The Happy Ending of James Levine

By Nevyn Slash

Disclaimer: I do not own or have rights to Marvel Studios, Paramount Pictures or Walt Disney Studios Motion Pictures. No monetary gain is taking place from this piece of fiction. The author recognizes the rights of the aforementioned companies and no copyright infringement is intended.

Rating: Teen (T); PG

Warnings: M/M; Attempted suicide;

Tags: Steve Rogers/ OMC; Phil Coulson/ OMC; Steve Rogers; Phil Coulson; Original Male Character; Original Female Character; Alternate Universe; Lots of Research; Historically Accurate; Angst; Hurt/Comfort; Attempted Suicide; Happy Ending; OC is USO Hitler;

Relationships: Steve Rogers/ Original Male Character; Phil Coulson/ Original Male Character

Summary: Set in Levine knows that Steve Rogers is amazing. That if there is anyone alive able to shake off a Missing in Action, it would be him. But when the Valkyrie goes down and Steve doesn't return, James goes to drastic measures to make the pain go away, unaware that things are not as bleak as he believes. Happy Ending! MM Slash - Steve Rogers/OMC

Author's Notes: This is a companion piece and alternate ending to The War Diary of James Levine by nausicaa82 on Archive of Our Own. James' sad end made me want to write something so he could have a happy ending. This story does not cover all of the events from the journal entries in nausicaa82's story. Therefore, it is recommended to read hers before reading this. Even if it is just read to read the diary entries.

This story is written in first person, present tense, which was incredibly hard for me to do. The Afterward is written in third person, past tense, which was a lot easier for me.

Depression is different for everyone. And it manifests in different ways. It is not a laughing matter and neither is suicide. People can decide to do something drastic seemingly out of nowhere at times. If a reader suspects that someone they know is thinking of committing suicide, tell someone. A person's motives to do so may not make sense to others, but to themselves, those motives make perfect sense. I tried to make the character's decision to go through with that decision believable. Hopefully I succeeded.

BREAK

Tuesday June 26, 1945

I do not go out much anymore, but when I do, I tend to visit places that I know Steve would enjoy. The hobby store two blocks up is one such place. I used to go there occasionally before I joined the USO tour. I typically would go in to pick up the thread that ma loves to use for her embroidery. Now when I go in, the place does not remind me of my family, but of Steve. I miss him so much that a lot of things tend to remind me of him.

I stop outside the front of the shop and look through the door. Inside, I can see two people looking at the various items on display. I step forward and open the door. It is cooler inside and the light from outside, shines brightly through the front windows, highlighting the small dust motes as they drift through the air.

I make my way through the store, making sure to smile at the shop owner standing behind the counter as I go. My smile is a little strained, and I know it must look forced. Mr. Edwards returns my smile with one of his own. It blooms across his aged face and adds a touch of warmth to his eyes. Seeing him smile makes me feel just a little bit better.

I continue to the back of the store. There is a drafting table in the back that reminds me of Steve. I have been eyeing it for some time now. It is not cheap but Steve's birthday is coming up. Even though he is still missing, I have not stopped believing that he will return. When he does, I want the day to be special.

I quickly locate the table and stop to admire it again. The tag on the surface proudly proclaims it to be a Mayline drafting table, made in 1930. It really is a lovely table: made of solid wood with a counter-weighted elevation system and adjustable table top. It can fold neatly up so its five foot by three and a quarter self can be easily transported. I reach out and test its weight, estimating it to be at least seventy pounds. There is no doubt in my mind that Steve will love it.

After some intense haggling, I buy the table for fifty dollars. I cannot help but wince as I agree on the price. Fifty dollars is an entire month of rent. I am lucky that my job pays fairly well but that is still far more than I can really afford. I console myself with the knowledge that Steve really will love it. He will be able to do so much with it. What's more, Steve is more than worth it.

For an additional fifty cents I arrange for it to be delivered to my address. While Steve could carry it back, no problem, it would take me a considerable more amount of work.

When the table arrives, I have it set up in the middle of my sitting room. It stands there proudly, topped with a blue bow that was a last minute purchase whim. I have placed a large drawing pad and pencils beside the bow. Standing back, I admire the setup.

