See You In A Minute

PART I

"They're doomed."

"Yes... but a thing isn't beautiful because it lasts."

"You gotta move on."

The words echoed in Steve's head as he hit lower Brooklyn, pulling up at a junction. He glanced both ways, allowing him a view of a desolate street and an open road. Empty, just as it had been for the past five years.

Five years and this was all they had to show for it. Pain and grief. A world in ruins, trying to rebuild itself. All in the unspoken truth that, no matter how hard they try, they just can't. They had lost too much that day. Too many families; too many hands; too many voices; too many stories. All gone in an instant.

And yet Steve still had to tell them the same thing, over and over again until it was burned into his brain.

"Gotta move on."

Even as the words left his lips, he felt his conviction slipping. His eyes had moved away from the morose expressions on each of their faces, down towards the floorboards. He gritted his teeth behind his tight lips, ashamed, angry and tired. How could he expect them to move on if he couldn't even manage it himself? The last thing he wanted to do was move on, to admit defeat and to let Thanos take one more thing from his life, namely his will. But he was running out of options.

Steve had spent five long years stubbornly refusing to give up, to listen to his own words, to move on. Five years of running in circles. Of driving down the same roads and looking up at the same gloomy sky. Of acting as counsellor to a revolving circle of victims, each new person being all too similar to the last.

Maybe it was time to get out.

Maybe it was time he stopped fighting the inevitable.

It felt wrong - frightening, even. It made his hands tighten against the steering wheel, his mood souring considerably.

A sinking feeling in his heart told Steve that it was what he had to do.

The car came to a halt at a red light - an automated measure that had become almost obsolete in recent years. His head turned, distracted by the neon light of a nearby store to his left. He looked up, his eyes meeting a storefront, row after row of adverts and records stacked behind the glass. His eyes licked the selection, eventually reaching one in particular and stopping.

He didn't know what possessed him to park the car, walk inside and buy the CD, whether it was some buried fancy flaring to the surface or a mere twist of fate. Still, Steve knew exactly who he was buying it for. It wasn't for himself. He knew that the moment he purchased that CD, the rest of his day was decided. He knew exactly where he was going.

He was heading north. To the one person he needed to see.

Steve had met with Natasha regularly since he moved back to Brooklyn. They made it a habit, once every week - specifically every Saturday - Steve would drive up to the Avengers Compound, to meet with Natasha for whatever the hell they felt like doing. Whether it was watching a film, having lunch, maybe even a mission if the two of them could drum up the effort. Most of the time he would spend the night, rarely sleeping well. He never felt at ease in his old room, not when the rest of the building was so empty. He felt the space, more than anything else. Any comfort he used to confide in had been replaced with a slow, corrosive feeling of alienation. He didn't belong there, not anymore.

And neither did Natasha. She didn't deserve to be holed up in the middle of upstate New York, slaving away, fighting a war that they had long since lost.

That was how he found her; desperate, crying, mid-way through a sandwich, trying to hold it all together. Tired, alone and needing him.

She was surprised to see him. Evidently, if Natasha knew he was coming, she would have made efforts to hide this side of herself. She'd have greeted him with a broad smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, and an enthusiastic hug that hid her face from him. Her hands would've clasped around him just a little bit too tight as if she couldn't bear to let him go again.

Now, here he was, looking at the woman behind the facade, the Natasha that had born her heart to him all those years ago. The woman who still believed she had something yet to prove, that she was anything other than a hero.

"I used to have nothing," she whispered, her eyes shining with barely withheld tears. "Then I got this. This job, this family, and I was… I was better because of it. And even though they're gone… I'm still trying to be better."

Still driving herself to the edge, every day. Still holding on, hoping.

"I think we both need to get a life," Steve replied.

He took notice in the slight hesitation in her reply.

"You first."

