"You do know this isn't some kind of… expedition, right?" Steve asks, amused brow quirked high.

Tessa throws some more fresh-from-the-dryer laundry at him, biting back a laugh when he dramatically rolls his eyes – but begins folding the clothes all the same – and then cocks her head curiously to the side. "Well, I mean… it is time travel."

"No, I know." He fists a little sock with a pink duck on it in one hand and digs through the small pile of laundry with the other, searching for its match. "I just mean… it's in and out. This isn't a chance for you to, you know, visit Asgard."

"Steve," she bemoans, flopping dramatically down on the couch beside him. "This is the only time I'll ever get to see Asgard. Ever. It's gone. Decimated. And unless we play around some more with this whole time travel thing and turn Old Asgard into some kind of vacation destination…"

"Seems dangerous," he mumbles vaguely.

She lets out a huff. "I promise to stay on task and not wander too far within the kingdom."

"Gee, thanks. That really puts my mind at ease," he snipes, finally coming up with the matching sock and balling the two thickly together.

She's about to snark in return, say something along the lines of, you can put me on a leash if you want… give it to Rocket, I'd love to be turned into a racoon's sub. But there's a light, barely discernable knock at the apartment door that pulls her attention. Tessa and Steve both turn their heads towards the door, matching crinkled brows showing off their confusion at the hesitant intrusion.

She gets up and walks over to the door, swings it open in time to see Thor, with his shyly ducked head, holding his fist up high in preparation for another slight, nervous knock. "Hi," she greets simply.

"Hello." He looks up at her with a small, forced smile, lips pressed tightly together so no other words can leak through.

Steve steps up behind Tessa, peers over her shoulder at the oddly quiet and shy-seeming god. "You need something, Thor? Did something come up?"

His eyes flash to the concerned looking man. "Oh, no. No… I was… I'd wondered if I might…" He clears his throat thickly, the booming, gravelly sound echoing through the empty hallway, and looks up at Tessa. "Might I have a word… with the Lady Doctor?"

Steve's shoulders visibly droop, relief flooding his system as he realizes that he hadn't been sent up here to regather the team for yet another brainstorming session on how to fix yet another last-minute problem. "Yeah, sure," he answers for her, earning him a disgruntled look that he manages to avoid, already spinning to return to the sofa. "Not like she's doing anything other than watching me fold laundry."

"It gets me off," she huffs flippantly over her shoulder, adding in an annoyed eye roll that simply makes him chuckle. "He's not wrong though," she offers under her breath, turning back to Thor. "I'm free as a bird."

He cocks his head curiously at her. "The Captain can watch your child?"

"The Captain always watches her child," Steve pipes up from the couch.

Without so much as tossing him a glance, Tessa retorts simply, "Ava's with Nat," and steps into the hall, pulling the door shut behind her to leave Steve to his pouty folding. "What's up?" she asks, her voice remaining casual and upbeat despite an aching sort of regret free-flowing from the blond god to her right and pooling in her own gut.

He nervously rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet, eyes pinging everywhere but her face, finally landing on a door down the hall. "That is the witch's room," he says plainly, a thick wave of grief pouring off of him as he looks at Wanda's door.

Tessa shuts out his dismal energy – not for the first time since his arrival back at the compound – and parts her lips to speak. But the words catch in her throat. Or perhaps they don't even quite form in her brain. As always, there's too much to say – about Wanda… about everyone… about what happened those five years ago – and yet no words to speak.

He turns back to her, his blue eyes dull and glistening with a teary sheen. She allows just a hint of his energy to seep through and is not at all surprised to find that the misery living in his soul feels like a perfect match for her own unabating grief.

"C'mon," she says then, taking his hand and tugging him towards the now empty apartment, the one she once knew so well, yet hasn't set foot in in years. "Friday," she inquires lightly, "Can we go in?"

"Yes, of course, Dr. Barnes," the AI replies, unlocking and popping open the door.

