Twenty-Three Days Post-Snap

"This is gonna work, Steve."

"I know it will… 'Cause I don't know what I'm gonna do if it doesn't."

But it did not work; storming Thanos' "Garden" and laying waste to the modest little homestead. And Steve, fresh in the loss of two of his best friends within twenty-three days, didn't know what to do.


Six Months Post-Snap.

"Y'know… I think it's really cute, Els. I think he'd love it."

Loss had driven Captain Steve Rogers back to the sanctuary of Wakanda that, for whatever reason, always lifted his mood; despite it being the setting of a very special, rekindled friendship. A friendship that had, incidentally, ended tragically but in the ashes, another grew stronger. With the sun warming his skin and his belly full of cheese sandwiches, how could he not feel content? If a little downcast at this thoughtful memorial.

Arm extended, wrist out to be examined, Elsa felt a sad grimace for the first time in quite a while; since she'd gotten used to it, in fact. It, being the delicately inked pawprint of a wolf permanently etched into her skin; or, more specifically in Elsa's mind: The White Wolf. A reminder, a protection sigil, and a dedication to the husband and soulmate she had lost far too soon.

"Sometimes, I forget about it and when I wake up in the morning, I panic and swat at it until I remember…" Steve, clean-shaven with Louise parked in his lap, shared in the same, sad grimace but blended it through the benevolent amusement at his friend's futile panic on more than one occasion. "It's small, but I think it's perfect. And so many people have commented on it, I'm glad I did it now. I just wish he could have seen it. I doubt he would have let me forget forgetting the tattoo I had put on my own wrist."

"I don't think he would, no." The blonde agreed mildly, resuming his mindless strokes of Louise's dark chestnut plumage; a remarkably soothing thing. Did it inspire him, perhaps, to consider a commemoration of his own? Not just to Bucky, but everyone else he had failed to protect? Maybe, or another, more original idea rather than intruding on Elsa's very personal tribute to her husband.

"How are the meetings going? Did you get them up and running? The last time we spoke, it was touch and go with if you were going to do them or not."

Sighing and leaning his focus more into the tickle of feathers under his fingertips, Captain Rogers found it within himself to nod; though judging by the arch of a chocolate eyebrow from the other side of the outdoor dining set, he would not get away with a sparse answer. A tribute of his own, sure, but they were going too well.

"Yeah… Yeah, we're up and running. We're at full capacity too, I've had to turn people away more than once 'cause the room can't hold any more; might need to look into a change in venue…" As if being responsible (or feeling sure as hell like it) for the reason these people required comfort in the first place and feeling lost enough to take solace in a support group wasn't enough to dance on Steve's already-trodden guilt, turning away more needy souls certainly did the trick.

"When it started, when we first set up the coffee and the chairs… I really hoped no one would come. Not 'cause I was scared or nervous or anything like that but… I guess I wanted to hope against hope that people were coping better than I was. That this huge shift in their lives, losing their loved ones without cause or explanation, wasn't affecting them as badly as it was affecting me. I wanted to believe that I was alone and everyone else was okay. But they just kept comin'…" As those poor people arriving in their droves kept coming in Steve's tortured memory, the blameful lamenting kept coming also; much to Elsa's pitying dismay. But, like Bucky, sometimes the best thing to do with Steve was just to let him talk. To an extent, anyway.

"I mean… If they just came to yell at me for a few minutes and then leave again, great. If it was just therapy for me and that was it, that was fine too. But… They wanted comfort, and they wanted it from the person responsible, they were wounded that badly-"

"Steve, you have to stop this." The little vet had always had a maternal sensibility and a similarly maternally sensible tone to accompany it when the occasion arose. Now, she utilized it fully. The pleading gaze from across the table waited until it was met with a similar shade of dejected blue from the seat her husband usually occupied. With it secured, Elsa went on with her trademark firm kindness Steve had come to know and love in the last year or so. "You did not cause this. You did not allow it to happen." Desperate for comfort, the pained Captain did not argue but urged her to continue from the depths of attentive silence.

"You and a group of unique individuals, our Bucky included, assumed a mantle no one else would, but it wasn't enough. There's no shame in that, Steve; you did your absolute best when no one else could or would. Remember that." Just words. Of course, Elsa, in her sympathy and imploring, meant them to be so much more but Steve, delicate in mind and in a constant cycle of blame, had trouble absorbing them; no matter who they came from.

"I'm wasting my breath, aren't I?" Expecting it enough not to be offended, the Lioness grimaced once more; playfully sceptical and resigned.

"Call it "relentless to comfort but falling on deaf ears"." The blonde replied in a half-hearted attempt at appeasement but his own melancholic disappointment bleeding through; returning the strained smile. A cast of sapphire eyes across the plains triggered a reminder and so, a change of subject (and activity) gave him the perfect diversion. "But uhh… We both got work to do. Sorry, Lou, I'm gonna have to put you down, girl."

