Steve Rogers understands the eidetic memory thing. He gets why it would be packaged in with the serum's Human Enhancement for Dummies bundle. Part of a packaged deal: 'buy now, and you'll get a free shield!' Even if Erskine hadn't exactly read off the "Terms and Service" portion of receiving an experimental, life-threatening, turn-my-boy-into-a-man super serum line by line, Steve gets the gist. Really, he does.

An eidetic memory allows him to recall floor plans of enemy territory without hesitating. All battle plans are stored like some retro filing cabinet for instant retrieval. All of the strengths and every single weakness of his teams - both the one before and the one after the ice - are close at hand.

So he can admit that it's a useful skill to have. Very useful.

That doesn't mean he has to appreciate it every second of every day. Despite what a lot of people tend to think, Captain America is only human. There are times where he'll wake up in the middle of the night, sounds of thunderous bombs and shrill screams drowning out all else, sucking him right back into an unforgiving warzone. Random moments where a scent that hints at sewage can throw him full force into a place where he can no longer tell the difference between the past and the present as his lungs fill with the rank stench of waste and death. He can never have a simple flashback; everything always playing back in minute detail. Every taste, every sound, every smell, every touch, every sight, every time without fail. They're all there, stored into his brain like a computer's RAM.

In moments like those, he tries to think of Tony. Like the stars, Tony can always drive away the darkness in Steve's mind, keeping it at bay when he worries it might absolutely consume him. Because, above all else, he remembers Tony. Wants to remember Tony. His beacon within a fogged mind.

Usually he'll trudge up some memory - just one will do the trick - and he'll do his best to give all his focus to that singular moment in hopes of breaking back to the rippling surface of the present.

Waking up in bed alone was a somewhat odd occurrence to Steve. There were still plenty of nights where the throws of genius kept a philanthropic engineer holed up in his lab for days. Nights where one of them remained in a sterile hospital room on a tough bed. But during those times where Tony crawled onto their overly plush mattress with its massive number of blankets too absurd to even try arguing about, nights where he curled carefully and deliberately into Steve's arms, breaths coming out in soft huffs of warm air against Steve's neck, slowing until heartbeats matched. Well, during those times, Steve rarely woke up sans Tony. On most days, Steve was the first to get up, something that came as a shock to no one when Steve's morning jogs and Tony's late-night lab binges were factored in.

And Steve liked waking up first. He enjoyed pulling Tony back to him so he could run his fingers through that mess of curls no one else was quite acquainted with. Running the strands between the pads of his thumb and pointer finger in a lazy exhalation, wondering if there might be some way to catch every single strand in a painting if he just tried hard enough. There was something in the way the rise of the sun gleamed through their window, giving the edges of Tony's molasses-tinted hair a touch of soft amber. The amber that matched the ever-changing hues held within in his irises.

Steve enjoyed their late-morning routine. Running deft fingers over delicate eyelashes always brought a twitch to a cheek. A kiss to an olive eyelid lead to a soft fluttering against Steve's chin, tickling it gently. A kiss to the nose made it scrunch up, bringing the forehead with it, rivets and canyons forming in Tony's skin. The kiss to the lips was always what did the trick and tended to set the tone for the rest of the day. Either it led to them staying in bed an extra hour or so, or it was a mere goodbye as they got ready for a day that couldn't be delayed no matter how much want was put into the air.

Waking up without Tony didn't ever bring with it good news. Not always bad news, per se, but the man, when finally convinced to get some rest, was long gone and hard woken. So whenever Tony was up before Steve, it meant that something had found its way into his mind, niggling until it could be ignored no longer.

Slipping from flannel sheets, Steve padded across the carpet to where he hoped Tony might be. There were only a number of places the other man would run off to in times like these, and it wasn't difficult to figure out which bunker he'd hunkered himself into. Steve was on the mark with this one. He found the smaller man not much farther from their bed, his hands cupped around a steaming mug as he sat atop the counter next to a coffee machine with a full carafe, staring out the window.

Six AM brought little sunrise, but its beauty dwindled in the shadows to one none. Behind the horizon of skyscrapers and towers, the sun still breathed some blue into the empty white canvass of sky, but the hints of evening still splattered amongst the backdrop. The New York City skyline was darkened into a simple silhouette at the arrival of something more, the night's lights having been switched off long ago. There was a hint of chill to the air, told by the paleness of the morning light, and Steve shivered at the sight of it.

Tony looked over as Steve's entrance caught at the corner of his eye. A sleepy smile carved into his lips as he set the mug down and opened his arms and thighs in invitation. Without hesitance, Steve erased the distance, placing himself into the warm cocoon that was Tony Stark. Immediately, heat pooled into his chest, pumping into his legs and arms, chasing the ice away with a fervent determination. Pulling Tony tighter and burrowing his head into the man's chest, Steve felt Tony return the needy grip, arms grasping his neck, legs firmly wrapping themselves around his waist. Tony rested his head against the top of Steve's, letting out a sigh as Steve kissed the edge of the arc reactor. A hand came up to card through Steve's hair, scratching at the base of his skull in the kind of way that never failed to send tingles of pleasure racing through his mind.

At times like this Steve found it best to let Tony come to him, and, after a few moments of contented silence, he did.

"I found it," Tony murmured, voice lazy and still filled with the remnants of sleep, but there was an edge to it. An edge that bode towards wakefulness. "I didn't mean to, but I did."

Steve hummed in reply, the feeling of polyester padding his forehead and cheek. He wasn't surprised.

Drifting away slightly, Steve lifted his head ever so slightly and buried his nose into the crook of Tony's neck, earning himself a soft chuckle, Tony's fingers continuing their lethargic rhythm at his skull. Right now, Tony smelled like fresh dirt and herbs with a slight hint of peppermint shampoo and motor oil. It was a smell that Steve wished he could bottle up and take with him wherever he went because it was Tony. Solely Tony.

"When were you gonna do it?" Tony asked, voice wary but warm.

Steve smiled, opening his mouth and darting his tongue out. Tony tasted different than he smelled, but it was an addicting liquor nonetheless. Steve licked a stripe up to Tony's ear, smirking when the man jumped, before he leant back.

"When the time is perfect," he whispered. And Tony came so easily into his arms as he methodically urged them away from the counter and back towards their bedroom that Steve wondered if he already had his answer.

These moments of memory are Steve's only Godsend. The one thing that never fails to provide aid to any ailment.

So Steve doesn't quite know what to do when this mechanism fails.

There's a rhythmic pounding on the inside of his head. Bump… bump… bump. His brain throbs against his skull with the beat of his heart and the thrumming of engines. One hand is at his hair, pulling harshly at the strands as if that will make this mess of a headache go away; the other settles itself on the cool surface of the metal seat next to him, finger tap-tap-tapping in time with the throbbing. The urge to lie himself down and rest his head on the cool surface is overwhelming at best, so he removes his hand to grip tightly at the shield resting against his shins.

A flood of words bounce around Steve a mile a minute, loud and upset, calm and controlled. Steve can't listen to them. He tries, has been trying, but every time he grasps on to one of those words, he's slung back into the recesses of his memory like a pendulum doomed to sway for eternity.

Because, the truth is, he can't get Natasha's striking words out of his mind. The images they've caused, stark in his mind ever since she'd lashed out at him. Everything keeps replaying for him like a broken reel in the movie theatres he would sneak into as a kid.

Bump… bump… bump.

He'd made the right call. He had. There's no question about that, but it doesn't make the consequences any easier to deal with. Doesn't prevent the stomach-clenching guilt or stop the words and images from pausing, rewinding, replaying, pausing, rewinding, replaying. A constant loop in his head.

The team had known it was a dangerous mission going in. This wasn't the usual flare of Doom or the lacking attempts of Justin Hammer that usually plagued New York like the Black Death had in Medieval times. At this point, those were twenty-minute inconveniences and hour-long clean ups. This one was a mission many of the Avengers knew was coming, had known was coming for a while, but even with their preparations, they hadn't been any more successful. Steve knows that they could have known exactly what they were going up against, and the same events would still have played out, like a predestined timeline.

All these months together must've fooled them all into having misplaced optimism.

Bump… bump… bump.

Steve's stomach jolted with the turbulence of the quinjet, head lolling and bouncing against the walls with every shake. He could feel the chill now, seeping through the cracks and crevices of the jet, swirling in on Jack Frost's command and nipping their way beneath his skin. Steve practically felt the little ice shards burrowing beneath his skin and crawling around, making him want to scratch and itch until they were all eradicated. The quinjet was built for a lot of things, but comfort was not anywhere near the top of that list.

Not for the first time since being sent off on this mission, Steve wished Tony were here sitting next to him, distracting him with seemingly random stories and inside jokes while simultaneously irritating their fellow Avengers with snide remarks, sarcastic commentary, and increasingly graphic forms of P.D.A. that Steve would pretend to disapprove of and chide Tony on. At this point, though, neither of them bought Steve's act.

The Iron Man suit, while made of a gold-titanium alloy, thank you very much, was actually not so cold despite what one would expect. This odd warmth had started in their early days of missions and newly teammates when Tony quickly realized - after accidental brushes then an increase in their seat-mate status - Steve's dislike of the chill that normally radiated from metallic things. One day, whilst sitting next to Tony in the Iron Man suit, Steve had realized that that normal sting of cold had disappeared. It was something Tony had shrugged off as just another upgrade in the line of many, but Steve had found himself grateful nonetheless for the sudden addition of warmth.

"E.T.A.?" Steve called out, voice clear despite his tightly gritted teeth. The hand around his frostbitten shield quaked in a vicious tremor, but he clenched his fist before anyone could catch it.

Three AM. Tony had been tinkering with some upgrades on the Avengers' suits and weaponry and Steve, long ago having given up on trying to force Tony to do normal, healthy human things like sleep in a timely manner, had been reading some book on the old couch he'd claimed as his own down in the privacy of Tony's workshop (if you can't beat 'em, and you love 'em, join 'em). That's when the last of the damning evidence had pinged up on one of Tony's holograms, taking long months of searching and data-collecting and warping it to ground zero. The trace signature was strong. Stronger than any of the ones they'd been able to catch before, blazing orange like a setting sun atop a blue 3-D imaging of a world map. Faint, while lines connected black specs together, like burned ashes from the blazing flame.