She tried her best smile and failed miserably. It was a sight that Steve always hated to see, one that he was determined to never see again, and yet he saw it all too often. Not only from Natasha, but from each of the people that had come to him, begging for help with moving on from the world that had been torn away from them. And every time he was forced to tell them the same thing.

Steve sighed, sitting up in his seat, refusing to sink any further in his stupor.

"I picked something up on the way back," he announced, reaching into his jacket, producing a CD.

Steve stood, walking towards the sound system nearby before Natasha could protest. He opened the tray, carefully placing the disc into the machine, and pressed play. The speakers dotted around the room came to life, the smooth melody of an evening piano filled the room, soft and lively. He smiled as Natasha rolled her eyes at him.

"Really?"

He didn't reply. Instead, he beckoned her over with an open hand. With one last indignant look, Natasha stood, making her way over to his side.

"You know how this one goes?" Steve asked.

Natasha raised an eyebrow in response, taking his hand in hers.

"I know how all of them go."

"Good," he grinned, "'cause I don't."

She titled her head.

"No?"

He shrugged.

"Never had the time."

"Let me show you." She cupped his other hand, guiding it to her hip. "Hand goes here, feet - one-two, one-two."

Carefully, Steve placed his foot forward, making sure to avoid her toes, moving in time with the beat. After a few moments, the two ended up in a slow swaying embrace, with Natasha finding her place on his chest.

"See, you're getting it."

"Hmm…" Steve glanced down, smiling at her, glad to see the stress leave her face. "You're enjoying this."

"Just a bit," she said quietly, relaxing into the dance, entranced by the slow jazz. "Why did you come back? Why today?"

Steve took his time, still listening to the music floating past them.

"I needed to see you again," he confessed softly. "It's getting lonely down in Brooklyn. Everyone's packing up, moving out. The city's a ghost town. I was thinking of doing the same."

"But you don't want to," Natasha presumed. Steve shook his head.

"I do, but… I'm just not sure if I'm moving on or if I'm running away."

"What's there to stay for?"

"Those who need my help."

"And what about you?"

He leaned back, smiling down at her.

"I'm fine."

Natasha sighed.

"I've used that lie plenty of times, Rogers," she admonished, and his smile faltered. Instead, he chose to stare down at her as if reading her every thought.

"Come with me," he eventually said. Natasha blinked.

"What?"

The sway of their dancing stopped, leaving them standing together in the middle of the living area.

"Please," he insisted.

"Steve," she said tiredly, "you know I can't-"

"I can't do this on my own, Nat. Come with me. There are plenty of people who can do this job."

Natasha's gaze fell from his eyes, back towards the floor.

"There used to be."

"There still is."

Natasha swallowed anxiously.

"I can't just quit," she replied, shaking her head.

"I'm not letting you stay here all by yourself," Steve said sternly.

"There's plenty of space," she offered.

"Plenty of ghosts." Steve gazed around the room. His eyes clouded over with memories of all the people that used to live there, all the evenings they spent together before it all fell apart. "I can't move on here, neither can you."

"Who says I need to move on?" argued weakly.

"Nat, this is the world now. We've spent five years already trying to get the old one back. But we can't. I don't wanna leave them behind either, but it's time to face facts."

Natasha brow furrowed, her gaze fixed on him. He could see the endless thoughts behind her eyes, every moment of regret, of longing and reluctance. She wanted to accept, to leave it all behind, to rest. But Steve knew it would never be that easy. He knew it was a hopeless venture, but he had to try.

"I can't. I just… I can't." Her eyes fell closed. "If they were here, maybe, but… I owe it to them to try."

Despite himself, Steve couldn't help the long, weary sigh that escaped his lips. And all Natasha could do was look up at him, a heavy frown set on her lips as if she were thinking the exact same thing. As if she wanted this just as much as he did.

"Look at us…" he said quietly, his arms reaching around and pulling her closer. He felt Natasha relax into him, embracing him just as tightly. "Waited too long."

