I'm not sure what to say about this piece other than it's different from what I usually write. I tried to play a bit more with style, going from denser paragraphs to shorter ones to illustrate a change in the character. Hopefully it worked. Mainly, the thing with this story is that it's less focused on action and more focused on understanding a character's change.

This story is for Jade, who put up with all my questions as I figured out this story, and the massive changes that were involved.

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.

He almost says it before they hang up.

I love you.

It's their first conversation in months, the first one since their kiss, and the words settle on his tongue like a pebble about to be thrown in the river. Saying them will cause a ripple, one that would cross space and time and sky, one that will cause a massive change in the status of their relationship, and Steve's not sure he can handle it. Not yet. Not again.

He never asked Peggy how she'd handled his disappearance, couldn't bear to have her think of that again. He was back, alive and safe and well, and she was still here, frail and old and fierce as ever, and he wasn't going to ruin what little time they had left with painful topics. Yet he wishes he knew how she'd coped, so he could cope, because he's somehow found himself in love again, only this time it's not ice and time stopping them, it's just ocean and desert.

He can't ask Sharon to come to Wakanda, can't jeopardize her or ask that of T'Challa, not when the king has already given so much. He can't ask Sam or Wanda or Scott or Clint to welcome Sharon in for his own benefit, because he hasn't even found a way to get Scott's daughter or Clint's family here. He should be worrying about them before Sharon. She's trained to survive, to blend in and thrive, and she's safer away from him.

He doesn't tell Sharon the words. He just hangs up.

It's several months later when they speak again, and it's only for a few minutes.

I love you, he thinks, though he says, "I miss you."

Sharon repeats the sentiment, briefly, carelessly, before launching into the updates as quickly and succinctly as she can. There's no wasted breath, no wasted words. There's no time to talk about them, no time to question if there's even a them to begin with. The only thing they are at this moment is a soldier reporting to her commander.

An Agent to her Captain.

He's missed a thousand things in these past months: Sharon, Brooklyn, Tony, the Avengers, his shield, but never his title. Nobody's called him Captain America or Cap while they've been in Wakanda, yet he never felt as if he'd lost the title. Captain America was as much a part of him as the blue of his eyes and the red blood in his veins.

But then, hadn't he given it up the second he'd dropped the shield?

Hadn't he given up everything in that moment? Or had it been days before, when he'd chosen Bucky over Tony? Or even before that, when he chose choice over agendas? When had he stopped being Captain America?

Steve pushes away the thoughts, the doubts. Captain America is more than a character for him to play — he's a hero for the world to turn to. Steve had decided decades ago that he wasn't an actor pretending to be Captain America, that he would entirely be Captain America. That he would always be Captain America. The title is still with him today, still tied to his very soul.

Steve's so wrapped in his thoughts that he barely notices when their phone call ends.

He doesn't say, "I love you." He doesn't even say, "Goodbye."

It's been well over a year since he last saw everyone together.

He thought he'd be happy when he saw all of them again. He thought he'd be happy when he saw her again. Yet as they're gathering together for one more fight, one last stand, all he can think is, I'm tired.

He's tired of fighting, tired of war. It doesn't matter anymore that war calls to him like a siren in the sea. He's tired of it all and he can only hope so much that Thanos will be the end of fighting for a long while. Perhaps one day he'll fight again, but for once he'd like to see peace settle across the world and last.

He doesn't think of anything else until Sharon comes to stand by him — except, it isn't Sharon standing beside him.

She's not Sharon Carter anymore, and he's not Steve Rogers.

She's Agent Thirteen and he's Captain America, and there's an abyss greater than the universe between them, greater than the decades that separated him from Peggy, greater than anything he's ever known.

"Good luck out there, Captain," she says, smiling as if nothing's wrong. As if their universe isn't about to come raining down on them.

"You too, Agent," he says. The words, spoken and unspoken, stretch between them, and it isn't until she turns to leave that he calls, "Sharon."

It only takes a heartbeat for her to turn. A heartbeat that lasts forever and not long enough.

"I," he begins, trailing off when he meets her expectant stare. He can see the words behind her eyes, can almost hear her saying them, yet he can't bring himself to say them. The words flit across his mind, I love you, but they feel forced, fake, insincere. When had he stopped believing them? When had he stopped loving her? Why had he stopped loving her?

"I get it," Sharon says, before he says another syllable. She takes her time walking back to him, as if she's savoring their precious seconds just as much as him, and Steve lists all of the reasons he'd fallen in love with her to begin with: her fierceness, her passion, her will, her smile, her laugh. Her ability to play coy and talent for boldness.

All wonderful qualities, all not enough.

"Goodbye, Steve," she whispers, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

"Goodbye, Sharon."

As she walks away, Steve's focus returns to the battle they're preparing for, and he lets Sharon slips from his mind like snow in the spring: bit by bit, slowly ebbing away until one day it's gone entirely and all that's left is sky and concrete and future.

That's it for this time. As always, thank you for reading, please review because they make me super happy at work.