Note: This story is a sequel to the original Avengers, and takes place a few years after the events of the film. Knowledge of the rest of the MCU and X-Men film series isn't needed, but is pretty damn helpful.

Retirement was best served in a warm cup of coffee—not too hot—with an overly generous portion of milk that caffeine connoisseurs would disapprove of. The mug had to be well-used, washed of course, as there was something about a weathered cup which seemed to season each successive coffee that was poured in to it.

The diner where this particular recipe could be found was in a small town in Washington, about fifty miles inland and a large distance away from the better-known coffee shops of Seattle. The diner was sandwiched between a comic book shop and a video rental store, and partially hidden by an ever-present gang of parked pick-up trucks sullied by the long, cold winter.

The elderly owner of the diner shuffled his feet along the worn tiles as he cautiously approached each table with a kettle. The depleted cups were filled with neither the customer or the server exchanging glances or words, their eyes too heavy to pull away from the small screens in their hands. On most days, the hushed mumbling of patrons was the usual morning soundtrack of the café—along with the high-pitched squeak of chairs scraping against the floor, the chime of knives and forks grinding against cheap crockery and the conversations of coffee-drinkers distorted with half-chewed crumbs tumbling around mouths like clothes in a washer.

On the final stop of his robotic round, he motioned towards a man sitting by himself at the very end of the long counter. A baseball cap left much of his face in the shade, the hairs on his jaw allowed to flourish to a longer length than usual.

'Good morning, Steve.' The old man said with a smile that seemed reserved only for his regular guests.

The man who had once been known to the world as Captain America lifted his head and smiled in return. 'How are you today, Joe?'

'Feeling older than I did yesterday.' The owner smirked. 'How's work?'

Steve adjusted his hat and continued to share a grin. He had convinced Joe that he was a delivery driver from out of town, a lie devised from a moment of panic and the elderly gentleman's failing eyesight. 'Work's good.'

'Yeah? Where have you been driving this week?' Joe asked.

'Eh. . .' Steve scratched through the hairs of his jaw. 'North. You know, just places up north.' The question had thrown him off guard, and he burrowed through his limited geographical knowledge of his recently-adopted area with little success. 'Then. . . other places further north than. . . that.' He sighed, frowning at himself for giving such a vague answer.

Joe laughed. 'Well, you know what it sounds like you need?'

'What's that?' Steve asked, already anticipating the answer as he began to relax.

'Another cup of Joe's morning joe.'

'Sure.' He laughed politely, having tired of the owner's well-worn catchphrase some time ago. Steve figured that the man still got some enjoyment out of it, a source of self-amusement in a world where most people around him failed to even acknowledge his existence.

'It's pretty quiet in here today.' Steve noticed, swiveling himself on his stool to glimpse at the six other occupied seats.

'Yup. It hasn't been the same since they opened up one of those big coffee shop chains across the street.'

'Oh yeah?'

'Yeah.' He frowned, as his arm surrendered to the weight of the kettle and he placed it on to the counter. 'All style, no substance, am I right?'

'Can't say I've ever really been to one.'

'Five bucks for a coffee? And for what? You get your name on the cup and a little shape in the foam?'

Steve tilted his head to the side. 'Maybe you should have a go at that.'

'With these old hands of mine? Half the coffee would have spilled out of the cup by the time I'd finished with it.' He shook his head. 'No, I'm keeping it simple.'

'Plain old, morning joe.' Steve raised his mug as the corner of his mouth twitched upwards, receiving a nod in reply before being left alone. While he was used to early mornings, the remainder of last night's sleep nipped at the corners of his eyes as the caffeine sparked some much-needed energy in to his system. It had been a late night, one which involved frequent rolling between the sheets as the musky summer air made it difficult to sleep.

He would rise every morning without a purpose, or at least one he didn't know of just yet. The word retirement was usually reserved for those with grey hair and aching limbs, yet here he was, just as spruce and youthful as ever, contemplating what he should do with his day. Every possibility seemed boring, and a mouthful of coffee appeared to be the only way his body got a dose of something that resembled adrenaline.

Steve had become a regular at the coffee shop since his previous career finished prematurely. He was a man of routine, and what better way to fulfill that desire than to get up early and sit down for a morning cup and a filling breakfast. Sure, he still visited the gym, and though his bare, unemployed scheduled allowed him to go there for a number of hours, he just didn't have the same drive, the same motivation as he used to. His muscles, though still impressively crafted around his envious figure, were not as defined as they had once been.

His thigh began to tremble. At first, Steve thought it was the effects of his third coffee but as he slowly slithered his hand in to the pocket of his denim, he could feel the phone buzzing frantically. When he pulled it out, his brows descended towards his eyes as a name flashed up on the screen—the name of a person who had had not spoken to in a long time.

'Well?' Joe called from the other end of the mug-stained counter. 'Are you going to answer it or not?'

Steve's eyes never left the phone. His heart, already pounding against his chest, began to dance faster. A thumb floated above the screen, unsure of where it was clicking. He swallowed and finally looked up. 'I don't know.'