I feel somehow cleansed after speaking to Bruce. A new optimism takes over my mind and sweeps away the negativity that has been swirling there for days. There's a bounce in my step as I shower, shaving my legs, moisturising twice after. I slip into my satin pyjamas, woollen socks for the cold floors, and spend an hour reading a guilty-pleasure romance book. The sun goes down, the incredible view visible from my room window, and the moon and stars greet the inky sky. With the night comes the familiar loneliness, the longing. It's a strange duality that exists between Steve and me, at least in my own mind. By day he is Captain America, and I am Apolla, and we are at work. We can have no distractions, not if the world needs to be saved. But by night he is Steve Rogers, and I am myself, and the layers all peel away. I contemplate heading upstairs to play some more piano, hoping he will arrive for a glass of warm milk, that we might get a chance to have our talk. But my newfound positivity urges me to take the initiative.

It does little to erase my nerves, however, and my hands shake so badly I almost spill the mugs of warm milk as I make my way back down to the bedroom quarters. I pace up and down the two corridors, eyes wide, suddenly realising I have no idea which room is Steve's. I'm far too mortified to begin knocking on doors, but realise I can't spend all night pacing the halls, hoping for some sign to guide me. My prayers seem to be answered when Wanda leaves her room, robe wrapped tightly around her waist.

"Wanda!" I whisper.

She's a little surprised, but manages a smile as her bare feet pace over to where I stand. "Apolla. You okay?"

"Please don't read too much into this," I beg. "Do you know which room is Steve's?"

She raises an eyebrow, but has the decency to bite back the grin threatening to spread across her face. "End of the hall, on the left. Vision used to always bug him for arm-wrestling competitions."

I join her laughter and thank her. "When do you leave for Wakanda?"

"Tomorrow. I'll say goodbye before we go, I promise."

The patter of her footsteps fade away, and my own echo down the hall, to the last door on the left. I stare at it for almost a full minute, ready to chicken out. You can do this, I tell myself. Don't even think. Just knock.

My stomach lurches as I tap my fist twice against the door, trying not to spill any milk. The night chill sends a light wave of goosebumps across my shoulders. I wish I'd thought to put on a sweater.

The door swings open quickly and Steve stands there, eyebrows raised, the corners of his lips forming a small smile. My heart pounds so hard I'm sure it must be visible through my chest. The same question comes to my mind — can he hear it?

"I brought you milk," I say.

"So you have." His eyes twinkle. He takes a mug from my hands. "Come in."

He waits for me to enter the room first, closing the door behind us. He's personalised this room. The walls are painted darker than my own, in navy blue. Rather than the harsh light bulbs in the ceiling, he's installed a bar light that runs the length of the room and lights everything in a cool glow. Where I leave my window bare to see the stars, he's shut his blinds, and the bed in the centre of the room is almost twice the size of my own. I'm embarrassed to admit his bed-making skills put mine to shame.

"I like your room," I say.

He sips his milk. "I've been here a while. Had enough time to make it my own." He glances at me. "I bet yours is still pretty bare."

"How did you know?"

"It takes about a year before you get comfortable. Most of us still have one foot out of the door during that time, anyway."

"Even you?" I ask.

"Even me." He sits on the end of the bed, his gaze dropping to the floor. "Thank you for this. I'm having trouble sleeping tonight."

I sit beside him, a polite distance away. "Why's that?"

"My mind's racing."

"Talos?" I guess.

"That's part of it." He sighs. "Talos. The stones. Loki. Then there's you… us." The words send a thrill through my abdomen. "You've been kind of cold towards me today."

"It's not a nice feeling," I say, recalling how I felt when Steve was the one phasing me out.

"I've spent two days worried about you. Then I get Sam in my earpiece, telling me we've got a situation back here, that you're in danger. You can't imagine how that made me feel." He sighs, then looks at me with such intensity I can't bare to break away. "I have to know. Did I do something wrong?"

"No," I whisper. Then I shake my head a little, recalling my earlier anger. "I mean, I was upset with you."

"Why?"

I glance down at the floor, embarrassed to bring it up now. He places a finger beneath my chin and lifts it up, giving me no choice but to meet his gaze once more.

"Sharon Carter," I confess. "You gave me that whole speech about honour and distractions. And then I find out it was a lie."

"It wasn't a lie."

My eyebrows knit together. "But then…?"

Steve shakes his head slowly. "Sharon and I shared a kiss, once. But we barely knew each other. There was no complexity to my feelings, no real depth. I've kissed pretty girls, Apolla. But this is different." He frowns suddenly, his eyes catching something. "What happened?" he asks, running a thumb across the plaster on the inside of my elbow.

"Nothing," I say quickly, embarrassed. "Just something for Bruce."

"I should have known," he mutters darkly.

I raise an eyebrow. "Is there a problem?"

"You may have to contend with Sharon. But I have to contend with every other guy in here having all the time in the world for you."

My mouth drops open a fraction. "Steve Rogers, are you jealous?"

"Would it be so bad if I was?" he murmurs.