"Bloody hell, is it that time already?" Lunch, it seemed, was over and both needed to return to their respective jobs; Steve to stay on the farm, while Elsa was due eight miles south in approximately fifteen minutes. Bag gathered, crumbs dusted and (modest) height reclaimed, the theme of sympathy ran as a continuous current as she took in her friend forlornly focused on the landscape; the same landscape that had been scarred by battle only a few short months previous. Always the same, and yet, he insisted on returning. Month after month, Steve Rogers persisted on coming to the farm and just… working… to take his mind off things. Much like Bucky, he admitted to taking great solace in the labour, satisfaction in looking after the animals and someone he could talk to, who had lost as he had… Therein lay a bonus.

"Guess so… I'll probably finish here before you get back, then head to the apartment and shower."

"Suits me. I'll secure everyone then collect you from there."


Steve, in an accidental homage (or simply in keeping with his usual and preferred taste), opted for the fried rice and the golden bean fritters; his routine selection upon a visit to the night market with Bucky and his friend's "bachelor party". This time though, he had the good sense (and Elsa's practical suggestion) of halving the fritters to let some of the heat out while making a start on the rice. Unfortunately, the vendor who sold what they had dubbed as the "hot dog" had not survived the Snap.

"I keep tellin' you. Have a beer, I can drive."

"And I keep telling you, I don't even like beer. More for you, think of it like that."

Powerful (with significant farm tan under the light linen) shoulders lifted and fell in indifference, tilting his half-empty glass to an almost-spilling angle; much to the inner cheek biting amusement of the brunette opposite. Is he sure he can't get drunk? Steve could keep his ice-cold brew while the little vet stuck with either soda, tea or just water; the latter choice tended to get her playfully teased whether it was Steve or Bucky in her company.

The market, usually a bustling and busy affair, had quietened significantly with no prizes for guessing why. The disappearance of half its regular patrons (Elsa's own husband among them) and a portion of the vendors (like the beloved "hot dog guy") made for a sizeable chunk of the market's decline; the feel and the atmosphere Tambasi had been known for simply did not exist anymore. Elsa and Steve's attendance felt like little more than habit or a grappling for normality and perhaps, they were not the only ones which was probably why Tambasi scarcely managed to survive.

He would have hated this. The Lioness concluded within the confines of her own mind as she cast her eyes around the shadow of a highlight of their month. It's not the same. Not the same at all.

Amazingly, the flavour of Bucky and Elsa's first "date" to Tambasi had kept right up until the last time they attended. She had intrigued him with the promise of food, music and dancing in a semi-casual environment that could be as intimate as they wished; from then on, the White Wolf found himself hooked and attended each night market either with his girlfriend/fiancé/wife or his best friend.

This. This half-assed attempt was not what her husband had fallen in love with.

"Tell me…" Desperate to distract herself from the dire turn the market had taken, Elsa opted for a change of subject. Any subject. "Have you heard from Tony Stark at all? The last I heard, you two hadn't spoken since you tried to get the stones back."

As it happened, this fresh subject was not much better than the previous and dented Steve accordingly; forcing him to retreat into his fried rice.

"No, uhh… Not really, no. Nat's been in touch with his fiancé, Pepper; just to check in and make sure he's okay but… Nah, I don't think he's really interested in talkin' to me. They're expecting a baby soon though."

Apparently, though he could not know for sure, the sudden jolt that hit Elsa in the stomach mirrored the one that struck Steve when he heard it first too. Not jealousy but… Longing. Crestfallenness. Dejection. However, always diplomatic and kindly, the Lioness nodded through it; much to her friend's sympathetic notice. After all, she was not alone in it, but Steve's spanned a little longer than hers.

"How lovely for them."

"Yeah… Baby girl in the next few months."

"I wish them all the best. Truly."

Steve examined his friend from the corner of his eye; she appeared to mean it, however melancholy and once more, grief united them. Seemingly a common theme nowadays. It led to the pair eating (or trying to) in silence for several more minutes until Elsa, pained in her sounding, broke it; as if reading Steve's mind.

"Would you mind if we left early? I'm just not feeling myself tonight and I fear this place may be making it worse."

"Y'know… I was just thinkin' the same thing. Let's get the hell outta here. Finish your burger."


Sunday marked Elsa's only true day off (with the exception of emergencies) and so, with the lights of Tambasi fading in the rear-view mirror, she looked forward to not only going to bed, but having a lie-in. First though, her friend after his four beers (which may as well have been glasses of water) needed to be dropped back to the apartment.

"I was cleaning the other day." Out of nowhere, Steve just about registered the random comment; scarcely audible over the roar of the engine. Sandy head cocked while her darker one fixated ahead (as it should have been while driving, let alone driving at night), the dolefulness deepened just by watching her. Whatever the hell this was going to be, it cut right to the sentimental bone and Steve readied himself to grab for the wheel. Just in case.

"I found Cody's Chilly-Night blanket. It had fallen down beside the bed and… gotten stuck."

That'll do it. And it cut Steve for good measure too. Lips folded, the sigh escaped through his nostrils.

"He loved that blanket."

"Bucky gave it to him the night I found him. We didn't know if he was going to live or die but Bucky gave it anyway; straight off his own bed, didn't even think about it. It was Cody's after that; our stray who liked to be tucked in."

