So a hundred years had passed since his birth, or in seventy two minutes to be exact, 2018 would be over. A hundred years were behind him, he should be long buried and yet he wasn't. At least he'd had Bucky. Peggy, Howard and his comrades were long gone now, but he'd still had Bucky. It had seemed that they shared this blessed curse together. It wasn't all bad, he'd faced and thwarted foes he never imagined existing, heard music that felt personal to him, maybe he had even started to fall again.
But then Thanos and the decimation happened, it'd been two months since all their friends and millions of strangers had been wiped out with a click of one man's fingers. Steve would never forget his failure, nor Bucky falling to dust. He was alone now. The only man of his time. Natasha was his closest friend, she was kind and understood loss, but she couldn't fathom that.
As he looked down at the guests of the New Years gathering, the remains of the Avengers and their allies, loss was acute. They were working on a plan but it couldn't happen overnight. Indeed, Tony had only woken from his coma two weeks ago and was still struggling with shock. But they all agreed they owed ringing in the New Year as a promise to those who had been torn from time, they would get them back. Cost what it may.
Then, Steve felt a hand touch his arm lightly. Turning, he saw the pair of violet eyes looking at him, soft and concerned. It was like she had read his mind. Ayla was a novelty, a being who had fallen through time, like he. Only her time was much further forward. She lived and longed for those that were to come. It was Thor who had found her wandering only weeks before, her craft and memories unable to account for how she had reached here. Ayla was human like he, and she was lonely too.
Holding out a glass of champagne, ill fitting for the occasion but he endured she said.
"It's wrong all of this, yet it's comforting too. We're all alone in this crowd, we have that in common at least."
Taking the glass, his fingers briefly touching hers as he did so, he swigged the contents in one mouthful. Ayla likewise drowned her sorrows.
"It's the right thing to do in a wrong time."
"As are we, Steve." She said with a smile.
"We're the life and soul of the party that's for sure." He said wryly.
"For the sake of those waiting on us, hoping, we should place our guilt into perspective. It is easy to wallow when we have the luxury that others do not."
"I wasn't strong enough."
"No one was, look to Wanda. She could not stop it from what I have heard. You can only do so much."
"That poor kid." He murmured, more to himself than her.
In recent days, Ayla and her advanced knowledge of anatomy had helped swiften Tony's recovery and the she and Steve had often conversed with the weakened philanthropist about next moves. Steve had found her a great comfort for Natasha too, another hardy female to bolster what he could not. Was it wrong to also acknowledge his admiration of her beauty?
Ayla's free hand rested on the rail of the balcony and they observed a limping Tony doing his best MC impression, attempting to cover how broken he really felt. He was one of the lucky few who had not lost those closest too him. Pepper was safe. Furious, but safe. Now on his arm, they attempted to keep the party rallied. Steve watched Ayla as she looked down at the guests, a sad smile forming on her lips.
"Your friends are admirable." He noted she hadn't said 'our friends'.
Instinctively, he rested a hand on top of hers, running a thumb along her knuckles gently. Ayla turned and looked at him, those violet eyes drawing him in and disarming him. It was as if magic existed there, and in the modern world he believed enough of magic and science.
"We're grateful for your help, I know I am." Steve said honestly, smiling slightly for the first time. "I imagine things are different in the future."
"We don't sing Auld Langs Syne, other than that, it's pretty similar. We're just higher up in the atmosphere. Well, I am as a response medic."
Ayla had simplified herself of course, the scans they could muster on her anatomy had showed a heightened level of metabolism and brain function. She was particularly good at empathy and influence. It explained her profession. Steve could imagine how comforting she would be to the ill and dying. The clock struck eleven, only one hour left until the year that they would try and change time would occur.
"How did you celebrate the new year as a child?" She asked him, their hands still joined.
"My mom would have our neighbours round, and my uncle. We'd squeeze into our tiny room and music would be playing. It was nice. It's things like that that seem so far away tonight."
"You should recall them with fondness." Ayla explained, "no matter your time, they happened as they should, the natural order of things."
"You're right." He nodded and a recollection brought a bigger smile to his face. "My mom would make a punch, she shouldn't have had any alcohol but our neighbour got her some. I took one sip the year I was seven and I was seeing three of everyone."
"And what did your mom say?"
"She said I shouldn't do any dancing again until I saw only two left feet instead of twelve."
His laughter brought forth hers and she felt him squeeze her hand. Their eyes met again for a long moment and for a brief window of time, he didn't feel so lost.
"Wanna get out of here?" Steve asked, unsure of how she'd take it.
Right now, he didn't care where they ended up, he just felt less alone with just her. Besides, he was drawn to her more and more.
"I'll get my jacket." She replied and he released her hand at last. Steve felt flushed and nervous but there was a strange excited buzz in his stomach.
Five minutes later, his hand moved to the small of Ayla's back and he guided her out. Steve wasn't presumptive, a look from her had given him permission for this small intimacy. No one saw them leave and as it was a clear, cool night scattered with stars, they walked. His stomach flipped in a similar way to when he had been near Peggy in the early days. Like Peggy, if he was destined to fall hard for Ayla it wouldn't last. Their times were not aligned.
Walking side by side, arms lightly brushing, they were silent for a time. It was a contented silence, nothing felt strained, there was only anticipation. Finally, they reached the corner of where she was staying and she turned to look up at him. Ayla wasn't short, but she still was only eye level with his chin.
"We'll get there, Steve."
"I'll die trying."
Her hand rested on his cheek.
"It would be a sad loss, but I don't think a waste."
This was his cue. She looked so lovely illuminated by the dim streetlights, the stars over them, her hand cupping his cheek. Dipping his head, Steve pressed his lips to hers. Ayla's were warm and welcoming and so soft. He could smell her perfume mixing with her natural scent and he suddenly felt so absorbed that the rest of the world melted away.
His hands at first clasped her waist but soon one moved to cup her cheek. He'd anchored her against him as they became lost in each other. A rush of familiar affection flooded him, for the second time in his life, he knew what this meant. Peggy had kissed him in a speedy car as they fought to face extinction. There was no such urgency here, yet the comfort and euphoria it brought felt electric. In all things great and small there were these moments. Why should he not steal them and revel in them as others did?
A little while later, closeted in her apartment, they were together. Skin dragged against skin. In the lamplight, her eyes looked darker as he locked her gaze. They kissed intermittently as he moved above her, feeling her arch into him as they moved towards that blissful end. Her hands clutched and moved up his back as she whimpered. His own supported him but kept her close. Steve Rogers felt alive, the most alive since the snap of those fingers. They didn't realise when the clock struck twelve, still lost in each other's bodies. But a little while later as they rested together in the low light, they thanked whatever was required for this feeling, these moments. For 2019 could be their final year.
