Without you I'm insignificant
Just nothing at all
With you I could work miracles
You make me feel that way
Anything you wish for, anything you say
- "Roses In December" by Dick Powell
I.
Weirdness followed Steve.
Weirdness seemed to follow Steve wherever he went.
That's what he thought the second Erik Selvig and Darcy Lewis showed up at the compound in upstate New York, a few days before Christmas.
That morning, Steve got up the same way he had for the last two months. He couldn't remember what made him do it, but once he shaved off his beard he kept himself clean-shaven. The razor on his skin was the first thing he felt most mornings–after the first pang of remembering where he was and what had happened–and then he had the same breakfast.
He gave Natasha a nod as she sat opposite him at the breakfast table, and then they'd most likely spend the hours in silence.
Except then the alarm went off for the front gate and Steve and Natasha checked the security feed to make sure there weren't people trying to break into the locked facility.
There was an old station wagon and they couldn't make out the people inside, until Natasha changed over to the second and third cameras that looked into the driver and passenger windows.
The man driving was Selvig, and it had been years since Steve saw the man, but he was unmistakably the same professor who Loki first influenced just months after Steve woke from the ice. His face was lined more than ever, and deep marks under his eyes indicated his exhaustion. The woman in the passenger seat wore a red beanie and glasses, and she squinted at the camera peering back at her.
"We're in the right place, right?"
Steve cleared his throat. "Right?"
Both Selvig and the younger woman jumped at the sound of Steve's voice over the speakers.
"Captain Rogers, I presume?" Selvig asked, and Steve remembered he couldn't just nod all the time to communicate.
His voice felt rough with its lack of use that morning.
Natasha replied instead.
"Anybody else with you?"
"No, just – just us."
It killed Steve every time someone relayed that kind of information. He was constantly reminded of Thanos' devastating success when he saw someone from the past. From what Steve remembered, Jane Foster – Thor's Jane – was working with Selvig.
"We'll come get you. Drive up to the front."
Natasha shut off the speaker and moved to get her jacket from the back of her chair. She moved with purpose, unlike Steve, who still stared at the screens that showed the younger woman beside Selvig in the car.
"That's Darcy Lewis," Natasha said, before Steve had the chance to ask.
He blinked. "How did you know that?"
"Clint. He updated some of the holofiles. Anyway, I recognised her from Thor's footage in New Mexico."
Steve frowned at the car as it moved past the gate that opened once Natasha pressed another button.
"We can trust her," she added, and Steve crossed his arms again.
He didn't uncross them once Selvig and Darcy Lewis were inside.
It was just the four of them on the compound since Clint was off again while Bruce took another sabbatical. Most of the time, Steve trusted that they were working on finding some way to fix everything.
Darcy dropped her duffel bag on the ground, her boots tracking in some dirt while Erik fumbled with a laptop before Natasha showed them places to put their stuff.
Steve hung around, keeping silent, surveying the visitors.
Erik was asking about Hank Pym when Steve's eyes glued to Darcy as she tossed aside her beanie on a coffee table, running her fingers through her hair.
"Take a picture, it'll last longer," the brunette said, her eyes elsewhere, checking the place out.
Steve opened his mouth to protest, but she pressed on.
"I know. Not my best line. Probably haven't said that one since middle school."
Steve stared at her, not saying anything while Natasha shook her head at Selvig.
"We haven't seen or heard from Hank Pym, or his associates –"
"You mean Scott Lang?" Steve asked, turning his head away from Darcy.
She threw herself into an armchair, closing her eyes and tilting her head back.
She sighed, and Steve's eyes flicked over her momentarily before snapping back to Natasha, who'd narrowed her eyes.
He'd deal with her later. Selvig looked agitated.
"I used to work with Hank Pym years ago, but my point is that I need someone with the understanding of quantum mechanics so we can harness the energy to fix the Snap."
"The Snap?" Steve repeated, and Selvig nodded. "How did you know Thanos snapped his fingers?"
"The cosmos is inside his head," Natasha murmured, and Steve remembered, swallowing.
"Right."
There was an awkward pause.
"We need Hank Pym, Scott Lang, or even Tony Stark," came Darcy's voice, and Steve saw she'd opened her eyes again, looking exhausted.
"Great," Steve muttered. "Except Hank Pym, his daughter and Scott Lang are all missing."
He glanced at Natasha, who shared his resignation.