Tessa leads the way, Thor trailing hesitantly behind. There's a moment, as she crosses the threshold, that she thinks this might be a bad idea. Because the apartment is untouched, looking just as she remembers, just as Wanda must've left it before going on the run… after being labeled a criminal for helping her. Because seeing the oh-so-familiar room, complete with pictures of all her loved ones – their family – pinned to boards up on the walls… hurts. And because the thought that they might get her back, might be able to bring her back to this very apartment tomorrow sets off a rush of nervous – terrified – energy in her core.

And yet… "I missed this place," falls dreamily from her lips as she gingerly lifts a fingerful of dust from a shelf. She spins to find Thor still lingering in the doorway. "You wanted a word?"

He seems to almost choke on a breath, the weight of being so close to Wanda's things – in a room with Tessa alone – being too much to bear.

And she knows this, doesn't have to open herself any further to his energy to sense his trepidation and confusion. "I should…" a small, bitter laugh tumbles out of her and she looks quickly away, averting her gaze and letting her eyes light instead on a picture on the self, one of her and Wanda – Natasha and Maria, as well – at a bar. A real laugh bubbles then, her eyes blinking closed for a fraction of a second as she recalls that night… and the bet that landed her bent over with her naked ass in the air at a tattoo parlor not an hour after that selfie was taken. She shakes her head and lets out a long-winded sigh, smile still pulling at her lips when she finally looks back over at Thor. "I should apologize," she says then, voice soft and sincere. "I should… explain."

His face pinches in confusion, but still no words come out.

"I had him," she declares, the grin still lingering in an odd and miserable stretch of her lips as her gaze seems to take on a distant quality. "You said I could end him. And you were right. I could. I felt it happening." Her eyes snap back to focus, reality settling in around her – around them both – as she states, "But I… let go."

"But why?" he asks, no accusation to his tone, only hurt and painful desperation… need. He advances, finally entering the room and halting mere inches from her, staring at her with such a wounded look that she feels what's left of her heart break.

"Because Ava told me to," she says, speaking aloud the truth for the first time.

His forehead wrinkles in confusion, such a breadth of befuddlement rising within that he doesn't even know what questions to ask.

Tessa sputters a breath, her eyes dropping to her shoes for a swift moment before she somehow steels herself to go on. Her gaze rises once more, locking onto his. "I was pregnant then… obviously," she mutters with a nervous breath of a laugh. A thick swallow. Another tick away of her eyes. "I had had some… dreams. Before then. Dreams of the future. And at first I just thought… I thought they were dreams. But they weren't. They were… real."

"Visions," he says, no question to his voice. "Premonitions."

She nods. "I knew that Ava had the X-gene. I knew that she'd… manifest some kind of power. Eventually. But…"

"You're saying that your child is a seer?"

"I am," she declares plainly. "Yeah. She's a seer. Or… a mutant with the power of precognition," comes out of her with a perplexed grimace. She shakes her head. "She's a four-year-old girl… I can't label her. But… yes, she sometimes has visions or dreams." A long and languid sigh flows out of her, her brows suddenly knitting tightly together. "I don't think she even knows. I'm sure she doesn't. Not really. She's just a baby."

"And when she was the smallest baby," he begins, his voice taking on an airy quality as he starts to piece things together. "Before she was yet born, she was having visions even then. And was able to share them with you."

She nods.

"And she had a vision that… made it clear you mustn't kill Thanos?" he asks, face hardening with ire.

"She showed me what would happen if I did. And… and I couldn't let that happen. Or… I could… and honestly, maybe I should have," she states, ducking her head. "But at the time… I didn't know what I saw. And I didn't… realize what would happen. And I panicked. And I let him go."

"What did she show you?" he asks, an absolute need to know weaving between his words. "What would have happened if you held on?"

She looks up at him and sees a replay of that too-real moment, the one that she lived despite the fact that it never truly happened. She sees his giant axe, alight with a blue glimmer not unlike her own, hurtling towards her, thrusting into her, cleaving her in two. She feels the sharp pain slice through her, stealing her breath, taking her life. And that of her unborn child.

Her eyes blink swiftly shut, a gasp pulling from her chest. "I died," she breathes out, offering no more.

"How?" he asks, little more than simple curiosity now perking his voice.