It is perfect.

Saturday June 30, 1945

I head to work but I do not feel like going. Though I try to remain optimistic, there is an emptiness in my chest that has been building since Steve disappeared. And the news from yesterday ripped that small empty hole wide open and made it even bigger.

Stark Industries called off the search.

I had walked into the office yesterday to see many of my coworkers gathered around in the main lobby, listening to Mr. Howard Stark make an announcement. "—the plane. We're calling of the search."

I had fled the room, fighting back the sudden upwelling of tears. I could not handle hearing the rest. I had retreated to my desk and ignored my coworkers for the rest of the day. Mr. Stark did not bother to approach me either. What could my boss have said to make the news more bearable anyway?

After I clock in, I go to my desk and sit down. In front of me is a full inbox. I no longer just do the payroll. I handle day to day administrative duties too.

Today is going to be busier than usual, I can just tell. I reach out and remove a paper from the top of the pile but I am just going through the motions. Why did I bother coming in today?

"James."

I look up to see Rhonda standing in front of my desk. She is pretty and nice, one of the few people that still tries to talk to me. I watch her bring a hand up and smooth a strand of auburn hair back to behind her left ear. "Some of us are going for drinks after work. Want to come?" She is also the only one that tries to include me in social activities.

"No thank you, Rhonda," I reply. I try to smile at her but it falls flat. "Maybe another time."

Rhonda frowns. Her eyes are a pretty green. They are nowhere near as lovely as Steve's blue ones though. "Are you alright, James? You don't look well."

"I'm fine. I didn't sleep well last night is all." I haven't had a good night's sleep since Italy. She does not look as if she believes me. I do not care. I am not about to talk about just how depressed and worried I really am. I look back down at the budget sheet I am working on. She does not leave.

"I think you should come. There is a lot to be thankful for. The war is going well. We may not have to ration anymore soon. Captain—"

"I have a lot to do tonight," I interrupt. I do not mean to be rude. Hearing the captain's name on her lips would crush me though. It reminds me of the newsreel I saw and the dame's picture in Steve's watch. When he comes back, I know I really will not have a chance with him. I will still tell him how I feel though. If he rejects me, I will find a way to live with it. That will be better than never knowing for certain.

Rhonda sighs. I still do not look up. After a moment I hear her walk away. No one else comes over after she leaves. I head out of the office without having spoken to another person during the remainder of the day.

Monday July 02 1945

Steve's birthday is in two days. If there is a day that he would miraculously show up, it will be on his birthday. I take a detour to the store once I get out of work to buy extra sugar and eggs. I have to use extra points to do so and I will not have enough to purchase anything else the rest of the week, but the cake is more than worth it. The clerk tallies up my purchases and informs me of my remaining point balance. I thank her before heading home. My spirits lift slightly with a fresh sense of hope and I cannot help but feel excited

I have a simple recipe picked out for the cake. My sister, Anna, recited it to me once and neither of us has had opportunity to try it yet. The war and rationing has gone on for so long that baking a cake that requires two eggs when a person's weekly allotment is one, is very impractical.

I imagine the cake will be just as sweet as Steve and I hoped a proper cake would be. I'll know for sure in two days after I bake it. Maybe there will even be enough left over to share with my ma and Anna. Steve may eat most of it though. I smile at the thought as I cross the street and head up the side street to my apartment. I hope he does eat most of it. It is his cake, after all.

Wednesday July 04 1945

The Fourth of July celebration parade is amazing. Everyone is laughing and cheering as soldiers and a full band march past. I cannot remember ever seeing a parade. The sight is very trilling. I stand beside others that are just as wide eyed as me as we listen to the music and watch the activities.

I gaze at the soldiers marching by in anticipation as I smooth a hand down my front. My dress uniform is freshly pressed and I know it looks good on me. I may have been discharged from the service but I still work out. I do not want Steve to ever feel embarrassed for being seen beside me.

I continue to watch the people around me celebrate. The band has passed and the soldiers are long gone. More time passes and people are leaving but I remain standing stay there, hopeful. I did not see Steve among the soldiers but that doesn't mean anything. He could just be late.