And that time, it had stayed. A bright bulb in the center of North Ice, Greenland that had Steve's sweat running an unwelcome cold.

It was supposedly home to a British Research Station with one of the lowest populations in the world due to its inhospitable environment. This, as Tony had pointed out, made for an excellent destination villaining. Steve, Bucky, Natasha, Clint, Vision, and Thor had been the team that Steve had eventually settled on so Tony, Bruce, and Stark Industries' newest and brightest, Mr. Parker, could stay in the tower and continue their tracking, researching, and relaying of important information. Tony had walked Steve up to the quinjet, wrapped his arms around the taller man's neck and given him a lingering kiss goodbye. Their tongues intertwined, playing a familiar domestic dance, attempting to sear memory into Steve's flesh and blood. But his lips had already numbed from the cold. A softly whispered, "be safe," had followed him into the jet, and Steve would have done anything to have kept those comforts with him.

"Give me about twenty more minutes, Cap," Clint called from the cockpit, and Steve felt himself nodding, eyes still staring blankly in front of him.

Sounds of soft conversation drafted through the air, and Steve tightly grasped onto it, listening to Thor's and Visions argument on the reality of magic, honing in on Natasha's and Bucky's soft murmurs of memories and future vacation plans, eavesdropping on Clint's one-sided conversation with himself from things ranging from archery techniques to complimenting his own flying skills under his breath.

As they drew closer to the landing site, the quinjet gave a violent shake that had everyone snapping at Clint and Natasha moving from Bucky's side to the co-pilot's seat to reign control. Logically, Steve knew that landing was always the roughest part of flying. The plane was slowing down, meaning the air currents holding them up weren't as strong anymore. Below the clouds, the air was less smooth. There was more resistance as the landing gears came out. He knew the logic; Tony had explained it long ago. It just didn't stop his brain from forming a layer of ice over the quinjet's wings and gears. From stopping the glide of wind and plunging them far beneath the icy crust of the Earth. From letting the water seep into all those nasty crevices, slowly submerging him until he took his last burning gulp of frozen air and went under.

And then the quinjet touched down, breaking him from his stupor. It wasn't a smooth or graceful landing; in fact, the amount of ice reduced their traction so much that they skidded uncontrollably more than anything that could come close to being called a landing. But that was something Steve could deal with. At the touch of wheel to ground, his mind cleared like windshield wipers to a wet window.

The jet met a wall of ice, and Steve heard a slight crunch that he hoped was the ice and not some part of the quinjet. Clint turned back to them, grinning like a maniac as he pounced from his seat and dusted his hands against one another. Natasha glared after him while the others overcame their own shock and unfroze to begin gathering their supplies and start their march into the arctic temperatures outside.

In Steve's opinion, this is what a real wasteland looked like. There was nothing but white as far as the eye could see. Rolling hills of ice dipped and curved over the surface, meeting the sky in an almost nonexistent horizon. The wind blew around in an unforgiving shove, knocking snow and chunks of ice from their perches, hurtling microscopic shards into their cheeks and noses. It was disorienting and confusing, presenting endless circles of mirroring white.

If you're not careful, you could get lost in a place like this, Steve thought to himself as he started digging through his pockets in search of the tracker that Tony had equipped him with. Rather than looking up, Steve kept his eyes on the small screen as he began moving with the forced confidence he was used to projecting, punching in the coordinates for the quinjet in preparation for their way back.

The group followed, and Steve couldn't be sure if the conversations had simply died in the jet or if the wind and ice were soaking it up before the vibrations could reach his ears.

He didn't like the silence.

Steve watched his breath puff out in front of him, staring as the particles dispersed into the empty land. He shivered but cracked a small smile nonetheless. Tony would've been violently shaking at this point, even inside a protective layer of technological genius; the man had an aversion to cold that could give even Steve a run for his money. Loud complaints filled his head as he remembered the business trip Tony had taken him on a few months ago.

Thirty-five degrees. It had been thirty-five degrees Fahrenheit outside when he and Tony landed in arrival for one of S.I.'s Tony-Stark-required (as Tony called them) business ventures and Tony had plastered himself against Steve, shoving his way under the layers of Steve's coats and jackets on more than one occasion as his teeth chattered and he grumbled constant complaints into Steve's neck. For his part, Steve had simply wrapped his arms tightly around the man burrowing into his chest and pulled him closer, humming in placating agreement against Tony's temple.

The cold wasn't ever as bad when Tony was around.

It was this realization, the easing of his greatest haunting, that Steve knew Tony was it for him. That evening, the night before they left homeward bound, Steve had stayed up, hotel blankets a mess around his lap and a tangle around his legs, Tony's head resting against his thigh, and used the light of the arc reactor to begin his designs.

Time always moved slower in these frozen types of places, getting suspended in the sub-zero air and trapped within fissures cracked into the glaciers. The sun moved at an unearthly gradual pace, seemingly stagnant above the sky as it refused to fully dip towards one horizon or the other. The only rest it got was sagging beneath stratocumulus clouds that were too close to touch for Steve's comfort.

Everything in this place, from the jagged rocks that were probably just outcroppings of massive chunks of ice to the crunching of barely there snow atop ice sheened ground, was frozen.

It took a total of two long hours and twenty-seven minutes to reach the entrance emblazoned on the GPS, and once they arrived, it didn't take long for the group to find their entrance to the secret, below-ground fortress.

Crouching down, Steve stared into the transparent layers of ice that covered the circular door into the ground by what must've been about a foot. The metal warped and dimmed beneath the blue tint and scarred layers of frozen water. It sent another shiver down his spine. They'd have to go down one hell of a rabbit hole; purposefully submerge themselves beneath the ice. There was no real surprise, here. How else was a major facility supposed to keep itself out of the limelight? That specific thought just hadn't occurred to him between the tower and here.

Together, he and Bucky began denting the ice, their grunts the only noise reaching Steve's ears besides the hollow wind. A scalding repulsor blast or two might've been nice at this point, Steve mused. When the clang of his shield against the metal of the entrance finally resonated around them, he stepped back, wiping an arm over his brow.

"Alright," Steve began, turning to face the huddled group. Despite their multi-lined jackets - fresh from the Stark line - shivers still wracked the bodies of his team. Squinting at them against the blinding glare of sun, Steve raised a hand to his forehead to block some of the light and continued speaking, voice strong and clear. "We don't know what's down there, but we all are aware that it's powerful. Unfortunately, Iron Man, Hulk, and Mr. Parker were unable to determine how powerful given that they couldn't be here for accurate readings. Because we don't know exactly what we're dealing with, be prepared for the worst. They were, however, able to hack into the organization's systems enough to get a read on building layout.

"I want us to split up into groups of three so we can cover more ground. The goal of this mission is solely to gather as much information as we can since there is no coming back later. Anything above that is not top priority, so don't get distracted." He paused and made eye contact with each member personally, waiting for their nod of confirmation and ignoring the eye rolls from Clint and Bucky. "Good. Remember, we do not want to engage in combat; the people we come across will most likely be civilian workers, making them easy to overcome and move on from. If something unexpected happens, use your coms, people. I don't want any surprises when we meet back here in five hours.

"Thor, you're with me. We're going down to the lowest level; I'm going to need you to keep an eye on whatever's down there and relay power readings while I get you as close to this thing as I can. Black Widow and Winter Soldier, you two are in charge of gathering information on the upper levels and sending them back to the tower. Hawkeye and Vision, I need the two of you watch mine and Thor's back once we reach the lower level. Clear us a path and keep people from following us.

"Any questions?" he finished, once again scanning over his small crowd.

When everyone had shaken their head – or, in Clint's case, stood rigid and saluted him with a quietly shouted, "sir, no sir!" – Steve nodded to Bucky, who was doing a terrible job at hiding his smirk. The two crouched over the ice, leaning in to grip the circular latch and twist. Even with their combined super-strength, the ice in the gears made it difficult and loud work. Finally tossing it open, Steve stared down at fluorescently-lit, white tile floors. Sending up a silent prayer that no one would hear them, he climbed in, landing on the floor in a crouch.

It seemed the room was nothing more than some sort of waiting area. The walls and ceiling were painted just as stark a white as the floors, the two large lounge chairs a similar white vinyl. The only other color within the eerily-similar-to-a-hospital-room was the chrome elevator doors on either side of the room and the matching chrome end table nestled between the chairs. A small pile of magazines laid on top and in a glass vase filled only with water, a single, pink daisy leaned against the rim.

Steve didn't like this place one bit.

Signaling up and stepping away from the entrance, he watched as the team jumped in one by one and, for a moment, Steve forgot they were sans Iron Man as he waited for Tony to carefully land on the tile next to him. It felt strange when that didn't happen. Shaking his head with a start, Steve scanned over five of his teammates.

Immediately, he nodded to Natasha and Bucky, gesturing towards their suits in a self-assured reminder for where Tony had implemented multiple reinforced, plastic screens with dimming privacy filters into the thick fabric. Each of the suits had them. A GPS, a health monitor, and a screen that, once turned on, began scanning and sending information from the surrounding area back to the rest of the Avengers, Mr. Parker, and the computers back at the tower. The hard drives and other pieces of computer equipment necessary to make the miniature screens run were embedded and dispersed farther down within the padding of the 'superhero-suit-themed' parkas so the equipment was protected during fights. Steve didn't know the specifics. As hard as he had tried to listen and understand Tony's rapid fire lectures, he always ended up getting lost in the hypnotizing way Tony's eyes lit up as he talked, or how adorably excited his movements became when he got really passionate, or how openly happy his tone was when Steve came down to the lab and asked him what he was working on. Steve couldn't help it if all those kinds of conversations always ended up in tender kisses. And Steve had tried to follow; he really had. Hidden within his bookshelf, there were quite a few physics and astronomy and chemistry and math textbooks strewn about, but even those couldn't compare to Tony's genius.