"Sounds like our Buck. No wonder they idolized each other."

"I don't know how I didn't realize it was there. It stinks to high heaven but… I don't have the heart to wash it."

"You didn't know because you're exhausted. You're not functioning right." He'd been sitting on it and perhaps he released it more pointedly than he meant to, but the fact remained: Elsa did not look well.

The second she'd picked him up from the palace, the dawning of it had hit him in the face and concern shortly followed but he bit his tongue and kept biting it. He had to let go eventually.

Unreactive, Elsa's eyes stayed on the road; if nothing else than to ensure she did not hit any wildlife that might stray into the jeep's path. The moon, sitting high and casting its glow all around without light pollution to disrupt it, stayed constant on her face; illuminating the pinch of tiredness that would take more than a lie-in to fix. The smile, that sweet beam, had died too and the blonde could probably guess when and why it had; its sorry replacement being only an affected grimace pretending to be more. All the more distressing was the hollowness that accommodated it.

"Just… Hear me out."

The atmosphere in the jeep had not amounted to much anyway but trust Steve to take a knife to what was left of it and prove that after more than seventy years, he still knew nothing about women. Namely when it is best to keep your mouth shut and not put your foot in it.

"I think… I think you should come back to New York with me. You need to just… take a week. Or two. Maybe come to some of the meetings. I think it'd help you and it'd benefit some of the others to hear your story too…"

Elsa continued to… do nothing. Well… Perhaps that's not entirely true, she kept driving. Beyond that was she even listening? Did she even hear him? If she did, she gave no indication of it. Did it deter Steve? Nope.

"I mean… My place is small, but I have a pull-out couch, I can sleep on that, you can have the bed-"

"That's enough, Steve."

"Or you can stay at the compound, Nat won't mind-"

"Steve."

Concern then shifted to frothing frustration and once he started, he just could not seem to reign himself in; giving himself an inch and running a mile. Instantaneously, with apparently no build-up, Captain Rogers went into bombardment mode with no consideration of where it might go and what nerve it might touch. But thinking ahead did not factor in just then.

"You're physically and mentally exhausted but you keep going anyway! You're going to burn out, Els, and what happens then?! When was the last time you thought of no one and nothing but yourself?! When was the last time you took some time off?! Come on, when was the last time you took a break?!"

"Our honeymoon."

Typical. He chose then to be quiet. After the damage had been done. Silenced by shame and embarrassment.

While snapping might have been an appropriate response, which she would have been perfectly within her rights to do when he badgered her so, Elsa found herself incapable of it. In fact, that drained, pitiful squeak, both emotional and unemotional, stung him sharper than any serrated snap. He may have actually preferred her to snap. At least a snap carried fight.

Sapphire gaze still clung to the road (it was that or look at Steve) and her grip on the steering wheel so tight her knuckles whitened, the mercy of the lights of the apartment complex flickering into view was unrivalled. She had never wished him away before (quite the opposite sometimes when he returned to the States after a visit) but he had never picked so deep to expose harsh truths she tried to ignore into obscurity. Discussing it on mutual grounds in a bid to support each other was one thing, but actively drawing it out and tossing it around was very much another; particularly when it was not warranted. Granted, she had been the initiator by mentioning Cody, but she had not expected a personal attack on how she was and was not coping.

Her work offered her the same thing as it offered Steve: Escape, solace. If it meant getting up in the morning, seeing to her (and Bucky's) animals before beginning her actual job, spending her lunch back on the farm, then returning to work until dinner time so she would be too drained to think about anything when she climbed into bed, all the better. Healthy? Absolutely not. Effective? Unfortunately. And the vicious cycle just kept coming; day in, day out.

The gates to the apartment complex parted from each other upon registering the resident's chip in the jeep. Despite not living there for a year, she had not removed it and it came in handy for instances like this. The remaining thirty seconds of the drive, between the gate and the complex's main door, passed in painful quiet; Steve internally beating himself up all the way.

"I'll… see you tomorrow?" A mere nod and a swallow served as her response without the courtesy of eye contact; or even looking in his direction at the open door of the jeep. Like a kicked dog, Steve Rogers tried again; guilt abound.

"I'll bring breakfast, don't worry about breakfast."

Another nod sufficed, for to open her mouth would give licence to the brimming in her eyes; the brimming Steve caught notice of in outdoor lights of the complex but did not dare comment upon. Christ, the last thing she was thinking about was breakfast.

"Okay… Uhh… G'night and… safe drive home, okay?"

Surprise, surprise: Another nod. But this time, Steve took the hint and slammed the jeep door; not in temper or frustration, but with the measured force for the older vehicle's lock to engage properly and not open on Elsa when she was halfway back to the farm.

The usual custom of waiting until Steve safely entered the foyer did not apply that night; not that anyone would interfere with him. As a matter of fact, he stood outside and watched as the jeep took off; remaining there until the darkness swallowed the taillights. He checked the time, bearing the time difference in mind, reasoned Natasha would be up by then to take a phone call and counsel him on his stupidity.

Meanwhile, Elsa had little else on her mind, than going home and being miserable in peace.