I stay until the shadows stretch across the sidewalk and street. No one approaches me but I do receive a few odd looks. I must look strange, standing alone in the gathering gloom. I turn and leave. I still have a cake to make and I am running out of time.

When I get home, I remove my jacket and hang it in the closet. I do not want to get flour on it. I cannot afford the sixty-eight cents to get the jacket dry cleaned again so soon. I head to the kitchen to begin baking but stop and change direction. I should change into something else completely unless I want to risk having to have the entire uniform cleaned.

I change quickly in my bedroom and then go the kitchen. I am used to cooking because of living alone so long. I asked Steve once if he cooked. He told me that he found it enjoyable. I smile as I break the eggs and fold them into the flour and sugar. Maybe we can cook together one day. I can easily picture us doing so, moving around in the kitchen like a well-oiled machine. It would be almost like dancing.

I put the cake in the oven and then go to the sitting room and turn on the radio. Flipping through the few channels available, I stop when I hear the narration of the drama, The Shadow. I take a seat and listen to the Shadow stump investigators as he led them on another wild chase, his haunting laughter sending chills down my spine. The program ends long before the cake I ready. I sit stare at the door in anticipation while I wait for it to finish.

I look at the clock on the wall from where I am sitting. The sitting room is illuminated by nothing other than the light issuing forth from the kitchen. Through the gloom, I am still able to read the hands on the clock. The cake was done hours ago. I left it one the counter after decorating it. There are plates and forks waiting beside it.

Just a little longer. Steve will come.

Thursday July 05 1945

Steve did not call or show yesterday. I stayed up all night just in case. My eyes are burning from exhaustion. I sit beside the sitting room window, looking out upon the gloomy streets of New York. It started raining early in the morning. Maybe that is why Steve is late. Maybe— I take a deep, shuddering breath. I cannot keep fooling myself. Steve is lost out there and he is not coming back. They even called off the search days ago. I may not watch many newsreels anymore, but I am certain that I would have heard something if Steve was still coming back.

It is time that I woke up and face the truth.

The cake is still sitting on the counter. The words 'Welcome Home Steven' mock me from the surface. I cut a slice and take a bite. It tastes dry and has little flavor. I take another bite but the taste is still the same. Nothing has tasted right for weeks now. I know that I have lost weight. I just cannot force myself to eat. It is not the cake. I made it perfectly. It is me. I'm the one that cannot appreciate the taste.

I set the fork down and stare at the wall. There is a Harris painting hanging there. I got it because it reminded me of Steve. He said his mom had really loved Harris' work. Distantly I feel tears track their way down my cheeks. In that moment, I feel my heart break the rest of the way.

The pain is unbearable. I miss him.

I put the cake away. There is no point in letting it spoil. I go to my room and take my journal out of my dresser drawer and flip to the latest entry. Carefully I write what I know is my final one. My note, as it were. Maybe it is selfish and cowardly, my inability to cope anymore. But I cannot continue to live in a world without him in it.

I take a moment to call Anna one last time. We have always been close. I know many siblings are not. She answers on the third ring. I wonder what she is doing home on a Thursday. She should be at work. I do not ask.

"Hello. Levine Franklin Rosenberg residence." I smile sadly when I hear her voice. I am going to miss hearing it.

"Anna, it's me."

"James? You do not usually call from work."

"I called in. I won't be going back." I look at the clock on the wall. It is just after ten. I had not actually called. For some reason they had not tried calling. Strange, actually, but I do not dwell on it.

"What? Why? I know that you are not completely happy there but—"

"I am fine, Anna. It is over." My voice cracks. It is hard to get the words out. I clear my throat.

She immediately changes track at the sound. "Are you alright? You sound awful. Should I bring you some soup?" I suddenly remember my bout of congestion from a year and a half ago. No doubt she remembers it too. It had really scared her when she found out I was that sick.

"No thank you, Anna. This is not something that can be cured."

"James, what are you talking about?" She sounds afraid. That was not my intention. "You're just sick, right? You'll be back to work in no time."

"No. I called to ask a favor." My control is slipping. I have to get off the phone before I break down. I do not want my baby sister to hear me cry. I do not want that to be the last thing she remembers hearing when speaking with me.