The scanning screen had a dual purpose, if Steve remembered correctly - which, of course, he always did. Once activated, it would begin scanning the area for silent alarms, possible surveillance devices, and other detection devices. Once that was finished, it would alert the other Nano-technologies sewn into the suits to do one of two things: destroy the technology or simply corrupt it whenever an Avenger came near. If the device was set, it destroyed whatever was in its vicinity. The technology itself would be rendered useless as well, so that was always a last resort. Distortion, however, would allow the device to continue working on its scans and readings for information storage. It would be slow, but it would do the trick.

Turning on their heels, Natasha and Bucky made their way to the opposite elevator while the rest of the team gathered around the other.

Once inside, Steve knelt down in front of the lit-up panel of buttons. Removing the cover, he pulled out two wires that were connected to the third screen and pushed them past the metal button and into the panel. It only took a few seconds, but eventually the elevator began a slow descent downward.

According to Tony's schematics, eighty feet down to be exact.

"I do not like being below ground," Thor rumbled next to him.

Steve gave a subdued smile, looking at the large man with a tilt of his head and through the side of his eye. "Neither do I," he said with the underlying of faux humor.

His eyes went back to the panel. One by one, as each floor ticked by, the buttons turned off. Like the apartment buildings that surrounded the tower when the night got really late, verging on morning.

There was something grounding in the routine, and more than one difficult night had led him up to a hidden part of rooftop on the tower to sit on the edge and stare, entranced, at the lights below him.

The door leading up there was probably the oldest part of the Avengers' building, rusted and dull, and it creaked a melodious whine whenever someone opened it. He could see Tony's figure in his mind's eye now, silhouetted by the evening as he approached Steve from behind. The man's tux had been unbuttoned, his tie hanging undone around his neck. Steve just sighed and turned back around to look out over the city, fists clenching and unclenching at the ledge as his mouth forced itself into a grim line. It had been one disaster of a gala.

There was a heat at his back before hands rested on his shoulders, rubbing the tension away. They smoothed their way down Steve's chest and then Tony's chin was resting on his shoulder as he pulled Steve into a loose hug. Steve recognized the song humming in Tony's mouth and easily found himself relaxing back into the man. Before he knew what was happening, Steve had been pulled to his feet as he led Tony in a slow dance to the soft tune of "Stairway to Heaven". Tony's hands rested on his shoulders, but his head was bent as he stared down at their feet in intense concentration, pink tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth slightly as he stumbled through the steps. Steve's heart pounded against his ribcage as he ran his thumbs over Tony's hips in circular motions.

He could do it now. He could do it right now beneath the stars and the moon and the heavens.

He didn't.

Elevator doors opened to absolute chaos. As a wave of formaldehyde assaulted his sinuses, Steve took notice of two groups of people scampering around the floor. There were men and women in white lab coats barely passing them a glance as they ran back and forth down the maze of hallways branching out like octopus tentacles, and there were people in armored suits gathering before them and raising tall, slim shields to cover their bodies to form a barricade. They were the more notable group. At least in Steve's opinion.

It seemed the Avengers may have been expected.

For a moment, the two teams seemed to be at a stand-still, looking and observing one another without much of a word. Then one of the guardsmen stepped forward slightly.

"You are not welcome here. It will be within your best interests to retreat," the man said, voice firm like he were speaking to misbehaving kindergarteners.

Steve crouched and covered himself with his own shield. He wasn't too fond on getting shot again any time soon. The last time, it had taken S.H.I.E.L.D. medical two hours to dig out the three bullets, which compared nothing to the look of horror on Tony's face as he sat next to Steve like a marble statue, watching in silent support.

Thor stood tall next to him while Vision floated at his side and Clint took cover behind the elevator's frame. Steve could already see his eyes darting around in search of weak spots, brain churning on which arrows would work best here.

"Sorry, sir," Steve called back. "But you know we can't do that."

There was more silence, and Steve began to wonder if the buzzing he was hearing was just his own ears or their communication lines, voices whizzing back and forth in near silent transmission. He didn't know who the head of this organization was or much about the organization itself, and his gut sank.

The man moved back into formation, and Steve realized they were dealing with military trained professionals. "Leave," the man ordered again.

Steve shared a worried glance with Thor before quickly turning back to the immediate issue at hand. "Who are you working for?" he demanded, crawling forward in hopes of getting a better view of the area around him. It seemed like the elevators were the only clear and quick way up and down.

"Captain, you must be confused," the man said. "This is simply a research team with funding from multiple organizations and our home country. Now, it is highly suggested that your team retreat."

"Sorry," Steve deadpanned. "As I said, that's not an option."

And that was all the warning he gave, bounding forward to smash through the barricade. It was like he was playing an intense game of Red Rover. He and Thor did their best to barrel past the guards and push through the small crowd. Clint began raining arrows whenever a spot opened up, on occasion just barely missing his teammates. As one of the guards took a small arrow to the leg, Steve saw her begin to wobble before she crumpled to the ground. Yeah, Steve decided, jumping out of the way and sending Clint a disapproving look, it's best to avoid those at all costs.

Thor swung his hammer, his large mass helping to knock the men and women aside without harming them. Steve continued to push through in a similar manner, shield up as he waded through the crowd.

A few shots rang out, but the gunfire thankfully remained at a minimum. Moving targets were difficult to hit, even for the most qualified, and this space was small and confined. Bringing a hand to his ear as he fought his way through, Steve pressed the com link and started broadcasting to the team.

"If any of you continue to run into trained military personnel, remain a moving target," Steve reminded them.

Nearing the edge, the sea of people seemed to contract around him, the space between bodies rapidly shortening. With a final push, he ricocheted out of the mass. A red and green streak blurred in front of him, slowing down the oncoming enemy enough for Steve to stumble even farther from the collapsing group.

"Go, Captain," Vision told him, continuing to herd the unit together by flying around them in quick circles.

Steve gave a curt nod, turning on his heel to face Thor. The depth of their location didn't allow for any more GPS access, and his information of this building was rudimentary at best. Tony's models had never been able to sketch the building in specific detail, laying down crude guidelines instead.

"Can you tell which hallway the power source is coming from?" Steve asked, glancing down each pathway. The lights were dim within the halls, shadows overcoming the floors and walls the deeper he tried to look. Sporadically, spaced metal doors lined the hallways as well, and Steve could make out the padlocks attached to the handles. Whatever was behind those doors was going to stay there. Or so he hoped.

Thor tilted his head as if listening for something, ear twitching towards one hall or another until he eventually settled. "Yes, though I find myself worried at what was stated earlier. What if this source of power is not an object, but rather a living being?"

Steve nodded, squaring his shoulders and heading towards what he hoped would lead them to whatever kept popping up on Tony's screens. "Then we deal with them when the time comes."

Their path remained empty. Despite the amount of people dashing here and there in the lobby, the hallways were eerily sterile. No one chased after them – something he desperately hoped were Clint's and Vision's doing more than anything else – and no one came towards them. The hallways had a slight curve to them, sloping downward at a meager angle the farther in they wandered. Without the overwhelming shouts of fighting, Steve's only company were the clanking of his and Thor's footsteps. And, if he listened closely enough, he could make out the sounds of water whooshing all around them.

He wasn't sure if they were really underwater or if his imagination was playing a vile trick on him. All Steve knew was the he really, really wished to wake up any minute with Tony wrapped around him, doing his best to chase the cold away.

Tony would run soothing fingers over Steve's chest, his arms, his stomach, as he waited for the panicked breaths to calm. Then Tony would get up, urging Steve off the bed so he could strip it of its now sweat-soaked sheets. Steve would find himself with a thick blanket wrapped around him, warmed from the dryer – Tony always had dryer warmed blankets somehow stocked. Steve was too grateful to ask how. They'd find themselves on the common floor where Tony would settle Steve on the couch and put on I Love Lucy reruns while he was too numb from the cold to do much of anything. Sounds would always meander in from the kitchen, the clanking of cooking sheets and pots and pans. On nights where one of them woke up screaming, Tony made vegan chocolate chip cookies or brownies and brought the bowls back with him to the couch for them to munch on the uncooked batter in silence; after the first few nights of finding one another after a nightmare, talking became irrelevant. The dreams were always about the same things, over and over, plaguing their nights. On lesser nightmares, the ones where Steve got to Tony before he started crying out or the ones where Tony got to him before he began hyperventilating and clawing at himself, reheated dinners and hot chocolate were their go-to's. And on the nights where fading recollections continued to haunt them well throughout the day, making them pause a second longer before sleep the following night, well, on those nights Tony made five course meals. It would take hours, the sun greeting them on its horizon while Tony was still in the kitchen.

Neither of them ever noticed the time on nights like these. Either Steve was staring blankly at a television screen wondering if this was the thing that was going to break him, really break him, or Tony would be mindlessly going through the motions, trying to escape the throws of his own visions.

On the rare occasion, the team would come down to find them wrapped up in one another's arms on the couch, I love Lucy still playing quietly in the background. They had long ago stopped snapping futile pictures of embarrassment and would finish up where Tony left off, whether that be cooking up the rest of the food, cleaning the kitchen, or – Clint's favorite – eating what was left on the counter. Sometimes it was a combination of all three.

But, for the most part, these nights were Steve and Tony's and, despite the horrors that brought them there, Steve couldn't help the gratitude towards having them. They were what brought Tony to him, and he could never begrudge that.

It was near the very end of the hallway where Steve and Thor spotted a large group of what Steve assumed to be scientists. They were gathered in front of another metal door, identical to the rest in passing, but the hallway widened at the last second. Steve wondered if this was because the room on the other side of that door was much larger than the others that branched from this hallway.

An intense clanging rang around them, and he could see the vibrations of it shaking the door. The group of people began to back away as one. Another cacophonous sound burst from the door, shaking the whole hallway and making Steve's stomach churn in slight as he forced those feelings down. There were larger issues at hand.

Stepping forward, Steve addressed the crowd. "I suggest it's in your best interest to head to the surface." Another bang. "Now."

The group turned to face him, expressions of mingling horror, fear, and anticipation wafting through their faces. To his surprise, though, in congruence with yet another bang, many of them followed his orders, not passing him glance as they scurried away from the now-dented door. The few stragglers didn't need any more encouragement than Steve and Thor stepping closer.

While the poor excuse for a hall emptied, Steve brought his arm up to stare at the screens, fingers hovering over them. "F.R.I.D.A.Y., can you give us any information on what's on the other side of that door?"