The bright holographic display of an alert cut through the moment. Natasha reluctantly turned away from him, swiping through the air to answer it.

The alert faded away, and subsequently, a nearby monitor lit up with camera footage.

"Oh, hi, hi! Is anyone home? I-It's, uh, Scott Lang."

The two froze, their eyes widening to the tune of rapidly quickening pulse.

"We met a few years ago, at the airport, in Germany. I was- I was the guy that got really big, I had a mask on, you wouldn't recognise me. Ant-Man? I know you know- I know you know that."

This couldn't be real. This can't be happening. Lang was dead, missing with the rest of the victims of the snap. What the hell was he doing here? Now? It made no sense.

"Is this an old message?" Steve asked, his voice shaking, still in disbelief over what he was seeing.

Natasha shook her head faintly, appearing just as confused and shocked as he was.

"It's the front gate."

They had the beginnings of a plan.

It turned out time travel was a thing, or at least it had the potential to become a thing. Lang was proof enough. Supposedly he had been able to skip five whole years via something called the Quantum Realm. That was the key to this entire operation. Now all they needed was the brains to pull it off.

There were two candidates: Tony Stark and Bruce Banner.

After a short period of refusal, Tony was now on board with building the prototype for the Quantum Gate. Bruce was all in from the very start. Now with the two working together, they'd have a working model within the next few days.

Steve had been roped in for manual labour, all the heavy lifting that neither Tony, Lang nor Nat could assist with. Lang himself was a supervisor on the technicals, along with engineering a new suit for the journey, something to protect the user once they entered the Quantum Realm. Natasha herself was the director - in other words, the motivator, a role she had become more than used to in her years leading the team in his absence. As for the others, that was a work in progress.

Rocket and Bruce had managed to convince Thor to return to the compound - probably with the allure of beer judging by the state of him. The sight of this new Thor after so long in self-imposed isolation was a shock, even to Steve. Grief manifested in many different ways - Steve had seen plenty during his time in New York - but this was something else. He should have seen it coming. He should have at least tried to contact Thor after all this time. In the end, it just more things to add onto the pile of regrets he shouldered.

Barton was another issue entirely. The man had gone on a rampage, murdering his way across the planet, taking out anyone from small-time thugs to larger crime syndicates during the past half-decade. He'd even earned himself a new nickname, courtesy of the Yakuza: Ronin. Of course, Natasha knew all of this. It was her that charted his descent. It was she who always kept tabs on his whereabouts, trying in vain to contact him, to bring him home. Either those messages hadn't got to him, or Barton wilfully ignored them - some part of Steve leaned to the latter.

It didn't matter now. They were all here. The Avengers. Assembled once again.

And depending on how this first test went, there was a real chance they were about to face yet another fight. Possibly their defining battle.

He had a lot of feelings about that prospect, but none more prominent than his need to speak to a certain someone. Someone who was standing right in front of him, checking components off of her checklist, scanning the room as Bruce and Tony coordinated the final details.

"Hey," Steve called. Natasha looked up, about to speak when Steve held up his hand, ushering her over to the corner.

"I thought Tony needed help with the gate?" she asked, her brow creasing in her typically suspicious fashion.

"He can wait five minutes," Steve dismissed carefully, glancing around to make sure no one was in earshot. "Listen, I wanted to talk to you. There's a chance - a small one, but a chance - that this might work. We can get everyone back. And I thought about what you said. Nat, this could be it."

A dawning realisation slow crept up Natasha's face as she fumbled with her pen, tapping the clipboard erratically.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Rogers."

"No, but if it works, if we bring everyone back-"

"Steve," Natasha sighed, almost begging.

"Natasha," Steve challenged.

She gave him a once-over, her frown deepening as she realised what she was up against.

"You're not gonna drop this, are you?"

Steve shook his head.

"Not until you agree to come with me."

Natasha patiently disregarded her clipboard, taking a few paces towards him until she was right up against him.