"James, I don't want to hear it." There is a commotion on the other end of the line. I think I hear voices but Anna had likely covered the receiver as I am unable to hear anything clearly. "James, I am heading over right now. I was actually about to leave when you called. I have a surprise for you."

I take a deep, steadying breath. I did not call as a last minute cry for help and I am definitely running out of time. Anna does not live that far away. I have to hang up now.

"Anna. I called to ask you to burn all of my papers for me. I don't have time to do so. Please, do this for me." I unintentionally let out a sob on the last word.

"James, not another word. I'll be right there."

I close my eyes and clutch the receiver tightly. More tears escape and make their way down my face. I sniff as quietly as I can in an effort to keep my running nose under control. "Anna. There is a cake in the fridge. I love you." The words are soft, but I know she hears them for there is a click as she suddenly hangs up. I hold on to the receiver for a moment longer before managing to gather myself together enough to put it back in the cradle.

My feet take me to the kitchen. I move as if on auto pilot, my actions and surroundings registering as if from a great distance. I am aware of going to the kitchen and grabbing the toaster. It has not been reliably working right for a while now so I grab a knife too. I intend to do the job right.

As I move to the washroom, my thoughts calm and I become more aware. I am focused as I close the door and start the water. I make it warm. I might as well enjoy the bath a little since it is my last one.

While the tub fills, I disrobe, stepping out of my casual slacks and slipping off the olive green dress shirt ma bought for me to bring out my eyes. I had been so careful to keep them clean while baking last night. I am just as careful as I fold them and set them both on the toilet seat. I run my hand over the soft cotton of the shirt one last time. Maybe they'll bury me with that shirt. If clothes follow us to the other side, I want to look my best when I see Steve again. The shirt really does bring out my eyes.

I set the toaster on the side of the tub and depress the handle. As the toaster starts to warm, I climb into the water, carefully holding onto the knife. When I am settled, I turn the water off so it will not overflow.

I take a moment to simply enjoy the warmth of the water and the soothing feel of it against my skin. I relax against the back of the tub and close my eyes. The relief that the emotional pain will soon be over is a very heady feeling.

The toaster turns off. I reach out and turn it back on. I hold the knife up and admire the edge. Fortunately, I have always kept my knives properly sharp and cared for. I bring the knife to my wrist and press the edge against the skin. The cut hurts, the pain stabbing as it sends fire screaming up my arm. The cut is deep and my blood wells up, coloring the blade and running down my arm where it meets the water, turning it pink. My hand shakes as I pass the blade to my other hand and switch wrists. The new cut is just as painful as the first but the pain in my heart is worse. Compared to that, this is nothing. Still, it is hard to keep going.

I make several cut before my fingers are unable to grasp the knife any longer. It slips from my weakened grasp and makes a soft plop as it hits the water. It slips into depths that are more red than pink to rest on the bottom of the tub. My arms fall into the water and I lean back and stare up at the ceiling. After a while, the pain dulls to a throbbing. I can hear my blood pounding in my ears. I am starting to fade. My vision and thoughts are fuzzy.

The sound of a hard knock on my front door wakes me up a bit. For a delicate thing, my sister sure has a load knock. I find that funny for some reason. I chuckle as I reach out for the toaster. It should be hot enough by now. I drop it into the water that is thick with my blood. The expected electrical shock does not come. Faulty toaster. Or maybe I forgot to make sure it was still on. Good thing I did a thorough job with the knife.

Consciousness is harder to keep a hold of. From beyond the washroom door, there is a load crash and a splintering sound. The sound comes to me from a great distance now as if from the other side of a tunnel. My eyes close. I feel myself slip towards unconscious. As I float there on the edge, there is a loader crash and then frantic voices. I imagine I can hear Steve's voice calling my name. I smile and let myself fall.

He is waiting.

I hope Anna and ma will forgive me.

Saturday July 07 1945

My mind swims upwards through a thick pool of fuzzy molasses. As I fade in and out, the sound of steady beeping begins to pierce the remaining mire in my thoughts. As sound returns, feeling follows on its heels. I ache all over. I wonder why. Death is not supposed to have pain in it. So why am I feeling sore and slightly nauseous? I suppose the pain must take longer to disappear in violent deaths. As I become more aware, I notice a firm warmth surrounding my hand.

