "The SS Sex Stache is now taking passengers."

You make a face and giggle. He grins as his eyes scour you. You squirm and shimmy as the situation smacks you in the face. You're really here. You're really doing this. Again.

"Don't get cold cheeks on me, baby. You play with a man like that..." He lets the statement hang.

You shake off the nerves and hum. You step up and touch his shoulder. You feel his skin prickle and his muscle flex. You feel along his bicep, watching your fingers and the vein around his muscle.

"Pretty damn hot, huh?" He taunts.

You nod and knead his muscle, bringing your other hand to his chest. You lean on him and he taps your thigh. "Turn around, sweetheart."

Your lashes flutter and your smile blooms. You tickle his arm as you draw away and turn. You angle yourself over him as he guides you with a hand on your hip. He helps you straddle above his head as he adjusts himself on the lounger.

"I'm a nice guy. I'll share my breakfast," he kisses your thigh and his nose traces up your skin. "You can get a taste too."

He pulls you down until your lips are against his. You squeak at how cool his tongue is along your folds. Your clench then release, settling onto him as his mustache tickles further back.

You brace his stomach, feeling the thicker muscle there and the subtle softness woven in. He drags his tongue up and down then pauses. He feels along your side and dips his hand behind your shoulder. He pushes until you fold over him.

His dick twitches as you hover over it. You see him shiver as your breath glosses over him. You bring your hand along his firm thigh and wrap your fingers around his length. You squeeze and he groans into you cunt. You wriggle and press down onto him, smothering him as he hums in delight.

His hand moves to your lower back and spreads across it. His other reaches to stroke behind your neck as he urges you on. You brush your lips along his tip and feel him tense.

You're slow, more methodic than the day before. You think of the videos you watched on your phone and drag poke out your tongue. You run the tip down his length and stop right at his balls. He groans louder than before.

It's strange. The thought is a bit icky and yet the act has you rolling your hips over him. His hand slips further down to grope your ass as his tongue toys with you.

You swipe your tongue around his balls, one at a time. He pushes his heels down, jerking at each swirl. You giggle at how he reacts. To you.

You continue to tease him, flicking your tongue back and forth, then scaling up to his tip. He grips your neck as you press your lips around him and he urges you down.

You slide him into your mouth, just until he touches your throat. You pull back and he squeezes your neck. He tilts his lips from below you.

You clasp onto his thigh as you bob up and down slowly. His voice drones into your cunt as he laps at you. You quiver and rub against his mouth. He taps your ass in warning and pushes his face up into you. He's still in charge.

You delve back down and as he meets your throat, you don't relents. You take a breath through your nose and stretch out your neck. You ease him past your reflex though it hurts just a little. He growls and curls his fingers into your soft cheek.

You raise your self, little by little, and hold his tip between your lips. You descend once more, just as deliberately, and he shakes. You pull back again and he pushes you down impatiently.

He parts from your cunt for a second and murmurs, "faster."

You smile and plunge down again. The deep roll of his voice enlivens you. You pick up your motion, rocking your body in time with your head as you ride him as much as you play with him.

You grip him with your hand, pumping him in time with your mouth. He gulps and licks hungrily at you as your guts twist up. You feel it. That hot, vibrant pulse.

Almost there. Almost...

You whine around him as you cum, spasming against his face as you smear your delight all over his mouth and chin. He chuckles as he guides you through your orgasm. You quake and nearly collapse onto him completely.

He taps your hip.

"Stop." He rasps. "Stop, baby. You're gonna have a mouthful if you don't."

You slowly drag your lips off him, popping them off his tip. He growls and slaps your ass again. You sit up, resting lightly on his chest as you look over your shoulder at him. His hair is a mess, his lips are shiny, and his cheeks are flushed.

He kneads your ass with both hands and bounces it. He snarls.

"You want-- no, you need me inside you." He grins. "So go on and put me in that tight little snatch."

Your lips part as you stare at him. Your skin burns and your blood courses. You shakily mop the sweat off your forehead.

"Don't look at me all innocent. Just like this. You get on my dick." He pinches your ass. "I don't take kindly to being left hanging. Or throbbing in this case."

You turn back and look at his dick. It lifts slight and falls back down. Your body ripples in excitement and something else. A feeling you can barely understand let alone describe. This is a moment that can never be undone. A first that will, for better or worse, be etched into your mind and body.

You lift your knees over his shoulders and move down his body. You straddle above his pelvis as he runs his fingers up and down your back. You grab him and rub his tip along your cunt.

The sun glares in your eyes and sweat slakes down your back and chest. You glance up at the sky as everything comes clearer. As you put his tip against your entrance, you can hear every bird, every blade of grass, and smell every flower.

You exhale and look down as you push his tip inside you. You squeak as he grips your hips and grunts. You stop and squeeze him. He growls.