There was silence as the screens remained the same, all performing their assigned duties. A few seconds passed, and the third screen halted its scanning, the A.I. speaking into his ear. "The files Mr. Stark and I are receiving seem to be extremely corrupted. We are attempting to fix the problem, but it's a slow process. All I can say, as of now, is that the facility has been tampering with the theory of Alternate Universes."

Steve shared a look with Thor, another sharp thud caving the door farther towards them. "What can we guess from this, then?" Steve questioned.

"We are possibly dealing with a being from another dimension," Thor answered in lieu of the A.I.

Turning back towards the door, Steve let the screen go back to its scanning. "So what should we do, then? See if it's friendly?"

Thor gave him a crooked smirk, eyes twinkling. "I see no better was to assess the situation and decide upon proper course of action."

Nodding, Steve started towards the door, but they didn't quite make it. The creases forming in the metal, as though whatever was on the other side was crumpling tin foil rather than a two-feet-thick panel of steel, became more and more pronounced as they approached. Time only allowed for him and Thor to step on either side of the frame as the door finally broke from its hinges and flew harshly past them with a violent wind. Steve found himself stumbling, catching his balance at the last minute.

His muscles stiffened, bunching in that familiar way as he readied himself for battle. Looking into the room, what he saw was not what he expected. Stepping out from a dimly lit, circular cell that looked like it violated all standards for any type of facility was a woman. She was tall and lean, her skin pale and decorated with glowing blue tattoos. Steve vaguely recognized one of them as an Aztec design that circled her right bicep in a cuff while the other tattoos followed the bone structure of her face in simple X's and O's along the bottoms of her eye sockets. The left eye's design led up to follow the hollows in her temples, disappearing into the equally blue hairline, and the right eye's design followed the cheekbone, dipping down along the side of her face and dotting about an inch or so into the bottom of her jaw.

Her eyes glowed the same burning blue, like the innermost center of a flame. The kind of blue fire turned right before it was obliterated by white heat. Steve already felt the image of her burning into his mind, fingers itching in a familiar feeling he knew would come out in many, many vainly attempted sketches.

Steve's eyes were then drawn to her hair, which was chopped and short in a pixie cut. Deep blue strands seemed to change like the depths of the Caribbean Sea and stopped just above her ears where another intricate, metallic design covered the outer curve of them like some form of overlapping armor.

Steve was taken aback by a pair of wings folded neatly behind her. He noted that one had feathers of powdery, pale blue, and the other, feathers of a silver, almost metallic grey. He looked her up and down, eyeing her clothes, which looked to be panels of Kevlar that covered her torso and lower body, ending at her thighs where what looked to be really tall boots clamped on. The section covering her chest looked like some kind of leather, allowing her upper body a wide range of motion where an intricate design of welded metal curved up collar bones and over her shoulders like vines. The suit reminded Steve of Tony's own designs.

The woman walked forward calmly, stopping to glance between the two before going to Thor and holding out her hands. More accurately, she was holding out the cuffs completely enveloping her hands and wrists, forcing her arms into a constant "V" in front of her. There were symbols carved into the metal that Steve couldn't make out, and she pushed her hands up insistently.

"Off," she demanded, eyes boring intently into Thor's.

They stared at her, open mouthed and wordless, and her glare hardened, an impossible breeze forming in the still air.

"Off," she ordered again, raising her hands even higher and stepping closer.

There seemed to be a silent conversation passing between the two as she stared up at Thor, and he stared, wide-eyed, back down at her. Steve watched as Thor's eyes darted downward, caught on something, and then quickly snapped back up. Taking a closer look himself, Steve could see a faint orange glow coming from behind the metal coating the woman's chest, but whatever was emitting the light was hidden.

Suddenly, and without word, Thor raised his hammer and brought it swiftly down on the cuffs, breaking them apart and ruining the surface. The woman smiled, eyes glowing brighter as the rest of the cuffs immediately shattered, turning to a powdery dust and falling from her hands completely.

"Thank you," she said, and before Steve could even react to Thor releasing the woman from her cuffs, a blaring white light choked the room in a way that drained Steve of all his senses.

Just as quickly as it had come, the light was gone and the room came back into focus. Steve blinked at the ground, realizing he was on his hands and knees, panting in desperate gasps as he tried to catch his breath. Looking up, he could feel his hair plastered to his sweaty forehead, and his suit felt just as uncomfortably wet. The lights around him flickered precariously and the originally heightened sounds of buzzing electricity were dimmed. He glared at Thor, who was still standing motionless, staring at where the probably-dangerous woman had disappeared.

Trying to calm his breathing, Steve angrily rasped, "What… the hell was that? What did - what did you do? She could be…" he coughed, "she could be dangerous!"

Thor shook his head, coming out from his stupor and looking to Steve. When he saw the raw state the other man was in, Thor's eyes softened. "My apologies, my friend, I had forgotten what such powers do to mortals. How much energy it draws from its surroundings."

"What does that mean?" Steve snapped, beginning to struggle back to his feet. They felt weary and unsteady beneath him and he was rocking from side to side, but he'd survive.

"She was a powerful being not from our dimension," Thor informed him, walking up to place a steadying hand on his shoulder. "She carried with her something I have only heard about, but never knew if it actually existed. While I could tell that the power she held by herself was substantial, she also carried with her another stone."

Steve blinked, his stomach dropping. "You mean the ones Thanos is looking for? The Infinity Stones?"

They had been expecting Thanos's attack ever since Loki opened a portal above Avenger's Tower all those years ago. Years and yet they still had no plan that provided proper solace. Steve's chest constricted as he recalled Tony's announcement of this absurd idea to take a team, a team that didn't include Steve, to the front lines and take Thanos head on. That shitty plan was a hot topic of the most consistent of bases, and Steve had liked to think their arguing had calmed since they'd gotten together. It had caused nights where he would sit at the corner of their bed, feeling Tony's eyes on him as the man laid against their headboard, waiting for Steve to stop seething. And Steve would wait for Tony, still waited for Tony, to realize that it had nothing to do with some deeply buried lack of faith or trust Steve had in him and everything to do with the fact that Steve couldn't do this without Tony. Because the day that the world ended for Steve was the day Tony Stark took his last breath, and Steve couldn't have that. Wouldn't have that. But dammit, it was so much harder to prevent when Tony bullheaded his way right into Death's infinite path.

Thor nodded. "Yes and no. This stone does not fit in the gauntlet, and it would not allow Thanos to morph reality to his pleasing. It does, however, provide some sort of defense against this. It is the Dimension Stone. A stone that allows a person to hop universes. Whilst having the gauntlet allows Thanos to control our reality, making him almost impossible to beat, he only has control over the reality in which he reigns. With the Dimension Stone, a person can easily escape that reality and find another to live in when the last one is destroyed."

Steve took a minute to process this, confusion lacing his blood the more Thor spoke. "So why was she here?" he said eventually, rubbing a hand at his forehead.

"Because the lore says that the Dimension Stone, so powerful in its own volition, had to be broken apart to fully prevent its use. It was shattered by the Ancients and spread across many dimensions. From what I could tell, the woman was collecting these pieces to create the whole, and one of those pieces were in our universe."

Steve looked at Thor incredulously. "How did you get all this information?"

"She told me," he said, shrugging one of his shoulders. "I could tell that she was not one we should fear when her mind asked entrance into mine. Evil things simply take, like a demon possessing a body, but when an angel possesses a body, they must ask for and receive consent before they can access the human form. She could not take; she had to ask."

"So you knew she wasn't an enemy?" Steve clarified, mind still spinning, and Thor nodded.

"Aye. It seems she's been in and out of this universe over the past few months-"

"Which is why Tony's radar detected sudden bursts and dismissals of an energy signal."

"Exactly."

"Wait." Steve paused. "This stone, if we had it, could it help us defeat Thanos somehow? We know he's going after the stones, and it's only a matter of time before he gets them and comes to Earth."

Thor shook his head sadly. "No, the stone cannot defeat Thanos. It is just an escape measure. The best we can hope for is that she collects the last of the pieces and can keep them from the hands of evil within her universe."

Steve's shoulders slumped.

"I am sorry, Captain," Thor said, sounding fairly grim himself. "But we will keep thinking, and you and the Man of Iron will figure out a way to turn the tides. The two of you have an astounding way of doing such things." He smiled down at Steve brightly. "I have never seen as many miracles in my life as I have with the two of you. And, for now, we can rejoice in the success that is Thanos's prevented access to the stone that would make him ruler of all universes."

Giving Thor a bland smile, Steve took a breath and readied himself to finish scanning whatever they were able to reach when an explosion rattled the building. Stumbling back, he looked at Thor, eyes wide.

Another explosion rang out from somewhere above them, causing the room to shudder violently, tipping downward like a sinking boat. Steve heard the creaking and splintering of metal and looked behind him to find the containment room tipping precariously far down, waterfalls scooping inside and filling it quickly.

"Go!" Steve shouted, bursting into a sprint back up the hallway. He lifted his arm up as he ran, his hand fumbling with the screens. "F.R.I.D.A.Y., scan the building. I need to know where those explosions are coming from." His fingers found their way to his com, once again switching on his microphone. "Avengers, evacuate the building. It is no longer priority to gather intel; get up and out now." He didn't wait for a response as he switched it off, wanting to interfere with F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s signal as little as possible.

Two more explosions went off, seeming to come from the edges of the building. But that was something Steve could only guess at and hope was true; the ringing in his ears made it difficult to place the exact location of the detonations. The explosions also made it difficult for Steve and Thor to keep pace as they stumbled through rocking earthquakes above them every few minutes.

Racing up, Steve heard something that he'd known would come sooner or later but had rather hoped would be later. Halfway to the lobby where they first exited the elevator, the containment cell tore itself from the hallway. It was almost deafening, the sounds of millions of gallons of water rushing in and coming towards them in a tidal wave. The ground beneath their feet became steeper as the weight of the water pushed the metal tube down, pulling even more at the structure.

When they reached the lobby, an inch of rigid water sat atop the floors, rapidly growing in height.

"The elevator is shut down, Captain Rogers," F.R.I.D.A.Y. said in his ear, as if Steve couldn't see that for himself.

"Thanks," he grunted, sloshing to the closed doors.