I attempt to open my eyes. They are crusted over and it is hard to open them. I try to lift my left hand to wipe them but my arm ignores my command. I can do little else but peer out of thin slits in my eyelids. I can see nothing but a faded grey crisscrossing of lashes.

I open my mouth and try to speak. My voice comes out as a croak. The pressure enfolding my right hand increases. I realize it is someone's hand. I try again to speak. I know who it has to be. "Anna," I manage to say on the second try. Her hand is a lot bigger than I remember.

My hand is released and I hear her walk away. I listen as a faucet in the room is turned on. The water turns off and I close my eyes tighter as a warm cloth is pressed to my lids, cleaning the grit away. She withdraws the cloth and I open my eyes.

Steve's face greets me.

He is even more handsome than I remember. His sea blue eyes are filled with sadness and worry as he looks at me. I want to reach up and run my fingers through his blonde hair. I try once more to move my arm without success. I am not worried. The weakness should pass.

I gaze into Steve's face in wonder and smile at him as happiness blooms in my chest. If he is here with me then I know exactly where I am. "Steve." My voice is surprisingly strong and somehow doesn't crack though I still feel parched and my throat is tight. Steve reaches off to the side and retrieves a cup from a side table which he brings to my lips. I swallow gratefully.

Steve removes the cup but continues to hold it. He looks pensive. "What's wrong?" I ask. He does not look like he has been relaxing. "Are you still healing?" Perhaps he is in this hospital way-place too because he was injured more than I was.

"What?" He looks confused by the question before shaking his head as if to clear it. "Why did you do it?"

I smile softly as I drink in the sight of him. "You look amazing." He looks more than amazing. He looks vibrant, full of life and healthy. Just the way I remember him from our last night together in Italy.

Steve's eyes soften and he gives me a slight smile in return. I feel as if I am watching the sun peak out from behind the clouds. "You've looked better," he tells me. I laugh slightly. It aggravates my throat some and I cough. Steve gives me another drink of water.

"I'll get better. That's why I'm here, right? To heal so I can leave."

"Yes, that's right. You lost a lot of blood so they gave you some of mine. You still have not explained why you did this to yourself. It is not your time yet, James. That was not your call to make."

The effort is extreme, but I find the little strength needed to raise my right arm and stretch my hand towards Steve. He takes it as I hopped he would. I squeeze his hand and look into his gorgeous eyes. "I wanted to see you again."

Steve's eyes widen. "James, what are you saying?"

I stroke my thumb along the back of Steve's hand. "I love you, Steven. I was going to tell you in Italy but you disappeared. They cancelled the show before you returned and left to join the fight. So I never got the chance. I wanted you to know that I want to spend the rest of my life and beyond at your side. Or just beyond as the case may now be."

His grip on my hand tightened. "I don't…"

Who knew that even after dying I would feel as if I could die a dozen more times after hearing those two words? My chest constricted and breathing is suddenly extremely difficult. I feel as if my heart is breaking all over again. I could not live in a world without him. Apparently I cannot live in a world with him either. I wonder if I am actually in my own personal hell. Once again I think that death is not supposed to hurt like this.

I cannot keep the sudden sob from escaping. My hand spasms within his a few times before I manage to slip it from his grasp. It falls back to the bed, the thick bandages around my wrist help to cushion the fall. My heart is beating much too quickly. The beeping noise of the heart monitor speeds up.

"I understand." I can barely get the words out past the sudden lump in my throat. "This is supposed to be a big place. You don't have to keep me company."

Steve takes my hand again. His face is desperate as leans in close to me. "James. You need to relax. Calm down, please."

I do my best to comply. I take deep breaths and let him hold my hand. I try not to think about how my world is shattering. My heart slows down and with it, the beeping. I lie in the bed and stare at the white ceiling. New tears trickle down the side of my face and into my hair. Beside me, Steve is quiet for a long time. I tell myself to enjoy his presence.

Steve brings my hand up and touches my knuckles to his temple. I move my head towards him and watch as a moment later he lowers my hand and kisses my fingers. I stare at him feeling stunned. I do not know what to think anymore.