"When this all over, only when we bring everyone back… I'll think about it."

And that was all he needed. Steve couldn't help the smirk that appeared on his face, much to Natasha's annoyance.

"Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?" Steve teased.

Natasha scoffed, swivelling on the spot.

"That wasn't a yes."

"I'm not hearing a no."

"You got a maybe at best."

"Good enough for me."

Natasha's eyes squinting, her gaze sharp like a scalpel.

"You think you can change my mind."

"I don't think I'll need to," Steve shrugged. It was only as she turned to pick up her clipboard that Steve caught the edge of Natasha's lips curling upwards ever-so-slightly. "I know you're trying not to smile."

"I'm not," she waved him off.

"You are," Steve laughed.

"Steve," Natasha growled, fixing him with her infamous Black Widow stare. Steve was barely fazed.

"You know, that only works on people that don't know you."

"And you do?"

"Better than most." Steve grinned, crossing his arms. "Enough to know that you're almost at a yes."

Natasha could barely keep her composure, instead opting to change the subject.

"You got somewhere in mind?"

"Ohio."

Natasha tilted her head in an impressed gesture.

"That's pretty far away."

"I wanted a clean break," Steve explained. "Besides, it's only a couple of hours drive away. I was tempted to move into the compound with you."

Natasha raised a single eyebrow.

"You think you could've lived with all those ghosts?"

"I would've tried," he said, more to himself, as she strode away to continue helping with the gate. "For you."

Judging by the way her gait faltered ever so slightly, Steve could have sworn she almost heard him.

"Thanos found the soul stone on Vormir," Nebula explained gravely, pointing to the image by her side.

"What is Vormir?" Natasha asked as she jotted down notes.

"A dominion of death," Nebula replied, a phrase which pulled everyone's attention to her, including Steve's, who was standing just to the side, "at the very centre of celestial existence."

Nebula's face twitched minutely, and Steve could tell she was trying to compose herself. He had seen the same look many times in his group sessions when people describe the day the Snap took their loved ones. The shame, the grief, the fear, the desperation, barely hidden beneath a blank face.

"It's where Thanos murdered my sister."

Silence consumed the room. Steve stared at the diagram of the amber stone in front of him, Nebula's words run through his mind, conjuring all sorts of nightmarish images before his very eyes. And all the while the room sat in detached contemplation, each of the other probably thinking the exact same thing. Steve could see something akin to fear buried in Natasha's posture. Her writing had ceased, but her pen was still in position, ready to write and yet unable to form words.

He could see the cogs turning in her head already. She was going to volunteer for Vormir, even if no one else was. It was a prospect that gripped his stomach in a cold squeeze, and suddenly his legs felt like jelly. Steve knew that depending on how the Infinity Stones were spread out, he was likely to be assigned to a different mission, unable to assist her if all went South. A concept he dreaded to imagine.

It wasn't as if he didn't trust Natasha to get the job done - she was a skilled, intelligent and downright ruthless agent, more than used to the fight. Then again, according to what Nebula had told him in her spare time, so was Gamora.

It was Lang that summed up the mood most eloquently.

"Not it."

The stones were in their sights. Finally, after days of careful, intensive planning, they had an idea of what they were going to do. Namely, they were going to steal the stones, and use them to revive everyone that Thanos had killed. They had the machine up and running, ready to go at a moment's notice. They had their suits for the job - a redesigned Ant-Man suit, adapted for Quantum travel, enhanced with nanotech so that they fit like a second skin over their gear.

The others had all acquired their uniforms, with Tony and Bruce dressing up in their disguises. If they were heading back in time, they were going to need to dress up in the appropriate attire. That only left Steve, already wearing his Quantum suit over his costume. This was something that the rest of the Avengers didn't need to see.