"My scans have also indicated that the explosions started as the structure's defense against a potential attack. They are going off in a specific order that is steadily working its way inward. Most of the bombs were placed on the upper levels and target the infrastructure of the building, most likely in hopes of discarding the lower levels quickly.

"By my calculations, the bombs are going off at an exponential rate. Even with your increased agility, there is a very slim likelihood that you can climb the shaft to the top of the building in time. There seem to be explosives placed within a quarter mile radius outside of the building as well, meaning everything within a few miles of this building is going to go under. With the sinking of such a large mass, the suction within the water is going to be stronger than anyone can swim, bringing everything down with it."

Steve felt himself stiffen. He couldn't not make it. That wasn't an option because he learned long ago that he could never do that to Tony. It was Thor's hand pressing into his shoulder that kept him from going into complete panic.

"We will be fine; I can fly us up with Mjolnir. Beneath the Earth, I may not be able to summon my storms, but I am not completely useless."

Steve hoped the rest of his team was going to be just as lucky, and with their skill, there was little doubt left in his mind. But he still worried. Nonetheless, a shaky smile made its way to Steve's lips, and he turned back to the doors. He would make sure they were all okay once everyone was out and safe. Grabbing one door while Thor grabbed the other, they pulled it apart with ease. Stepping in, Steve awkwardly grabbed on to Thor. Flying had become such an intimate task to him; it felt almost wrong to being doing this with someone other than Tony, but petty, sentimental feelings didn't have place here. The water was now lapping at his ankles and the thunderous waves chasing them were growing louder.

The take-off left something to be desired. It was not smooth like the lift of the Iron Man armor, but rather bumpy as Thor tossed them into the air like he was catching a wind current. Things blew past them at a much quicker rate, and Steve watched as floors blurred together and the urge to vomit filled his nose.

But, just as quickly as it had started, the not-so-fun ride ended as they crashed through the bottom of the elevator, metal flying past them alarmingly quickly. The doors were already open, and the clear view of the white walls greeted him, a circular batch of sunlight encompassing the floor where the escape to the outside world shone on them like a Heavenly spotlight. Being at the top, though, was not much of a relief in comparison to being at the bottom of the building. Here, the floor swung precariously, like the topmost Jenga piece teetering on the edge as the last of its support crumbled.

Clamoring up and out, Steve had never felt so glad to be greeted by the freezing bite of wind. He looked around, scanning over the people left in the area and felt relief wash over him at the sight of Clint and Vision. Besides the two huddled forms of purple and red, faux furred hoods of parkas blowing in the harsh winds, no one else remained.

"Captain, there are six minutes remaining until the immediate area is submerged," F.R.I.D.A.Y. said to him, and the imminent danger came back to him.

Marching up to Clint and Vision, he continued his search for people around them. "Where are Black Widow and the Winter Soldier?" he demanded.

Vision shook his head. "We have not seen them since first parting beneath the ground. The residents within the building dispersed as soon as we exited. Many came far more willingly after the first bomb was detonated."

Steve glanced back towards the hole, eyeing it with anticipation. "We have just under six minutes to get a mile away from here before the ice we're standing on cracks and submerges us all."

He could see Clint's head snapping towards him from the corner of his eye. "Are you suggesting we abandon our teammates? Nat?"

Turning to face the two Avengers, Steve felt Thor step up to his side as he squared his shoulders and spoke words his own heart didn't quite agree with, but he was their unflinching leader, and he'd be damned before he let his team see how far he'd fallen. "If necessary, yes… how fast can the two of you run a mile?"

Clint opened his mouth, face contorting into something painful and angry, but a scraping brought all their attention back to the entrance of the facility. Steve let the consolation of bright red hair catching the endless sunlight, wild and messy in its endeavors calm him. Natasha pulled herself up and out slowly, near-silent grunts and pants escaping her lips. Clint immediately ran over, pulling her to her feet and looking down.

"He's not there," she grunted, limping out of his grasp and over to Steve. "We were separated when the bombs began going off; he insisted that we'd cover more ground if we split up. He won't respond over the coms, Steve. I don't know where he is."

Steve could clearly make out the rising panic in her voice, and he had to quell showing his own just as he had throughout this entire mission. Now was not the time to crack.

"Is there any way to get his location, F.R.I.D.A.Y.?" Steve asked, walking back over to the entrance to crouch down and take a look himself.

"I'm sorry, Captain, but I cannot locate the Winter Soldier."

Damn if those words weren't intimately familiar.

"Hawkeye, I want you to take Black Widow back to the ship. Vision, go with them as well. Thor and I will wait as long as we can."

"I'm not leaving!" Natasha snapped. "You need to send someone back in there right now."

Steve shook his head. "The building is going to collapse in less than five minutes, taking the surrounding area with it. There's no time. Thor can fly, and I can make the run in under a minute. The three of you need to go, but the best we can do is wait it out."

"I'm not leaving without him," Natasha snarled and made an attempt to walk back towards the hole. "If no one else is going to try-"

Glaring down at her, Steve stepped in front of her. "You are, and that's an order."

Clint slowly came up to her side, grasping at her elbow tightly.

"Get out of my way," she demanded.

"Clint, Vision, get her out of here. If you don't go now, there won't be time to make it past the mile mark." Clint gave him a wide-eyed look, Vision coming closer haltingly. "Now!" Steve said on a growl. The two shared a look before tugging at Natasha's flailing limbs. She was hurt and her clothes torn; the usual finesse about her was gone.

She fought their grips, and Clint started whispering soothing words into her ear as they began to tug her away, their steps hasty.

"He's your best friend!" she cried over her shoulder. "You can't just leave him in there to die! You of all people should know what a fate like that can cause."

Steve closed his eyes, breath catching. Before he could change his call, he felt Thor clamp his hand around his shoulder again.

"This is the right call," Thor told him, a somber note to his voice.

His hands clenched tightly into fists at his sides, waves of nausea returning with a fierce verbosity. "There's still time," he breathed, feeling a burning begin its trail up his esophagus.

Thor was silent.

Bright numbers filled all the screens in his suit, flashing blaringly up at him. 3:00… 2:59… 2:58…

The urge to jump in, to search for Bucky himself, was almost overwhelming, and he found himself taking a striding step forward before Thor stopped him, shaking his head. "It is too dangerous, Steven. You cannot risk your life, not with it committed to another's."

Steve slumped under the weight, but he knew Thor was right, much as he loathed to fidget uselessly in the interim. He couldn't do that to Tony; Steve had someone else to consider, now. He hoped that if the situation were reversed Bucky would do the same with him, to make it home to Natasha.

There was only silence to be found in the winds as he and Thor waited, a vain hope filling Steve as it always did. They still had time. Bucky would pop up any minute, and they'd all make it back to the jet safely. Later tonight, Bucky would have a beer in one hand while the other draped itself over Nat's shoulders, holding her close as he told Steve and Tony an exaggerated version of how he had fought tooth and nail beneath the icy chills of the water, and his miraculous efforts to save himself. He'd make Steve roll his eyes as he hid a smile, and Tony would be unintentionally drawn in with subtly quirked lips and shining eyes. Nat would elbow Bucky and he'd smile down at her with a shrug as Tony would lean back to Steve and look up at him with bemused brown eyes that said he'd just learned so much about Steve through the simple act of listening to his best friend.

It would be good.

The road getting them to where they were had been harsh, but it was good now. Bucky and Tony… they found a rocky path to peace, but a path nonetheless. Steve loved coming down to the lab to find Bucky listening as Tony talked animatedly about one invention or another while bent over Bucky's metal arm to continue its improvements. There were times that Bucky found himself in complete awe because his arm was warm now; he could touch and feel some things again; he could expand his movements closer and closer to what they were before. Something tight and possessive would always curl in Steve's belly because Tony did that. Tony made that happen for someone he owed nothing to, but he did it anyway.

Steve remembered showing Bucky the ring after he first picked it up. There had been dozens of sketches before that that had interrupted a video game session or meal time that Bucky had clearly long grown tired of, but something was there when Steve showed him the ring. Some form of excitement and pure happiness despite it being the end of an era. His best friend was going to be at his side, the end of the line, as Steve waited for the one thing he'd been searching for all his life.

So Bucky had to come up, ready for another fight.

He had to.

Except…

The timer hit 0:55, and Steve jolted back, knowing he had no more time to wait. Something dirty clenched at his intestines, and he swallowed.

Thor spoke, making him jump. "You must go; I will wait here until the ice begins to break and meet everyone back at the quinjet."

Frigid air entered Steve's mouth, burning its way onto his tongue and down his throat, setting his lungs afire. He took a step back, feeling the ball of his foot meet the ground as it slowly rolled flat at his heel.

"You'll be fine?" he asked, voice sounding distant but in-control, which was good. Thor nodded, and Steve forcibly tore himself away from that spot, sprinting farther and farther from the dangers of returning to a frozen tomb.

It was the sound of cracking ice that had Steve pausing in his step. First it was just a simple snapping like thick, metallic wire suddenly being yanked apart, and then crunching crashes as thick layers of ice crumpled into the water, their supports quickly coming undone. Steve turned to watch as the blue rivulets of ice formed devastating canyons. He shuttered as whatever the ice had been holding plunged into entrapping blackened depths. Depths that had Steve wanting to double over and gag.

Quicker than he thought, the fractures began reaching for him.

Steve's feet hit the ground hard, thudding steps marking his progress to the finish line. First place gets their life, he couldn't help but remind himself bitterly. Steve could feel his soles beginning to sink into the ice as he moved on it, and for a second, he thought he had left too late. The rifts stretched for him, like the ice was calling him back to it. It was almost begging him to return to that suffocating home where he'd be forever lost to a place not even Tony Stark could hope to reach, technology and all.

As the surface beneath him began to lose its stability, swaying with the water whenever a shoe came into contact with it, Steve scrambled the last few feet. He knew he was cutting it close when darkened lines snaked their way ahead of him, but he could see where they stopped. The fine line between repeating history and moving forward. Doing his best to speed up, he felt an icy lick seep into the cloth of his boot.

Just a few more feet.

