Parking the spaceship was an automatic function that Quill had pre-programmed in before Steve left. Clint had warned him that it wasn't possible to get closer than several kilometers away from the peak before you had to start hiking, because the terrain was very uneven, and the incline to the top was narrow, steep and winding. The rest of the details he'd given ("Beautiful place. I'm expecting nightmares of it for the rest of my life." and "Guarded by a freakin' red Ringwraith, I don't know what that's about.") had been short and to the point. None of them were sure if Steve should just leave the Soul Stone on the peak, or pitch it off the cliff, or if the guardian would give him instructions.
In a way, it didn't matter. This was his one trip with the Infinity Stones that wasn't under a time crunch to get it back to its original holders without anyone noticing, or didn't have him dodging two other versions of himself. It was more like a pilgrimage.
He started up the path toward the top of the mountain. The sky was gorgeous shades of navy, silver and purple; the shallow lakes in between the dunes reflected the light of the moons and the far-off sun. The air was chilly, and the wind was blowing constantly. He was grateful for that; it gave him something else to try to focus on.
"...the truth is a matter of circumstances. It's not all things to all people all the time. And neither am I."
"That's a tough way to live."
"It's a good way not to die, though."
Was there a good way to die? Steve hoped so. He'd thought he'd known, once, when he drove the plane into the Atlantic ice. It hadn't been an easy death: but then it had turned out not to be death at all.
Would Natasha prefer to wake up, seventy years in the future, and have to start over again? ... who was he kidding, if anyone could handle that, it was Natasha. And she deserved that. If she wanted it. Somehow, he doubted it. Her life may have been about second chances, but he didn't think she'd be looking for one more.
He stopped to lean against a rock, taking a rest for a moment, gazing off over the view. It was alien, and gorgeous, and once upon a time, he would have wanted to paint it. Now all he could see was how abandoned it was, without any kind of humanity to give it scale. Without a figure in the foreground, facing away, about to be challenging those peaks.
"Damnit, Nat." The wind whipped his words away, which was probably a good thing. No one to hear him out here. And Natasha would give him such crap about this, if she thought he was regretting the results of her choice.
I had this family...
Clint had Laura and Cooper; Lilah and Nate. But Nat had had them, too. Clint would have chosen her, and them. But she had chosen differently. She had chosen that they should have their father and husband back.
Maybe because she didn't want to face his (their) family for the rest of her life, if he was gone.
Not for the first time, he wondered what she'd think of his long-term plan for after the Stones were returned. Wondered if the plan would harder to complete, if she were still around. Or if Tony were.
"Who do you want me to be?"
"How about a friend?"
There should be monuments. There should be songs about her. God knew there would be for Tony, and he deserved them. But Natasha deserved them too.
She wouldn't want them, though. Steve started walking again, lungs aching a little, the summit within sight. She'd like that she was part of the shadows, he thought. A mystery, a secret. A myth.
This is gonna work, Steve...
(So many years ago, a day or so after they'd just met: he'd held on tight to the Shield, ready to fling Natasha up into the worst part of an invading firefight.
Are you sure?
Yeah, it'll be fun! Her voice cracking with fear, and excitement.
Then she went soaring away, and saved the world.)
Natasha had always been great at executing plans. No matter how crazy, or what the cost.
The path had just turned upward into a staircase of cut black stones when a red mist started to coalesce in the middle of it. Stopping, Steve drew out the Stone-
-then felt as if all the breath had been punched out of him, when the mist became a cloak, and the suggestion of a body, and a definite face.
"You." Johann Schmidt- the Red Skull- looked at him with absolute loathing and utter shock.
Steve's mouth took over before he even realized it. "Funny, that's just what I was thinkin'."
"How-" Schmidt cut himself off, drawing back, up the stairs, and Steve stalked after him as he retreated, fingers clenched around the Stone.
"And again, I was gonna ask you the same, but honestly? I don't really care how." Steve stopped at the top of the staircase, looking around the small plateau, then back to Schmidt. A gorgeous view; an empty world. "You been here the whole time?"
"You died!" Schmidt's voice gained weird echoes, on top of this place. "There was no way for you to escape the Valkyrie!"
"I didn't." Steve smirked at him, then could swear he heard Nat's voice: You know this guy? ... I meet the weirdest people because of you, Rogers.
"Seventy-eight years," he said, drawing it out. "And you've been here. Like this." He swung a punch through the red cloud around Schmidt, watching it eddy away and re-form. "You know, I never thought of you again, after the crash. But this? This is almost what you deserve."
Schmidt hissed at him, like the sound of smoke bursting from a suddenly broken branch, and lunged toward him, as far as he was able. Steve stood his ground, waiting for him to realize how futile it was. It only took a few moments, then Red Skull was hovering back a little, expression frozen in rage.