The temporal G.P.S. bands were sitting adjacent to him, all lined up on a desk, each one programmed with specific space-time coordinates, segregated by missions. Four for the 2014 group, four for the 2012 group and two for the 2013 pair. One of them was his, bound for New York; another was Natasha's, configured to take her all the way to Morag. So far away from each other, in so many ways.

The scenario that Steve had dreaded ever since he had initially heard the name Vormir was finally coming to pass. Natasha was going to retrieve the soul stone. She had been the first to volunteer for the mission, just as he predicted, with Barton stepping up right behind her. At least she wasn't alone, Steve could take some solace in that fact. But still, something nagged at him in the back of his head. Something wasn't right. He didn't know why, but every instinct in his body was flaring.

Thanos apparently loved his daughter, cherished her above anything else in his possession, obsessed over her well-being. Why would he choose to murder her? It couldn't have been a spontaneous gesture of madness. Thanos was deranged, but he was hardly one to act on a whim. Even when he had the chance on Wakanda, even with five of the stones attached to his gauntlet, the only person he murdered was Vision, his aim squarely on the Infinity Stone in the android's head. And according to what Tony had told him, Thanos had been equally merciful during their fight on Titan.

No, he wouldn't have murdered Gamora unless he had to - unless there was something on Vormir that demanded it of him. Something far more powerful than even the mad titan. Gamora had to die for Thanos to get the soul stone.

That same sadistic test was awaiting Natasha and Clint on Vormir. Steve knew, if it were down to her or Barton, Natasha would make all but sure it was her who laid down her life so that Clint wouldn't have to. Barton would argue, maybe fight her for it, perhaps even get the upper hand. But Natasha would win. How could she not?

Steve remembered vividly the moment he realised exactly what was going to happen. When the penny dropped with a horrible clang. When he realised that they were sending Natasha to her death. It happened the previous evening, as he was looking over the plan for each of the teams for flaws they might have missed. He was glad he was alone, or he might have seemed crazy, suddenly freezing in place like a statue. Every muscle in his body clenched as a cold sweat danced over this skin. His breathing halted entirely. His face drained of colour.

And now here he was, the morning after, all geared up, staring at the individual devices in front of him, wondering whether all of them would make it back with their user. Even now, his hands felt clammy, his stomach and chest uneasy. The horror had remained, and now clung to his every waking moment.

Steve carefully picked up one programmed for New York, examining the intricate wiring beneath the face of the band. He did the same for one drafted for Morag. In his hands was the key to time travel, a notion that used to live exclusive inside the pages of pulp science-fiction novels and the imaginations of children. Now it was real. All too real.

"How're the old tights feeling?"

It took all the mental discipline Steve possessed to refrain from jumping. He swivelled, tucking the wrist-bands behind his back, shielding them from her view. His gaze met her smirking face of Natasha, dressed in her grey uniform, her hair tied up in an intricate ponytail trailing onto her shoulder. She looked beautiful, as she always did. Beautiful, captivating yet deadly.

"Spangly," he quickly scoffed, remembering the monstrosity of a suit he was supposed to be wearing. The same one that had been given to him in 2012. "Embarrassing."

"I've no idea what Coulson was thinking when he had you wear it," Natasha laughed, striding up to him to examine him closer.

"Well, he mentioned how people needed something a bit old-fashioned."

Natasha scoffed.

"You're old fashioned enough. You're practically a dinosaur."

It was as she reached behind him for one of the bands that he grabbed her arm.

"Careful," he urged, placing a wrist band on her hand and fastening it, "don't wanna mess up the coordinates."

"I won't," Natasha insisted.

"Just making sure," Steve smiled, fastening his own as she stared at the device resting on the back of her hand.

"I can't believe this is actually happening," she whispered, glancing at him with barely-concealed glee. Her joy was infectious, he found, as his worries began to melt away, and he relaxed, just enough to smile.

"Me neither," he grinned back. The two locked eyes; stuck as several beats passed in silence. Neither spoke, but enough was said in but a glance, in the way her eyes were sparkling for the first time in five long years.