Then the ice gave way, and Steve was falling. He reached his fingers up in vain hope of catching purchase, and he was able to grip the edge where the mile mark lay. His lower body submerged, sending a searing shock up his spine as he clambered up the wall of ice. He felt something grip his arm, pulling him up, and Steve used the momentum to make it the last of the way. Falling to shaking hands and knees, he did his best to breathe as frozen fingers clawed their way into his bones.

"C'mon, man," Clint said, bending down to grip at Steve's bicep and haul him up. "Let's get you back to the ship."

Steve followed blindly, doing his best to remember the breathing exercises Tony taught him.

It had been a large step in their relationship when Tony finally admitted his own P.T.S.D., admitted needing help sometimes and asking Steve to be the one to do that. Asking for help was something Steve was not well-versed in. It was something foreign to them both.

They'd stayed in the workshop that day; the lights remained dim, and Tony spoke so softly, so hesitantly as though he feared that something would break if he dared talk louder. Maybe it had been himself Tony was afraid to shatter, but Steve had never asked. Tony led him through the techniques, showing Steve what he needed to know in order to help Tony through his next inevitable attack. Steve had basked in that quiet calm, and it was the first time he promised himself that he would never let Tony down. Not again.

That was in the early days where friendship was hard to come by and trust even more so. But it had been a step in the right direction. Steve used those exercises now, the oncoming panic not a millimeter away.

The team must've made it farther than Steve had anticipated because the ship was sitting close by.

As if reading his mind, Clint said, "Vision," by way of answer. It was enough for Steve, who had never been happier to see the quinjet in his entire life. His suit was already freezing around his legs.

Stepping into the aircraft, it took a second to notice that Natasha was already blocking their path. She scanned the area behind him, eyes deep and searching until they came back to meet Steve's own. "Where is he?" she questioned, voice eerily calm.

The words were like a punch to the gut. Taking a shuddering breath, Steve closed his eyes. "I'm sorry," he choked out miserably. He'd failed.

At first, only silence filled the cavernous entrails of the quinjet. It let Steve finally register the ringing in his own ears that had been fighting for his attention since he'd been told they were going to North Ice, Greenland.

Steve clamped his jaw, looking towards the ground as he fought the dawning dread as the full implications of what he'd done began to weigh on him.

"You're lying," Natasha eventually rasped, and Steve slowly opened his eyes, lifting his head to meet the woman's piercing gaze. He watched as she took a step back, face slack and unsure. Her hands reached out, looking for purchase but finding none. She opened and closed her mouth as her eyes darted around the ship, never landing on anything in particular, lost in retrospection.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, voice hoarse and rough.

And he was. He was. But he didn't want to talk about this. He couldn't talk about it. He didn't want to deal with this. He just didn't want to do this. Not after he'd just found Bucky. Not again. What he wanted was to keep his mind as blank as he possibly could with shock and exhaustion. Because Steve wasn't sure, if he let the torturously consuming thoughts into his mind, how he was going to continue functioning. So he was choosing not to think about it; in fact, he wanted to fly home and pretend he wasn't dying on the inside. He wanted to storm into the liquor cabinet in the communal kitchen and crack open the mead Thor kept bringing back from Asgard because it burned in a way nothing else could and would extend his numb like an elixir of life. Then he wanted to find Tony and curl up with him and let Tony take his drunken body up to bed where Tony would change his clothes and lead him to soft, warm sheets that always smelled like oil and nature and Tony's cologne. Tony would hold him and run fingers through his hair and hum whatever song had been last playing in the workshop. And then, maybe then, Steve would let himself go. Because he knew Tony would catch him.

"Don't!" Natasha said, barely more than a gasp as her face contorted with fury. "Don't you dare. I can't- how could you?" Rushing towards Steve, he fully prepared himself for a hit that never came as Vision stepped in Natasha's way, holding her back. "You asshole! You just- you just left him there to die?"

"Nat-," Clint started, stepping forward.

"I had no choice," Steve pleaded, not sure who he was bargaining with as he kept his eyes on Natasha.

"You could have saved him!" she insisted, voice breaking slightly as she staggered back. "But you did nothing!"

"What else was I supposed to do?" Steve said brokenly.

"Go back in there and get him. Let me go back in there and get him. One of those would have been the right call."

"I couldn't risk that," he murmured.

Natasha glared at him with a force that sucked the breath out of him. He could see the fire growing in her eyes, the dam of tears being held at bay.

"You wouldn't have made that call if it had been Stark down there," she said, preternaturally reposing as she folded her arms, looking down her nose at him.

"What?" he choked out, feeling the words like a physical blow.

Clint stepped closer, reaching for her in a half-aborted attempt. "Nat-," he tried again, but she swatted his hand away, taking another large step back.

She looked at them all until her eyes finally settled on Steve's, cold and unforgiving like the barren land they found themselves in. "You know it's true."

"I..." Steve stopped as the thought worked its way into his mind, lodging itself there in an encompassing, immobile stance.

It was then that the sound of thunder boomed around them, pushing at the seams of the quinjet. All heads snapped towards the open entrance where Thor was making his way in, holding something in his arms. Steve could make out legs and arms dangling on either side of Thor's body, and he sucked in a breath, closing his eyes and putting a firm fist to his forehead. He held back the lump forming in his throat and felt his legs shake dangerously beneath him as pure relief began cleansing him.

He felt Nat immediately rush past him, a strangled, "James!" falling from her lips as she met Thor and Bucky at the entrance.

"We must be quick," Thor said firmly. "His condition is not good and continually worsens; he is in dire need of medical attention."

Around him, the Avengers rushed to get the jet up and in the air, running to get all the hatches closed, items secured, and seats taken. As relieved as he was, Steve was frozen in place, that singular thought stuck in his head.

Not even the jolting of their take-off could fully bring him back to reality. From where he sat, Steve stared at Bucky in scrutiny. Bucky's head was laid on Natasha's lap and multiple open wounds were currently being staunched by her and Thor. The gashes were deep and, from what Steve could see, they would need stitches. One of Bucky's legs was splayed out at an angle that definitely wasn't right, and it looked like one of his shoulders was dislocated. His face, a grimace of pain despite his closed eyes, was streaked in grime and blood, bruises forming wherever skin poked out. Even in unconsciousness, Bucky's breathing hitched and hissed.

He was a mess.

It was like the serum had never entered Steve's body, that familiar feeling of something too closely akin to asthma closing in at his lungs and throat. What if Bucky didn't make it? What if the quinjet didn't make it back in time? What if Bruce couldn't heal his best friend?

Steve felt terribly, horribly naive to have been relieved mere moments ago. There was still a chance that he could lose Bucky, and Steve wasn't sure how much more of that he could take.

But the longer, harder Steve stared at Bucky's face, the more it began to twist. The eyes became more round, crinkles forming around them, nose shifting into something a little more curved. Lips grew a little plumper, pinker, and maybe Steve was fooling himself, but he swore that he could make out facial hair stubbing its way beneath everything caked onto the face in front of him. And then Steve forgot about those breathing exercises taught to him long ago because that wasn't Bucky laying before him, it was Tony. Tony, who was laying on the ground, not breathing, a darkened light in his chest. Tony passed out in gasping pain, twitching as the Scarlet Witch stood over him, doing something to his mind.

Tony.

Pale, still, the breath of life long past reaching his lips again after Thanos had destroyed their first defenses. Steve unable to get to him.

Bump… bump… bump…

Natasha had been right.

As he stares at Bucky, voices lofting around him, all Steve can see is what he had done. The contortions of faces in his mind's eye are like a kaleidoscope showing how close Death really stands with them in every moment of every day. All of them.

Steve can't look anymore.

Dragging his eyes closed, he curls in on himself, elbows digging into his thighs with enough force to bring grounding pain. His hands shoot up to clamp and tug roughly at blond strands, nails scraping across the skin of his scalp.

When it comes to Tony, Steve knows he will never be able to make that call. Not now. Not again.

The harsh landing of the Quinjet punches Steve's elbows farther into his thighs and pulls his hands farther away from his head, jolting a grounding pain through his nerve endings that make him look up. He watches, stagnant, paralyzed, as the team all rush towards Bucky and help him off the Quinjet. His eyes follow their bodies - the will to follow Bucky and make sure he's okay, that he's going to be okay, is there, strong and persistent, but the way is not - dully witnessing them swarm the landing pad then the Tower like bees trickling into the hive, leaving only a single figure in their wake.

Seeing Tony is like seeing a light at the end of a tunnel Steve hadn't known he'd even been so far lost in. Like the light of a star refracting in the Earth's atmosphere, Tony breaks through the darkness, shattering both it and Steve. The seams holding him together burst, and before Tony can make it onto the jet, Steve lets out all the pain that has been building, pushing inside him.

Sobs wrack his body as he lets his head fall down into his hands, palms providing a soft darkness that ruefully contrasts the blinding light of that tundra. It isn't long after that that he feels Tony kneel in front of him, the smaller man's hands rubbing softly at his legs up and down, up and down. Steve hates this. Hates that there are times where he just wants to quit. Hang up his shield and disappear. It feels weak, like he's giving up. Steve is supposed to be strong, fearless, brave. An unflinching leader who can deflect whatever the world throws at him.

After all, isn't that the real purpose of the serum?

Yet here he is. After all that begging and choosing, after all those lies and rejected army applications, he can feel himself crumbling.

Tony worms his way onto Steve's lap, crawling between his legs and through his arms like the man was prone to do. Pulling Steve's head into the crook of his neck, Tony wraps his arms around broad shoulders, knees around rounded thighs. Steve lets himself fall into it, wrapping his arms around a slim waist and pulling Tony crushingly close.

Maybe it isn't worth it.

All this, everything Steve has done, everything he's been put through, is becoming too much. At what point does he get to say enough?

When he signed up for the serum and everything that came with it, there had always been an end in sight, no matter how broken or beat up he came out the other side. There had at least always been an end. Once the war was over, Steve was supposed to go home, mental scars and all, and live his life. Find someone and get married. Buy a house and have children. Grow old. But the wars had just kept coming, and he was thrust into them by someone trying to fix a bullet hole with a band aid.

Steve needs an end.

"I can't," he gasps out, voice thick and broken. "I can't. I'm sorry."