The first time he'd seen Schmidt, he'd been scared spitless, although having a wounded Bucky at his back and explosions beneath his feet hadn't helped. Now, he studied the man and wondered if Schmidt had gotten exactly what he wanted from the serum; if all of his drive and desire to be feared had made the grisly outcome of that first experiment into Erskine's first success, not his first failure. Steve wasn't gonna ask, though.
"Why are you here?" Schmidt asked, floating upward a little, trying to gain height over Steve. "Do you seek the Soul Stone?" His lips twisted in a pleased smirk. "There is a price. But, I fear, no one to bear away your prize after you have made a martyr's pitiful gesture. Again."
"No." Steve's fingers tightened on the Stone, and Schmidt's gaze darted toward the very slight movement. Steve turned his back on Schmidt, and started looking around for- some kind of sign, or a place to put the stone, some way to leave it out of Schmidt's reach. He strode toward the cliff, bracing himself for the view over the edge between the two towering columns.
The paving stones at the foot of the cliff were a long, long way down. The cliff was at least as tall as Avenger's Tower, if not taller. But he could see that the flat surface was pristine, clear. No bones, no body. Not even a stain where Natasha's body must have landed. It would have been quick. Clint hadn't been lying about that. Steve hadn't thought he was, but it was a chill comfort to see it himself.
What are you waiting for? It wasn't really Nat's voice in his head. Nat was gone. There was a clutch at his breathing, a cramp in his chest, when he remembered it again. All the dwelling on earlier times kept him from accepting this, he knew that. The worst time so far had been on the battlefield, with Thanos, as everyone re-appeared. All the portals opened, Sam's voice was saying Cap, it's Sam. Can you hear me? On your left, and he turned to his left, relief making him light-headed as Sam swooped into sight. He scanned the crowds, thinking, We did it! Look- then realized he was looking for someone who was never going to be there again.
It took a major effort to say "Avengers, assemble!" when he remembered.
"You are not going to use it?" Schmidt's voice cut into his thoughts. "Wise of you. You do not have the strength of will to focus it properly, nor the vision to apply it as it should be." There was something greedy in his voice, and a thin tendril curled around Steve's hand, trying to caress the Stone, without actually being able to touch it. "This is for gods. You were always foolishly short-sighted and unambitious, Captain. So very... human."
Steve scoffed, managed to choke back a laugh that might turn into traitorous tears. Natashawas human. Tony was human. He was- he'd been- less. For years. Just. A stone soldier in a graveyard, trying to comfort other mourners. But maybe, maybe, he could be human again. Alive again.
He thought about gloating, about telling Schmidt how HYDRA had failed, how Zola was dead, Bucky was alive, free, whole; how the world had moved on without the Red Skull except as a footnote in history books. How some people doubted he'd ever existed. Relegated to conspiracy theorists and dying fanatics.
"You haven't changed a bit." He looked up at Schmidt, and found a smirk in himself somewhere. "It's been great catching up. But I got places to be."
He opened his hand, and looked down at the Stone.
Make a wish. Let me go. Nat's voice again. He'd known her well enough, for long enough, to believe he knew what she'd say in this second. But past this moment it would get less and less true. Time would start blurring that knowledge. Conjecture would take its place. There would always be that uncertainty, because Nat had always been able to surprise him. Surprise anyone. She would have liked that, that she'd left him uncertain about her exact last words.
He held his hand out over the edge, then let go of the Soul Stone.
Instead of dropping, it brightened, glowing. Dazzling, sharp, and he could swear he heard something, like a sigh, or a snicker; the ratchet of a gun priming, heels clicking away, or a hum of amusement. Natasha.
The Stone vanished in mid-air, and Steve drew a shaky breath.
"Fool. You have not changed either. Letting power slip through your grasp."
"Thanks." Steve looked up, and raised an eyebrow at the Red Skull, and the shredded remains of his existence thanks to the Tesseract. "Now if you don't mind, I can find my own way out."
He brushed past and almost-through Schmidt, heading back toward the stairs. He took them two at a time, eyes watering, but his steps sure.
Nice exit line. Now, don't you have a date?
"Yeah," Steve whispered to himself. "... thanks, Nat. For everything."
Maybe he would paint the landscape here someday. He could already see Natasha's stance, looking up at the sky.
Notes:
Written because I miss Nat, and I know Steve will too. There are a lot of great fix-its and mourning-for-Tony fics out there. Now go out and have Natasha rescue herself, guys.
Thanks to Perri (neonhummingbird) and Airawyn for beta'ing. Direct quotes from the entire series of movies.