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He had walked past that particular building countless times, never realizing the possibility to take a closer look at it. It was a long shot as to why he would do so in the first place, but nevertheless he did one day, more out of a stray thought about clouds than anything else. Gaze travelling upwards along the linear rows of windows to the sky above, one thing, a trinket, rather, caught his attention. In the far left window on first floor sat a pocket watch adorned with familiar ornaments on the back side, faded with age. Inching closer, he spotted the edge of a picture in the top half of the watch, though unable to make out the person in it. He shrugged it off as a coincidence.
-
In the tower that evening, he almost stumbled over a rushed Tony Stark whilst making his way from the gym to the kitchen. His expression changed little if at all, still the same confused and hopeful, the latter minuscule, expression he had worn since his walk a few hours earlier.
“Whoa, look out! I nearly spilt my coffee, which would have been a shame, since I really don’t wanna go to the kitchen again considering…” the billionaire’s rambling came to an end once he looked Steve in the eyes subsequently to making sure his coffee was save.
“I’m sorry,” Steve said with the hint of a smile, turning to continue his fare down the hallway. He didn’t get far before Tony grabbed his arm and put him to a halt.
"Hey, what’s up? Natasha kicked your ass again?” He added the last question jokingly when he noticed how his friend was dressed, but concern remained evident in his voice. The taller man sighed, shook his head and tried to push Tony out of the way, but stopped halfway through the action.
“Have you ever not told somebody you love them because you were afraid that they wouldn’t feel the same?” He said, a warm and stinging sensation sneaking up on his eyes. Vision beginning to blur, he turned away from Tony and fixed his look on the opposite wall, trying his best to calm himself before continuing. When he finally felt that the tears wouldn’t betray him, he started for the door down the hallway again, and this time Tony did no attempt whatsoever to stop him. He knew when his friend needed to be alone. On a second thought, Steve would most likely be blown to the moon and back by shock if he entered the kitchen alone.
“Hey, wait! Wait! Don’t go in there,” Tony half shouted after him. Ignoring him, Steve continued, and as he opened the door, stilled.
“What… are you doing?” He mustered after a short while, and even though he stood behind the broad-shouldered man that is Steve Rogers, Tony was pretty convinced he could imagine the shock which must, if only fleetingly, have crossed the other man’s face.
Bruce and Thor looked up in unison from the limp form on the kitchen table which their eyes had been fixed upon prior to Steve’s entry. Squeezing his way past the man who took up the whole doorway, Tony tried his best to remain rather diplomatic in spite of the situation in the, in his, kitchen. “Steve, just… sit down, and don’t faint or something similarly outrageous and I’ll explain,” he said, facing the person on the table. It wasn’t until then that Steve noticed their blood-covered state, Tony, floor and table included, before that only taking note of the inhabitant of the table.
Said person was stripped down to his boxers, numerous injuries of varying severity creating a pattern upon his body in its entirety. Out of a sudden, he coughed violently, turning onto his side out of reflex rather than conscious action as blood started flooding from his mouth. “I would appreciate it if you would return your attention to me,” he hissed in between wet coughs painting the table and the floor with fresh, red pools. While Bruce, Thor and Tony did as requested, Steve crossed the room, his mind flashing back to the soldiers he had seen in the infirmaries so long time ago. Shaking his head in an attempt to clear his thoughts of what would most definitely bring back the nightmares. 'I didn’t have nightmares when I was with her,' he thought, his mind strolling down memory lane for an immeasurably short amount of time.
The being on the table turned his attention, limited by the intensity of his concussion, to Rogers once the pain had decreased to a bearable level again and the half strangled screams of agony subsided. “I know you recognize me, captain,” he said by the force of will exclusively and shut his eyes tightly.
“You are in no position to call me that, trickster”, he retorted, the last part spat out as if it tasted badly.
“Steve, I think you should leave,” Tony said matter-of-factly. It didn’t, however, work as intended, as the man addressed simply strode to stand beside the table, opposite their resident god of thunder.
Thor looked from his brother to Steve and back again, eyes flipping confusedly until the former spoke. “You can leave. I won’t mind,” he said, voice breaking with a pained wince every now and then.
“I’m not concerned about you. I simply want to know what you’re doing here.” His attention crawled to rest on Stark’s shoulder before he carried on. “He almost killed us. All of us. Why help him? His magic can do that!” It had been a long time since he had been that angry last. Almost 70 years, in fact, but it had been in another way. Back then, he had been angry with himself and his inability to commit his love to the woman it befell.
A laugh evolved into a bloody cough which the god of mischief tried and failed miserably to get rid of. He spoke through spitting blood: “I would never have come to you asinine so-called heroes had I been able to mend my injuries myself. But I do not have the power, the magic as you put it. I used it to ensure the safety of those surrounding me when I… landed on your petty streets.” He heaved in a deep breath before he continued. “Amongst them your long-lost love, Captain Rogers,” was the last thing he said before passing out. The unintended action triggered Tony and Bruce as they scrambled to stabilize Loki. Instructed to leave the room, Steve and Thor, the latter with major complaints, did so, ending up in a more than awkward silence in the hallway.