Fingers find their way to Steve's scalp, softly soothing the strands there, and Tony turns his head with slight so that the corner of his mouth brushes at Steve's temple. The slow tunes of The Eagles' "Ol' 55" fall gently from Tony's tongue.

"It's okay, Steve. It's okay. James is going to be fine," Tony tells him in a low, reassuring voice. "He'll be just fine."

Steve shakes his head, the rough material of Tony's shirt rubbing against his forehead. "You don't know that," he rasped out, tightening his hold even more. "You can't- you don't-" he chokes.

Tony pulls away and Steve whines at the loss. Hands come up to grasp at his cheeks, pulling his head back to the brightness of daytime and making his reddened eyes squint. One hand trails down so deft fingers can grip at his chin whilst the other swipes softly at his cheeks.

"I do," Tony says insistently. "Bruce said that Thor got to him in time and that he and Nat did an excellent job keeping the wounds at bay while on the plane. Clint got you back to the tower quickly enough for Bruce to have him all patched up and better in no time. James may not have Erskine's super serum, but he does have a pretty decent one. He was already healing by the time they were getting him off the plane. He's going to be okay, Steve."

Steve's eyes flutter closed, and the tight knot in his chest loosens a bit. Tony's fingers brush the eyelashes carefully, and Steve leans into the touch. It isn't enough.

"I can't do this anymore," he rasps.

At those words, he can feel Tony stiffen in his arms, like a coil being tightened. He can tell that Tony is trying to figure him out, looking at the pieces and trying to fit them together to find some working image on top; a thing he can see and make sense of. Steve doesn't know if that's something he can give.

"You want to quit the Avengers?" Tony asks, tone unsure and breathless.

Letting his head fall back, Steve lets out a hiss as the chill of the metal seeps into his aching head. He looks to the open hatch, staring out into the afternoon sunlight. The sky is a vibrant shade of blue, here. Rays of light, golden and warm, reach down to touch the grey cement of the landing pad.

"I'm so tired," he says on a sigh.

He can sense Tony's eyes on him, searching his face. "Was the mission that bad?"

Examining the landing pad carefully, Steve notes the way the light plays on the ground, how the beams vibrate excitedly over the reds and yellows of painted symbols. A meandering breeze wanders in, the smell of spring whispering into his nose, and Steve finally feels some peace find him. It's a beautiful day.

Steve chooses his next words carefully as he looks around. "I made the call. The one to leave Buck behind. It was my call; my choice. I thought… I thought that it was too much of a risk for anyone to go after him. For me to go after him. He's in there because of me, and I only just got him back. And I-I couldn't even think about the fact that I was just about to lose him all over again because…" he trails off, guilt roiling in his chest like heartburn.

"What happened?" Tony prods gently.

Blue eyes snap to amber, and Steve's hands move to grip at Tony's hips. "I can't lose you, Tony. You."

"I don't-"

"I can't make that call with you," Steve says frantically. "Buck's down there because of a call I made, and all I can think about is how I could never do that with you. You are the one thing in my life, Tony, the one thing I can't live without. No matter the cost."

"Steve…"

Steve grabs Tony's hands between his own, staring down at them. His eyes train on their intertwined fingers, how his own encompassed Tony's. Protect them. A mix of emotions vie for his attention and he feels lost in a tumultuous sea. And he'd be drowning if Tony weren't there; the one constant keeping him afloat.

Then Tony's pulling away, escaping his grasp, and Steve has to force himself to let go. Force himself to hold back everything in him screaming not to let him go for fear of being plunged back into stormy waters, adrift. He keeps his eyes intent upon Tony's, searing into the man as he stumbles onto solid ground, twitching slightly as his breaths begin to come out in short bursts, shoulders and chest hitching.

"You can't," Tony gasps, eyes darting back to Steve's. "You absolutely cannot do that. Not for me. I'm not worth it."

"But you are," Steve whispers, hands vellicating at his sides with smothered temptation.

"You can't do that!" Tony snaps, convulsing hands twisting. His tone is winded and panicked, eyes wild.

"Of course I can," Steve insists lightly, feeling drained and wanting nothing more than to check on Bucky and then head up to their room and take one of those luxuriously steaming baths. The kind where the water runs in rivulets down black marbled walls and have all the pink tinted bubbles floating around. The ones Tony puts sparkling galaxy bath bombs and lavender smelling soaps and rose scented oils into. Baths that Tony always insist are not at all too much. Right now, it sounds just about perfect with an addition of a few candles and one infuriating man resting between his legs and against his chest. Then they can sleep, and, in the morning, he can double-check on Bucky and make sure the man is really alive and well.

Tony's gaze hardens, glaring at Steve as he folds his arms. Steve watches as one hand comes up to tap at the arc reactor, a nervous habit Tony has when he feels caught off guard and overwhelmed. "You don't understand," Tony begins. "I-"

But Steve's done. Standing up, he stalks forward, getting into Tony's space.

"No. You don't understand. Everything in my life was wiped away, Tony. Taken away from me by some fucked-up force that decided at the last minute that maybe I was literally born in the wrong time. It took less than a minute. Less than one minute for my plane to make contact with that goddamn ice and knock me out. And, for me, no time had even passed between then and when S.H.I.E.L.D. found me. So it took less than a minute for me to lose everything.

"I know what it's like to make sacrifices for the greater good, and I do it again and again without any real thought or regret. Trust me when I say that I know what it's like to give my heart and soul to save people who don't always deserve saving. Yet if I had to do it again, I'd crash that plane a million times over. There are a lot of calls and choices I would make again without batting an eye; all except one."

"And what?" Tony asks, voice wet and his mouth marred into a harsh line. He shrugs his shoulders, hands sweeping out briefly before falling back to his thighs with a clap. "I'm supposed just live with that? Be okay with that?"

"Tony-," Steve tries, reaching out a hand.

Slapping it away, Tony raises himself to the balls of his feet, getting into Steve's face. "Did you ever think what that would be like for me, huh? To be in a shambled world caused by me? A world where you're gone? Thanos is seconds away from putting the last of the riddle together. He's like Schrodinger's Cat; without any knowledge, we have to assume that he both has the gauntlet and doesn't. And when he comes, Steve, when he comes-" Tony occluded, sounding wrecked, "-I'm afraid you're going to die. I can't survive that, but there's something in my bones, something that feels inevitable. Like, no matter how much I hope, no matter how much I plan, nothing will be enough, and you'll be gone. I just found you. I can't lose you, either, Steve. I can't."

That fierce determination sets itself in Tony's shoulders. In his stance. His eyes. Tony looks at Steve with such fire it takes Steve's breath away. It's a fire that he'll never put out.

Clenching his jaw, Steve runs a hand over his chin. "So… what? What's your plan, Tony? You go in as our first line of defense in hopes of-of sacrificing yourself for me? Is that what you're telling me?" Steve grits out.

Tony doesn't answer, which, in and of itself, is answer enough.

Grabbing his shield, Steve tosses it furiously to the front of the plane, hearing it connect and wedge itself into the panel of the jet. "That's not an option!" he roars, breathing heavily as he stares at the sparks bursting around his shield like mini fireworks.

"Well it's the only one we have," Tony says, almost inaudibly.

Turning to face Tony once again, Steve glowers. "No. We either die together or survive together. There is no in between. If you're at the front lines, so am I."

"Steve!"

"This isn't up for debate! You are everything, Tony. Everything," he shouts, voice quivering.

They don't say anything more for a moment; the only sound echoing around them are their calming exhales.

"But you can't risk everyone in the world just to protect me, Steve," Tony murmurs quietly, eyes lifting up to beg Steve to understand.

And he does. Nightmares, hesitations, arguments had always been telling. Sometimes even more so than their sharing of histories. Steve understands. It just doesn't change his mind. He can tell from the slight slump in Tony's shoulders that Tony knows this as well.

"Watch me," Steve whispers. "If it means seeing you at the end of all this, then I will."

"What are we going to do about Thanos, then?"

Steve reaches out, brushing his knuckles over Tony's cheek, watching as Tony's eyes still flutter closed and he sways automatically towards Steve despite the tightness of his posture. "We'll figure that out."

"How?"

Leaning down to rest his forehead against the smaller man's, Steve's hands find Tony's back pockets, sliding inside the jeans and pulling him closer. "Together," he says.

Steve marches up from the infirmary. Despite his clothes still being wet and growing colder every moment, Steve's chest feels looser, his mind clearer. He'd been a little mollified when Bruce assured him that Bucky was stable and that the man would be fine and most likely awake by morning. Steve had desperately needed to see Bucky for himself; there had been a few machines hooked up to him and a few I.V. lines running to and from his body, but the color was returning to his face. Tony had been right. The wounds previously gaping in Bucky's skin were quickly mending back together with the aid of proper medical care. Steve had also been glad to see that Natasha's posture seemed far more relaxed, the features on her face defrosted as she caressed Bucky's cheek with her knuckles. She gave Steve a look, her eyes shining with their own apology and regret. He'd just smiled at her in understanding.

Bucky was going to be okay.

Reaching the penthouse, his old room forgone long ago, Steve sighs when a shiver runs up his spine. He needs to get out of this suit.

Tony's not in the immediate area like Steve expects, but the sounds of running water brings a quirk to his lips. He can already see the steam curling out of the bathroom and onto their bedroom floor like the fog rolling in in the grey, early mornings of the beach. Steve will swear up and down that Tony knows how to read his mind. Almost to a T, at this point.

Steve takes his time peeling off his clothes, relishing in the way the wet fabric leaves his skin to the increasing warmth of the humid air around him. It doesn't take long for Steve to feel eyes on him, and he turns around to see an equally naked Tony staring unabashedly at his backside, hip against the doorframe, arms folded. Tony's smile is soft when he meets Steve's eyes and he walks over, wrapping his arms around the larger man's waist.

"How is he?" Tony asks quietly, whispering the words into the back of Steve's neck.

Steve feels himself slump slightly, making sure to keep all of his weight from going onto Tony. "He's… good. Bruce said he'd be awake by morning," he says quietly. He feels Tony nod and suddenly turns around, wrapping his arms around Tony's shoulders and burying his face in the other man's neck. Just to be sure, Steve takes a few deep, calming breaths. But he's okay. Finally, here, in Tony's arms, he's okay.