She shakes her head, looks back at him, at his unkept hair and newly sprouted frown lines. At the dullness she had never before seen cast in his eyes. At the heaviness of his shoulders, drooped with the weight of guilt, the agony of grief. He will never know – she decides in this moment – about the horrible thing that never happened. The horrible thing that she never allowed him to do.

"I just… did," she says instead, instead of dropping yet another weight atop him. "And Ava did too… inside of me. And I knew that. And so, when the vision flashed, I… I reacted…"

The air around them – laden with dust and the staleness that comes from too many years of never being respired – feels heavy and thick. The apartment, she only realizes just now, is quieter that she's ever known it to be. Until Thor lets out a sharp breath, his head nodding slowly as he huskily issues out, "To protect your child."

She nods, her gaze quickly falling to the floor. "And it cost half of humanity."

"But you didn't know," he defends hurriedly, taking two large strides towards her before stopping himself abruptly. His head cocks to the side, brow furrowed once again. "Did you?"

She shakes her head fiercely – "No. No, of course not." – and chances a cautious glance up at him, unintentionally getting lost in those desperate blue eyes. "But, I don't know… if I had known… I don't know if I would've made a different decision."

He drops his gaze, freeing her from the solemn stare, and shakes his head whilst huffing out a pitiful, regretful laugh. "But I still should have gone for his head."

She barks out a quick laugh of her own, immediately regretting the inappropriate response and swiftly slamming her hands to her gaping mouth to cover it lest anything else tumble out. It's a moment more before she's able to swallow down the lamentable outburst, clear her throat and utter, "No. No, Thor." She reaches out and takes his hand, folds the giant, warm thing up in her grasp. "This was my doing. My failing. Not yours. I was the one… destined to take him down."

"Destined?" he asks, face splitting with confusion. He shakes his head again before cocking it dramatically. "I never said you were destined for such a thing. Just that you were capable. As was I."

She shrugs, a slight, almost wistful laugh spilling out of her. "Maybe the only two who were capable."

He twists in her grip and wraps his strong fingers round both of her oddly shaking hands. "And we both failed," he mutters, voice low and tremulous.

She nods, her gaze dropping down to see them linked. Through touch alone, she pulls the slightest bit of pained energy from him. And in its place she presses something else – something akin to joy, to hope. Something she's only ever been able to muster herself when thinking about her baby girl – into his open palm.

He looks down at her, the haze that's been clouding his vision – his soul – for five years now, lifting and lightening, if only a bit.

She locks onto his eyes, noting the hint of clarity brightening their edges, and she offers a small, confident smile. "And now we have a chance to… un-fuck it up."

000

A few weeks ago, if someone would have asked Steve Rogers about his life, he probably would've shrugged and smiled and pulled out the pocketsize photo album of Ava, better known as his phone. He likely would have spent a few minutes gushing over the ever-surprising, growing-like-a-weed girl. He might have mentioned that he helps out with group therapy sessions at the community center, that he often volunteers for city cleanup projects, that he – simply put – does what he can to help. He probably would've said that he shares an apartment with a crazy woman, who's also his best friend. And that he's lucky enough to still have a handful of other close friends in his life as well. He most likely would balk at any mention of Captain America, and would outright refuse to address the fact that he ever had been one of the world's greatest heroes.

A few weeks ago, Steve would've said that he was happy… yeah, happy enough anyway. He would've mentioned that that Ava was excited about starting kindergarten in the fall. He would've talked a bit about the project he just joined to help rehab the parts of Central Park that had been neglected over the past five years. He'd have smiled wide as he said that the groups he leads have been doing good, really good, and that they haven't lost a member to suicide in almost two years.

What he wouldn't have said, wouldn't have even hinted at, is that, while he is happy – happy enough – and while he does get excited about the work that he does, and he absolutely loves his friends and family – Tessa and Ava at the top of that list – there's something terribly amiss in his life. He often feels like a ghost, moving through a world that's no longer his own, gliding about unseen and untethered. He's oddly… hollow. Simply put, he doesn't belong.

What he wouldn't have said about his life – his happy enough life, which is all he could ever really hope to have – is that it doesn't actually feel like his life at all.