"You misunderstand me. And that is my fault for not being clear a moment ago. James, I'm in the army. You know what they would do to me if you and I got together. They would slap me with a blue discharge so fast, my head would swim. There is a policy in review that would deny me my G.I. benefits. I need those if I am to go back to school. I can't afford the tuition on my own."

I stare at him, feeling confused. He sounds really worried. Doesn't he know that that stuff doesn't matter anymore? "What are you saying, Steve?" I wait patiently for him to gather his composure.

He reaches out and takes my other hand from where it has remained lying by my side this whole time. I notice that my entire forearm is heavily wrapped in bandages. "I'm saying that I have feelings for you too. But I'm scared. Being in the army? It was all I wanted to do. I would have to hide you. Hide us. I don't want to live a life like that. I don't want you to ever think that I am ashamed of you because that could not be further from the truth."

I gape at him. "But, what about that dame's picture in your watch?" I ask, confused.

He releases my hands in order to reach into his pocket and withdraw his pocket watch. When he opens it I see the picture from the newsreel. Steve looks at her face fondly before carefully removing it and setting it aside. Instead of the expected watch back, there is another picture. My heart pounds in my ears as he reaches out and hands me the watch so I can look at the image more closely.

I study it and my eyes widen. It is a very intricate black and white portrait of me. I look up at Steve in awe. "You drew this."

"Yes," he replies as if I had asked a question. He reaches out and tenderly wipes the drying tears away from the corners of my eyes. His hands feel warm and soft as he gently cups my face. His beautiful blue eyes look into mine as he smiles fondly at me. "I think about you all the time."

BREAK

Over the next hour I learn a lot of things. First and foremost amongst them is the revelation that I am not dead and neither is Steve. The government's search for Steve's plane had been called off but Steve had managed to escape. He had made it to the icy shore when the window had exploded inward upon the plane's impact. The ice he had pulled himself onto had then broken away from the shore. Stark's men had found him frozen and barely breathing on an iceberg floating a fair distance offshore. He had been rushed to a hospital and carefully warmed up. The process had taken three days and had been kept completely hush-hush.

I had not learned about the rescue because I had walked away in the middle of Stark's announcement. I had also interrupted Rhonda when she had spoken with me the next day. Apparently, the news had leaked out and made into July 5th paper. But I had not read the paper that morning.

"I woke in a room like this one with Peggy, that's the woman from the picture, sitting by my bedside, holding my hand just like this." Steve kisses my fingers again and my stomach flutters. "We made a date to go dancing as the plane was about to crash. But while I was lying on the ice, slowly freezing to death, all I could see was your face. Peggy told me that the war looked to be almost over and asked if I still wanted to go dancing. I told her there was someone I had to see first. Debriefing and questioning took two days. As soon as I was able, I rushed to the return address on your letters. When your sister opened the door, I thought she was your wife."

I laughed at that. "Yeah, I know. Preposterous right? The similarly was there once I knew to look for it. She didn't know who Jimmy was. It took showing her your letter to get that straightened out. We were going to surprise you with a visit.

"When you called," Steve took a deep breath. "When you called and she told me what was going on, I got your address from her and ran out the door. I have never run so fast before. When I arrived at your apartment and there was no answer, I kicked your door down. And your washroom door. Seeing you in the tub, with blood everywhere, I panicked. I froze. I have seen a lot of death and violence. But I have never frozen like that before. You scared the life out of me, James. And if you ever do something like that again, I will never, ever forgive you. Clear?"

He looks so fierce right now. I nod and realize that his eyes are bright with unshed tears. "I promise."

Steve reaches out and pulls me into a hug, gripping me tightly against his chest. I can feel him shaking but he does not make a sound. I somehow find the strength to raise my arms, wrap them around him, and return the hug. I rub his back and let him cry.

Sunday July 08 1945

They only keep me in the hospital for one more night. There are a lot of patients that are in worse condition than I am. I had a private room to myself because Steve had been very insistent but the space is needed for other patients. The hospital cannot afford to keep me in it now that I am well enough to leave. Before they discharge me, the discussion of electro shock therapy is brought up to treat my apparently chronic depression. Once again, Steve is there to save me when he tells them no.