They take their time, many post-battle traditions having to be fulfilled. Steve's in no hurry for this to end any time soon. When they do eventually leave the humid bathroom, they towel off and make their way to the bed, a dry heat surrounding the pair. The lights have been dimmed, casting a deep, yellow glow around the room. Behind him, where Steve knows the glass curtain wall lies, he can hear the soft sounds of life beneath them. It's not what it used to be, back in Brooklyn. Back in the 1930's. But it's good nonetheless. He might even argue, as he observes Tony's languid and tired form, that this is better.

Lying on their sides, facing one another, Steve continues to ground himself with Tony's hand; he plays with calloused fingers, tracing one finger in particular on Tony's left hand, basking in their afterglow, satiation and reprieve filling the air. It had taken months for Steve to get the ring size without immediately alerting Tony to his plans, but now he wonders, as his finger runs around and around that one place, how he ever could've not known. There isn't a single part of Tony that Steve doesn't want to know about; not a single thing he doesn't want to commit to memory and cherish for the rest of his life.

"How 'bout we take a nice, long vacation?" Steve says, finally bringing the niggling thought to the forefront of his mind.

Tony's eyes blink open softly from where he's dozing in and out. That indulgent, sleepy smile is back, and he looks at Steve with an openness that makes his heart beat faster. He's worked so hard for that look; it's worth it. That gaze alone has been worth everything.

"How long you thinkin', soldier?" Tony mumbles roughly, sleep still thick in his throat, eyes fluttering to stay open. Steve feels the tension continuing to seep from Tony's muscles. Forearms make their way to rest on Steve's shoulders, and Tony drags him closer as he looks up at Steve from beneath his heavy eyelids and thick lashes. His eyes still hold a hint of haunted fear, buried in the present atmosphere, but it's there. And that's something that will only go away with time. Steve suspects his own eyes reflect the same. For now, though, for now Steve wants to do something he hasn't since waking up in the twenty-first century.

He chuckles, letting his mind wander, resting his forehead against the smaller man's. "The rest of our lives?" he asks hopefully. "I don't know about you, but I think I'd like to finally try the whole civilian lifestyle. Go on dates without being stalked by the press. Have sex without being interrupted by an Avengers' call. Buy a small house, maybe with a white picket fence." Steve takes a deep breath before he continues. "Get married."

By the time he finishes, Tony is fully awake, grinning at him with shining eyes. "Don't think I'm a white picket fence kind of guy, Rogers. Shouldn't you know that by now?"

Humming, Steve bends his head so his lips are next to Tony's ear. "Alright," he says in a low voice, pulling their bodies even closer together so their chests are touching, legs tangling with one another. Steve can feel the steady vibrations and the insistent press of the arc reactor to his chest, and Steve will be remiss if he doesn't understand that it's keeping both their hearts beating. Connecting his and Tony's hearts in an unbreakable circuitry. "How about a small place between the beach and the mountains. Somewhere green, like Oregon or Washington. It'll be almost all glass so we can watch the waves crash on the sand and the evergreen trees sway in the breeze. Underneath, there'll be a lab for you to tinker in and a gym to hold my punching bags. I'll design it, you'll build it. A home just for us."

Tony turns his head to rest his lips against Steve's cheek, his beard brushing gently across Steve's. "That sounds more like it," he agrees.

"And the rest?"

"I could retire," Tony says playfully.

Steve forces down a chuckle, a smile crinkling his own face. "Mm hm..."

"And go on uninterrupted dates. And the sex thing, definitely hate that; I could go the rest of my life without you having to pull out early."

"And?"

Pulling back, Tony looks at him, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Was there something else?" he wonders innocently.

Steve licks his lips. "I think I asked you to marry me."

"Did you, now?" Tony asks slowly as though pondering the statement. "I don't recall that question."

Pulling away, Steve ignores Tony's reflexive whine of protest and gets up off the bed to find the pants he'd been wearing before they'd left for the mission. He'd kept the ring close at hand at all times, carrying it with him almost constantly in hopes of finding The Moment. Turning back, Steve sees Tony sitting up on the bed, one arm holding him up while the other rests on his hip as he examines Steve's movements, and God, does Steve want to draw him exactly as he is right here, right now. Absolutely gorgeous and breathtaking, but it'll have to be another time.

"What if I got down on my knee?" Steve asks, walking to the edge of the bed and mimics his words with his body. Tony watches and it looks like he's almost stopped breathing, eyes wide as he stares at Steve. "And pulled out a ring?" he continues, holding out the black box. Opening it, Steve knows what is hidden inside. Sitting in plush, velvet white padding, navy blue and grey vibranium swirl around one another like watercolors in an infinite dance.

"I could say something like: Anthony Edward Stark, when we first met, I was lost in a world that I didn't accept and didn't accept me in return. I wanted nothing more than to go back to something that no longer waited for me; I was unhappy.

"Then you came along and looked at me not like I was broken or lost, but like I was strong and a fighter. You're the only one who never pulled your punches when it came to how you talked to me and treated me, even if it was to my infinite displeasure at the time."

Tony lets out a sudden, wet chuckle and brings his legs over the edge to brush against Steve's. Tony leans forward, forearms resting on his thighs, his face barely an inch away from Steve's, and Steve smiles even wider.

"You're the one who taught me what love really is. I love you, Tony Stark, and every day, I choose you. I will always choose you for the rest of my life, if you'll let me. Will you let me, and do the same in return?" Steve pauses, holding the ring out farther, letting it catch the dimmed lighting of their room. "Tony, will you marry me?"

Tony stares down at him and Steve can see pools of glowing amber sparkling in the gentle lighting at this proximity. At this angle. Tony is absolutely divine. A single tear falls down Tony's cheek before he quickly wipes it away. "You come up with that right on the spot?" he asks, voice rough, husky.

"I may have jotted down a thing or two," Steve huffs with a smile. "Not to rush you, but can I maybe get an answer? My knee's beginning to hurt."

Laughing, Tony swipes another finger beneath his eye. "You're ruining the moment, old man."

"So is that a yes?" Steve asks, voice coming out breathless, like he's once again that asthmatic kid, but this time the feeling's good. Hopeful.

Nodding, Tony grabs at the hand holding out the ring. He stands, tugging Steve up and towards him. "Yes. It's a yes. Did you ever have a doubt?"

Whooping, Steve leaps to his feet, pulling Tony towards him just as much and picking up the smaller man, spinning them around. He can hear Tony's laughter in his ear as he sets him down, pulling the man into a searing kiss.

"Wait," Tony gasps, laughter continuing to bubble from his chest, open and pleased. Steve continues to kiss him wherever he can reach. "Wait, Steve, I need my ring. Gimme my ring."

One hand fumbles with the box, flipping it back open while the other remains wrapped around Tony. Using trembling fingers, Steve pushes the ring onto Tony's left ring-finger. It sits atop olive skin, gleaming brightly despite the low lighting as if it always belonged there. In Steve's opinion, it always has.

Tony stares at it, his own hands trembling as he lets out a wet laugh and looks back up at Steve. "It's beautiful."

Running a finger over the metal band, now warming to match Tony's body temperature, Steve grins. "They're my colors," he says, something possessive and warm curling low in his belly at the sight. "I was thinking, maybe you wear mine, I'll wear yours."

Tony runs his own fingers above the blank space on Steve's hand. "Y'know, red and gold would definitely look sexy on you."

Steve hums and begins to sway them back and forth in a mock dance, basking in the momentary tranquility. He closes his eyes, picturing a small ceremony with one of their friends officiating and Bucky on his left. It can be right here on the roof, right when the sun sets and the sky fills with a variegation of colors, and they can have the after party beneath the stars before escaping away to some secluded island for a long honeymoon. They can do it soon, before the month is out.

"I love you," Tony says against his neck.

Kissing Tony's temple, Steve sighs. "I love you too."

There's a lull, and Steve can hear Tony's mind working, forming what he's going to say next. "Even if we beat Thanos and live to tell the tale… I- what if I mess this up, Steve? What if- what if we stop loving each other or-or realize that we can't make this marriage thing work?" Tony questions in quick, low tones like he's afraid that his words will take away this moment. Their moment. His moment. "There are so many variables. Too many, and there's a fifty-six percent divorce rate to consider, and I'm not good at this. I'm not. How do you- do you really think we can do this? All this? Beat Thanos? Beat the odds?"

Steve feels his gut clench at the fear in his boyfriend's, well, fiancé's, words. He hates the doubt there. Hates the fear. He never wants Tony to be scared again. Not ever. Pulling Tony closer to him, Steve continues their sway. It's a deep question, one with an answer neither of them really have. One that has fears hidden within, fears they can't escape. And Steve, for all that he is, can't predict the future. All he has is love and hope that that might just be enough. And this time… this time he really thinks it will be.

"I do," he breathes, and he honestly believes his own words, something deep and aching settling in his gut. A sureness making itself known in the heaviness of his bones. Maybe in another universe, things worked out differently. But Steve knows that here, he will never not choose Tony. Will never not fight for Tony. And he knows with such terrifying certainty that they'll make it. "As long as you're the one fighting next to me."

Notes:

Alrighty folks, there it is! A little proposal one-shot to aid in healing our wounds. Guaranteed that, in this universe, Steve and Tony get to live out their dream of retiring in each other's arms. In fact, I'm pretty sure Steve builds a picket fence to mark out the territory of their front yard. He definitely takes a few pictures when Tony finally sees it, and Tony… Well, Tony can't quite bring himself to take it down because even he has to admit, it looks nice with their beach front property. Now if Steve would stop blowing up their kitchen trying to make goddam apple pies, things would be peachy keen, but nooooo. Steve has to be the world's biggest fucking troll. Meh, Tony loves him anyway.

I want to give a shout-out to the wonderfully amazing S-horne who ever so kindly beta'd this fic and truly helped make it what it is today, and I sincerely hope to work with her again soon!

Hope you guys enjoyed it, and if you did, pretty please leave a review and/or favorite? I very much enjoy hearing what ya'll have to say. Such swell opinions and conversations to read and be had.

Thank you all so much for reading, and until next time, this is your friendly neighborhood pool girl singing: "I'm never gonna dance again, until I dance with you!"