"And Thor's been looking for Tony this whole time."
Steve let that settle over the group, and nobody said anything until Darcy stretched, jumping up from her chair.
"I need a shower," she said, and Steve blinked at her expectant look.
"Upstairs," he replied, and she nodded, walking off toward the stairs in the distance.
"How'd you even get here?" Natasha asked, and Darcy called out a reply over her shoulder.
"We drove from Nevada!"
"You drove up, from Nevada, to here?" Steve asked Selvig.
Before the professor could reply, Darcy yelled out again.
"What did I just say?"
Twenty minutes later, they all sat at the breakfast table, Darcy's hair wet from her shower and laying limp on her shoulders while she and Erik nursed their cups of coffee.
They'd been driving for days, and for the longest time Darcy convinced herself that once they reached the Avengers she and Erik would be fine.
They could set to work on bringing Jane back.
Well, all the other people Thanos the Purple Thumb Fuckhead turned to ashes as well, but Jane was on the top of their list.
Except after arriving at the compound with only the Black Widow and Captain America there with grave faces and zero answers, she began to doubt they'd devise a plan by Christmas.
Hanukkah had been kind of a disaster, and although Darcy was half Jewish, she and Jane always diligently used the Foster menorah every year. Without Jane there, Darcy couldn't face lighting it each night, and in their haste she'd left the menorah behind in Nevada anyway.
Darcy lit a candle each night anyway, wondering if Jane could somehow know she was doing it.
Christmas was only a fleeting thought whenever they stopped in a town long enough to fill up the gas tank before peeling off again, and all Erik spoke about was Pym and his theories.
The Avengers were all but gone, and maybe they couldn't pull off interdimensional travel.
"I'm guessing there's a high chance Tony Stark is dead?" Darcy asked, and she saw Captain America close his eyes briefly as her words hit him.
Black Widow looked at her hands resting around her own mug and nodded.
"I didn't mean to sound flippant. But you haven't heard from Thor, and he's been gone months –"
"We don't know if he went to ashes like the others. He might be alive out there."
"In space?" Darcy said, one eyebrow raised. "His suit is that good?"
Captain America shrugged. "We weren't exactly communicating when he went missing."
Darcy sensed some regret in his tone, but didn't press him. She felt like she was the last person he wanted to talk to.
She felt useless just sitting there, waiting around, for what?
She turned her head to Erik, lowering her voice.
"Maybe we should find a hotel."
"And then what, Darcy?" Erik asked, his own voice calmer and gentler than her own.
"We regroup."
"You can stay here as long as you want," Black Widow piped up, making Darcy's eyes swivel away from Erik.
She didn't know what to make of the pair. They seemed weary, and Darcy didn't want to hang around them longer than they had to. Last she heard, they were wanted criminals, and they were probably only staying at the compound because there wasn't anyone there to stop them.
She spent months chasing things with Erik. He'd have a dream and jot down something, then he'd ask her to research the multiverse and Schrödinger's cat, though she was certain he knew the theories like the back of his hand. He told her what to read so that she could keep up in her own way, and she appreciated his patience.
Since Jane was gone, Darcy noticed him being nicer to her, and she was less likely to act out around him, either. Not that she stopped feeling anything. She just tried not to show it too much around him, because she considered it a distraction. All she wanted was a solution, and crying never brought anybody back.
She learned that every time she went to bed crying herself to sleep, only to wake up and relive the Snap each morning.
The collective silence was broken when Darcy shoved her chair back, the legs scraping loudly along the floor. She stood, surveying everyone.
"Fine. Except I can't live here if Christmas is going to be like a funeral home."
She walked off, and no-one objected.
She piled on her layers, wrapping her favorite scarf around her neck, her hair still wet as the cool air hit her again as she stepped outside. She tugged on her boots, keys jangling.
She needed a task. She needed something with a goal, even if it was just for her.
She took off in the station wagon, feeling eyes on her as she exited via the same gate as earlier.
Natasha said she'd relay a few messages to Clint and Steve. She turned to Erik, advising him to take it easy.
The older man looked like a wreck, and Steve didn't want to fill Selvig's head with empty promises, that he'd feel better after a nap or ten – because even if he wanted to believe it, he knew Selvig knew better.
Steve was left alone, so he did the only thing he ever did right.
Running meant the wind whistling, the blood rushing in his ears, the feel of his muscles burning once he pushed far enough.