"Steve?" she spoke, breaking the expel for only a moment. She took a moment, inhaling, reading herself. "You're very close to getting a yes."

Steve could only stare at her, his brow furrowed, his lips parted as words refused to come out.

"I thought-"

"That was back when I didn't think this would work," she clarified. "Now…"

Now there was hope. That was what she had been missing for so long, what had kept her back. Now she saw the light at the end of the tunnel, as did he, and it was warm and bright and glorious.

"Just be careful," Steve said pointedly, gripping her arm tightly.

"I will," she promised. "Barton's got my back."

"I know, but still-"

"Steve," Nat insisted, gazing up at him in a way that made his heart swell, "I'm gonna be fine."

He believed her. He knew she was going to be okay. He had no doubts.

Because, unbeknownst to her, he had just made sure of it.

"Alright, we have a plan," Steve announced to a gathered team, assembled on the central platform in the hangar. He scanned the room, his eyes resting on each of their determined faces. "Six stones, three teams, one shot. Five years ago, we lost. We lost friends, we lost family, we lost a part of ourselves. Today we have a chance to take it all back.

"You know your teams, you know your missions. Get the stones, get them back. One round trip each. No mistakes. No do-overs. Most of us are going somewhere we know, but that doesn't mean you should know what to expect. Be careful, look out for each other. This is the fight of our lives, and we're gonna win. Whatever it takes. Good luck."

They were ready - more than ready, even. They were going to do this. They were coming back with the stones, no matter what. It took a long time to get here, but it was finally time to avenge the people they love.

"He's pretty good at that," he heard Rocket remark.

"Right?" was Scott's response.

"Alright, you heard the man," Tony called by his side. "Stroke those keys, Jolly Green."

Bruce nodded, punching in commands on a nearby keyboard. The machine whirred as it came to life.

"Traction's engaged," Bruce announced, quickly rejoining them on the platform.

He saw Clint glancing down at a miniature ship in the palm of his hand, barely the size of a toy.

"You promise to bring that back in one piece, right?" Rocket asked from the other side of the platform.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah," Clint nodded absently. He gave the raccoon his best smile. "I'll do my best."

Rocket seemed entirely unmoved.

"As promises go, that was pretty lame."

The gears underneath the glass began to spin, the circuits flared with energy. This was it. Steve heard Natasha to his left, swinging the balls of her feet.

"See you in a minute," she said cheekily, her voice filled with optimism, flashing him a smile made his heart skip a beat, and force his lips into a warm, genuine smile of his own.

"I know," he nodded, savouring the moment, before his nanotech helmet folded around his head, encasing him behind a blue visor.

A chandelier of glass refractors spun above the platform as the generators geared up into full power.

A second later the platform was empty.

The 2012 team landed in the middle of an abandoned alleyway, dipping out of view as a Chitauri craft came hurtling past them, thankfully not noticing their arrival. The four stood, taking in their surroundings. They had made it.

"Okay, Stark tower is due north," Tony announced, his suit melting away to reveal his S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform underneath. He turned to face the group. "Let's head up the-"

He paused. He quickly performed a headcount. Four people. Him, Lang, Bruce, and one more. Someone who should have been Steve. Except they were at least half a foot too short. His suspicions were confirmed when their suit disappeared, revealing that they were, in fact, not the person they were supposed to be.

His hesitation made the others turned in the direction he was staring at. They too faltered, spotting the exact same thing as Tony did. The fourth person in their team who wasn't supposed to be anywhere near here.

Bruce was the first to break the confused silence.

"Natasha?"

She glanced up at him, then around at the buildings dwarfing the alley, looking just as confused as they were. Then her eyes fell to the device sitting on the back of her hand, running back through her memory to see what could have gone wrong.

"What happened? What're you doing here? Where's…"

Her eyes widened as she put the pieces together, finally remembering what she had missed the first time.

"Steve…"