I open the door that was replaced while I was gone and walk into my apartment. Everything is just as I left it with no trace of the mess I must have left in my wake when I was rushed to the hospital. Steve closes the door behind us and I go to sit on the couch. I feel exhausted. That short walk from the taxi and up the stairs really wore me out. I want nothing more than to go to sleep but as Steve approaches me I know that there is an important discussion we need to have first.

Steve settles onto the couch beside me and strokes my hair away from where it covers my forehead. I have been working on growing it out since my return to the states. "Steve," I say. "What are we doing? What is this thing we seem to be developing between us?"

Steve's hand stills and he withdraws it. "I want to give us a shot. I almost lost you. Dating Peggy may be the easy option but it is you I want to grow old with."

"What about the army?" I ask. "You'll have to hide."

"I spent a long time last night thinking about this. I like being in the army. It is something I am good at and I fought really hard to get in. But being in the army is not as important to me as you are. I'm up for reenlistment soon but I'm going to decline it. I'll go back to art school instead. This way I can be with you too."

"Would they let you leave that easily?" I ask in concern.

Steve shrugged. "I don't see why not. They can't force me to stay in."

"There will be a lot of bigotry and opposition." I am far from naïve enough to believe otherwise.

"Well then, that is something the two of us can work on changing. That is a cause definitely worth fighting for."

I look at him in amazement. "You would really fight for civil and fair rights for us?"

"Of course. It wouldn't just be for us, but many others too. You will help me, right?"

I do not hesitate to nod in the affirmative. The idea is slightly terrifying but being able to freely be with Steve is definitely worth fighting for. "Of course."

Steve smiles and looks away. For the first time he notices the drafting table. "Is that…"

"I got it for you for you. I thought you could use it for your art."

Steve stands and goes to the table. He runs his hands along the surface in awe. "It's perfect," he says softly.

I knew he would love it. "Look in the fridge."

He does so and carefully, almost reverently, removes the cake. He sets it on the counter and comes back over and sits down. "You made me a cake?"

I nod and feel my cheeks heat at the adoration on his face. Steve brings a hand up to cup my cheek and looks me in the eyes. "May I kiss you, James Levine?"

I can only nod as my heart begins to hammer in my chest. Steve leans in and his lips meet mine. They are warm and tender and feel wonderful. After a moment he withdraws and rests his forehead against mine. "Thank you, James."

"Happy birthday, Steve," I reply and kiss him again.

Later, I cut the cake for us. It is just as sweet as we hoped it would be.

Afterward

Friday August 17 1990

Phil turned slightly and watched Tobias make his way up the center aisle. On either side, their family and closest friends stand in support as he passes. Phil's azure colored eyes shine with happiness and he smiles at the sight. Tobias looked wonderful in his white tux, creating a brilliant offset to his red hair. Tobias draws up beside Phil, the white of his outfit a perfect contrast to Phil's black one. Tobias' honey colored eyes meet Phil's own as he smiles in return.

Behind them, their guests sit as the wedding officiate begins to speak. When people ask Phil Coulson who his hero or the person he admires most is, he always replies, "Steve Rogers and James Levine." Because of Steve's vigorous campaign for equal rights for gay and lesbian individuals, the ban on gay relationships was repelled on May 18, 1954. Within a year, gay marriage had been legalized and a week later over a hundred and fifty couples all over the country had married their significant others. Complete civil rights had followed soon after.

Phil took a peek at Tobias from the corner of his eye and felt his heart swell. Because of Steve's actions and the support of his life-partner, James, Phil was able to marry his own partner of four years.

Phil listened to the officiate's speech and when it was time to give their vows to each other, Phil gave his first. As Phil spoke, Tobias reached out, took Phil's hands and held them gently in his own. They continued to hold hands as Tobias took his turn, reciting his own vows to Phil, as they looked affectionately at each other.

When they were finished, they dropped one hand so they could turn and face the officiate once more. The man said a few more lines and then smiled at them both. "You may now kiss each other."

Phil stepped closer to Tobias and their lips met in a soft kiss. Behind them, their friends and family started to cheer and clap. Phil couldn't help but smile against Tobias' lips.

Steve and James were Phil's heroes. But it was Tobias who made Phil incredibly happy.

END