He always thought of Sam when he ran. That was the main letdown. Through his escape, he was stuck with his thoughts, and inevitably they led to his failings.
He was no longer conceited enough to believe that he could fix the Snap. He appreciated the new name for it – because it illustrated perfectly the seemingly simple action of a genocidal megalomaniac. And no matter what he tried to do at the time, Steve still failed.
He stopped once he couldn't breathe anymore, the sun beginning to set behind him. He must have been out there for hours, circling the compound.
As he bent over at the waist, sweat pouring down his brow, he could make out sounds in the distance.
He ignored it, stalking off toward his side of the compound where his room was.
"FRIDAY, play music playlist," he announced as he entered his front door, a hand reaching between his shoulder blades to tug his shirt up and off.
His shirt fell to the floor as he walked into the bathroom, the speakers above his head filling the apartment with music.
It was a song he knew from when he was a teenager. He paused at the sink as the faucet sensed his hands, the cool water running over his skin.
Give me your love and I can make
The most impossible things come true
Blue shadows never, sunshine forever
Roses in December for you
Steve splashed his face, and then looked at his reflection in the mirror. It was always jarring. Often enough, if he could get away with it, Steve never had the lights on in the bathroom so that he could avoid seeing his own face altogether.
"FRIDAY, shut up."
The music stopped abruptly and Steve sighed, looking away from the mirror and pressing his wet mouth into his shoulder.
Again, he could hear the same distant music from earlier, but now it had a different tempo.
He suppressed his groan as he realized it was Christmas music blasting from the lounge.
Darcy seemed determined to celebrate Christmas, by how she'd decorated the lounge.
Steve's eyes gravitated to the shiniest parts of the display as he walked in.
There was tinsel, stockings, and a Christmas tree in the middle of it all, with presents underneath it. Darcy was in the middle of decorating the tree, putting a gold bauble on the highest branches.
"You must have been doing this for hours," Steve said, and Darcy jumped, her hand at her chest.
She shot him a glare, and he held up a hand.
"Sorry."
There was no way she had heard him sneak up on her with the music so loud.
Steve shoved his hands in his pockets, watching Darcy as she circled the tree with more tinsel, wrapping it in more silver and gold.
"Where did you even get all this stuff?"
"I'm very resourceful," she said over her shoulder. "In New Mexico we had one general store and ten miles of desert in between us and the next town, so I had to deal with slim pickings then, too."
Steve walked up to the tree, poking a little rocking horse ornament with a finger before returning his hand to his pocket. His eyebrows hiked.
"You did a really good job."
"Thank you."
Her voice was soft, and Steve didn't expect himself to react, but he suddenly didn't want to go back to his room straight away.
"The tree's fake."
Darcy made a face, rolling her eyes. "Just let me have this win, okay – ?"
She paused, pressing her lips together and Steve realized she didn't know how to address him.
"Steve," he said, and she nodded.
She looked away, her voice soft once more.
"I need a win today, Steve."
Everything about her caught him off-guard. The way she barged into the compound, the way she spoke, the way she was staring into space now with the tree in front of them.
The music blared but felt forgotten as Steve thought he should try bringing her back to the present.
"What's going on the top?" he said, nodding at the tree.
Darcy turned her head.
"Star."
"What? No," Steve retorted, and he felt himself smile for the first time in weeks.
It was just a brief quirk of his lips, but Darcy returned the gesture, her smile much wider.
She had a gap in her front teeth.
"Angel always. Angels over stars."
"Alright, Grandpa. Maybe when I used to believe in angels when I was a kid – "
"Grandpa?" Steve repeated, tilting his head at her. He meant to look pissed off by her choice of words, but all he wanted to do was smile back at her mischievousness. "What's so old-fashioned about an angel on top of a Christmas tree?"
"This one lights up," Darcy said, bending over to reach a box on the floor.
Steve's eyes fell to the line of her back, and inevitably traveled to her ass that strained in her leggings, and he blinked several times before looking away.
Darcy shoved batteries into its side and placed the star on top of the tree, stepping back to admire her work.
"It does light up," Steve said, and Darcy smiled again. "It's impressive."
"I'll find you tomorrow and give you your Santa hat."
Steve grimaced, alarmed. "No, Darcy."
It was the first time he'd said her name out loud, liking each new syllable. Darcy attempted to suppress her glee, but Steve knew she wasn't one to take no for an answer.
She was a woman on a mission.