Confusion would be the understatement of the century, either of them would agree to that, although the reason wasn’t mutual. Eventually, Steve left.
-
The evening had turned into night, and the floor-to-ceiling windows in the shared living room delivered an astonishing view over New York City. Yet Steve had asked Jarvis to dim the windows and sat down on the couch with his sketch book and a pencil, paper still blank, and mind pleasantly lost in thoughts changing on their own accord by the hypnotizing silence. After a while, he allowed his right hand to navigate the pencil across the surface of the paper.
-
“Mr. Rogers, your presence is requested in the infirmary,” Jarvis announced. Said man rose with a groan from where he had fallen asleep on the couch and threw the blanket which had covered half of his body haphazardly over the arm lean, silently thanking whoever had draped him in said piece of cloth.
In the infirmary, Thor was sitting at the end of Loki’s bed, one hand resting on his brother’s knee. It all seemed so… normal. As if the injured man’s older brother had visited him out of caring. Alas, that wasn’t quite the case. Thor was undoubtedly happy that he had the god of mischief here with him, and Loki didn’t seem all that unaffected by the reuniting after all, but as soon as Steve entered the room, their features morphed into seriousness, and Thor’s voice, quieter than usually, reached his ears. “I see the ceiling sent for you as I asked of it. Tony would have liked to deliver this message to you himself, but he was unable to. Therefore, he asked me to take upon me this duty.”
It had taken Thor a great deal of time to explain the matter to Steve despite its simple format. “I can’t believe it. Are you sure? When is Tony back?” The god confirmed his first question and answered the second with an hour at most.
Apparently, Loki hadn’t been wrong when he mumbled something about Steve’s long-lost love right before fainting the night before, and most importantly, to Steve at least, he was right himself. The pocket watch he had seen in that window in that utterly ordinary building was the one he thought it was. As he and Tony drove towards the building in question, fear did, however, start to sneak in on him. What if she didn’t recognize him? Or was mad at him? As far as he’d been told, she was not even aware of him being alive.
-
“Are you ready?” Tony asked, genuinely interested. Steve nodded, his throat dry, as his companion knocked on the door. A few drawn out seconds of silence passed until they heard a person moving slowly inside the apartment. It clicked open and creaked painfully as the gap between doorframe and door widened.
He didn’t know what he had expected. Whether it was this or something entirely different remained a mystery. She stared at him for a long time, old memories, suppressed out of sorrow, surfacing. “Steve?” she finally whispered, and he nodded faintly.
“Peggy,” he said, only a tad louder than she had his name. Stark coughed intentionally to make them aware of his departure and left them alone.
-
They sat and spoke until the outsides turned darker; about back then, about now, about anything and everything, about them, and about their date, planned so long ago. Despite her aging, she was still as beautiful and intelligent and perfect to him as she had been when he first met her. “You did promise me a dance,” she said, a warm smile curving her mouth and crinkling her features. Steve rose with a smile mirroring hers, if less crinkling.
“Miss Carter, a dance, if you will?” He said elegantly, extending a hand for her to take. He curled one arm around her waist and held her hand in his. “I’m sorry,” he finally decided.
“Don’t be. You did the right thing,” she assured him, resting her forehead on his shoulder, speaking slowly. “Back then, when you disappeared, I promised myself that I would see you again. That they would find you, alive. They only found the watch. I never lost faith, although I thought you dead for many years.”
“I love you.”
“And I love you.”
-
It took Steve a while to realize that they were actually leaving when Tony showed up again. After saying his goodbyes, which were approximately as sappy as those in romantic movies, Peggy asked for a word with Tony. “Howard’s boy.” Taken a bit by surprise, Tony plainly nodded. “Thank you, Anthony. I’m complete now.”
-
“I have reason to believe that the responsibility rests partly on me,” Loki said. When Steve shot him a confused look, he chose to elaborate on the statement. “She was hurt. Although I did my best to protect the Midgardians when I landed, some were hurt, her included.”
“Why did you do that anyway?” It was the first time Steve had spoken to him with anything else than anger. This time, sadness replaced anger, and excessively so.
“I would undoubtedly get hurt from the impact. If I had to use my magic to heal myself, how would I fight you? Nay, to protect them and be healed without the use of my own power seemed like a much better plan,” he explained, a smirk in mind but not unfolded considering the circumstances.
Steve tried to muster a smile as Tony approached them, something wrapped in white cloth in hand. “She left you this,” he said and handed Steve the item. He unfolded the cloth, and there lay his pocket watch, as worn and faded with age as it had been when he saw it in her window, the same picture looking up at him as he flipped it open. “And… it might not be the right time to tell you this, but… she wasn’t lethally hurt when Loki landed. She had been waiting, unable to rest. Now she finally could,” Tony continued in a voice revealing his held back tears. Steve opened his mouth to say something, but stopped as the coffin was lowered down into eternal darkness.