His hand trails down my forearm. He reaches my palm and slowly, hesitantly, links his fingers through my own. Goosebumps of a whole new kind now dot across my skin.

"You're cold," he frowns.

"I'm fine," I insist, but he tugs a blanket free with his spare hand and drapes it over me.

The combination of warmth from the blanket, Steve's hand laced with my own, the taste of milk on my tongue, makes me all warm and fuzzy. I let out a small, content sigh, wishing this moment could last forever.

"What are you thinking about?" Steve asks.

A blush rises to my cheeks. There's no way I could tell him. But I don't want to lie to him, either, and so my mind clutches at something before I voice it aloud.

"Tomorrow," I confess. "I mean, the possibility we could actually be off-world in twenty-four hours time."

"You think we should trust Talos, don't you?" His thumb traces across the back of my hand as we speak.

"I don't know yet."

"You do." His eyes roam across my face. "You know more than you're telling me."

I try not to look guilty. Surely, with so much practice, I must be getting better at it. But Steve doesn't push the subject. Instead, he confesses what's been going through his mind.

"I'm sort of terrified," he admits. "I'm meant to be a leader. But as soon as we shoot past the atmosphere, I won't have a clue what I'm doing. Or what to expect. How can I be Captain America, when I'm heading into the unknown myself?"

"Captain America," I remind him. "Not Captain Universe." I give his hand a small squeeze. "Part of what makes you such a great leader is that you're willing to admit what you don't know. And I'm sure, whatever planet we're on, your ability to lead will come just as easily to you. You were born for this, Steve, serum or no serum. It would take more than going off planet to change that."

He runs a tender hand along my jaw. "First Thor, now me," he murmurs. "How can you doubt what kind of person you are, Apolla?"

I stiffen. "The name says it all."

"I don't believe that for a second." His face softens. "I'm glad to know you better."

"I feel like I still hardly know you at all," I admit.

"What do you want to know?" he asks, suddenly playful. "How about I give you three questions."

"We did questions in Wakanda," I remind him. It feels like a lifetime ago, now.

"And clearly you have more." Light dances around his irises. "Three questions."

I'm reminded of my thudding heart, the butterflies dancing inside of me as our hands stay touching. "Can you hear things most humans can't?" I ask, slightly embarrassed. "Quiet sounds and… heartbeats, things like that?"

Steve grins, looking down. "Uh, yeah. I can."

I groan, pulling my hand away to bring both to cover my face. "This whole time?" I ask through my fingers.

Steve lets out a laugh, easier and more carefree than I've heard from him. He pulls my hands away, and almost ironically, the sudden proximity causes my heart to give an extra lurch.

"There's no need to be embarrassed," he murmurs. "If you must know… you make me nervous, too."

"Next question," I decide, praying the flush in my cheeks will die down. "What happened between you and Tony? I caught the end of the argument, but I don't fully understand. Do you really not trust me?"

"Of course I trust you." Steve sighs. "Apolla, I feel very protective of you. I don't know what happened. When you went down in the clearing, something inside of me switched, out of nowhere. Nat told me afterwards that I went wild, shouting and demanding we get you to Wakanda immediately. I carried you to the ship myself. I couldn't leave your side. At first, I thought it was because you helped me out, right before you went down. I thought it must be because I owed you."

"And now?" I whisper.

For the first time, I become aware of music playing quietly from the corner of the room, a gramophone spinning an old record.

"I'm terrified," he admits. "At the sakaaran camp, these past few days further north… I've been off my game. Too worried about you. Apolla, I'm scared at some point it's going to cost something. A life." He looks at me seriously. "Or billions."

"I can defend myself," I say, almost offended. "What happened in the clearing, it won't happen again. I've trained since then. I've improved since then."

"You were going to take the shot for Nat."

"And I'd do it again." I set my jaw. "If I had to. That doesn't make me incapable."

"Not incapable," he admits. "But caring to a fault. Tell me honestly, if Talos had been more sinister, if he'd gone for Peter, what would you have done?"

"Peter's barely an adult," I point out.

"And Stark should never have put you in that position."

"Would you still feel that way if it was Nat? Or Vision, or you?"

"It's different-"

"Why is it different, Steve?" I hadn't realised, until now, how sore a point this is in my pride. "Because you've done this for longer? Trained harder?"

"It's different because it's you!" He's frustrated, close to shouting. "Don't you get it, yet? If anything happens to you, I don't know how I'll deal with it. I can't afford to take that risk."

I stand up, letting the blanket crumple to the floor at my feet. "You need to stop pushing me away," I say. "That's the only thing causing these problems. All this separate teams crap, the phasing me out, that's what's got you off your game."

He sighs. "Maybe you're right. Look, I know it's confusing. It's even worse for me. I'm sorry." He reaches out a hand. "You don't have to leave."

Before I can make my mind up, something catches his attention. He frowns. "Do you hear that?"

I strain my ears to pick up what comes more easily to him. He gets up and cuts off the music, listening intently. After a few moments, I can make out a faint, distant rumbling.

"Get your suit," Steve says, face grim. "We're under attack."