With Tessa… well, it was obvious from the get-go that Steve could never fill the void left in her heart, her soul, by her husband. For better or worse, he had known that all along. He knew that Tessa would never love him in the way that she loved Bucky, and he was fine with that. Truth be told, he had never felt for her the kind of aching joy – and terror – that arced through his body at simply hearing a certain British twang. He had never craved her touch – even in the moments where he was truly desperate to knead into her flesh – like he had craved even just a lingering look from Peggy Carter.

As close as they are, as close as they had become these last five years, there's still something about her skin beneath his palm, her hair tangled between his fingers, her lips pressed into his that always feels… off. Not wrong, per se. No. It never feels wrong to touch her, to be with her. But it also never feels like they quite fit. It's as though they each possess a copy of the key to the other's heart – or a copy of a copy of a copy, one that has steadily degraded and become tainted over time. And while that key usually manages to open the other up eventually, there's always a fair amount of wiggling and force needed to get it into the lock in the first place. Neither of their keys ever slide in place unimpeded. Because neither holds the right key.

It's similar with Ava, though it pains him to admit it. Steve loves that little girl with all of his being. But never once has he lost sight of the fact that she isn't truly his. She's Bucky's daughter. He's reminded of that everyday. When she presses her lips together and gives a disappointed shake of her head, he sees Bucky. When she complains about having to go to a playdate, saying that she's fine with just him and her books, he hears Bucky. When he comes home from a rough meeting and she sits down beside him on the couch, reaching a tiny hand up to pat his shoulder reassuringly – and where in the hell had she learned that? – he feels Bucky. Hell, half the reason he fell in love with that little girl so fast and so hard was that she's Bucky's.

And that's precisely why he had always taken care to separate himself out as someone other than her father. He's papa, sure, of course. That's a name he'd never dreamed to have. And one he can't bear to even think about giving up. But Bucky is her dad. Pictures of him litter the apartment, one even sitting on the table beside her bed. Stories about him as a kid – skipping school to go play stickball in the street, carrying home a mangy stray dog because his little sister begged him not to leave it, standing up for his tiny friend who always bit off more that he could chew – get shared right alongside the classic books and fairy tales. How many times had he told her that her daddy loves her… that wherever he is, wherever he'd be, and wherever she'd end up going, he would always, always love her? He told her constantly. He loves you more than all the worlds in the universe.

Because he's her father, and that's what daddies do.

And papas too?

And papas too, angel. I love you more than all the stars in the sky.

He will love her forever, there's no doubt about that. Wherever he is, wherever he goes, wherever she ends up, Steve will always love Ava. But she isn't his daughter anymore than Tessa is his wife.

This life – constantly stifling the superhero to play the part of regular Joe, leading people in recovery by merely emulating Sam's ways, raising Ava and loving Tessa and just plain walking through a world that bears no resemblance to the one he had always planned on inhabiting – this life is not his own.

A few weeks ago, he would've said that he was fine with how things were. He was content. He was lucky to have all that he has.

But then Scott showed up out of the blue and he was given something that he'd all but forgotten even existed… a choice. Between the new normal – as the remainders of humanity had taken to calling the time after the Snap – and a normal that felt less like surviving and more like thriving. Between his current happy – happy enough – life and a life that could actually be his… all his own.

A few weeks ago, Steve had been given hope.

000

When Tessa returns home an hour or so after leaving with Thor, she says nothing about the talk they had, telling Steve only that they're on track for their trip tomorrow and everything is… fine. But he knows. He may not know what was said – by either of them – but he knows that those two hold more guilt over what had happened than the rest of them combined. That knowledge coupled with the fact that Tessa looks like pure hell when she rolls back into the apartment, tells him that whatever went down between them was intense. He only hopes that it was also helpful, perhaps cathartic.

But he doesn't push. He knows her well enough to know that pushing only ever pulls out even more of her stubborn side. So they carry on with their evening as planned, this last evening before – one way or another – their world will be once again irrevocably altered.

Dinner is quiet and uneventful, Ava humming to herself as she bites the heads off of her dinosaur chicken nuggets, Tessa ducking her gaze to avoid the harsh overhead light, the sensation of a migraine brewing keeping her distant throughout the meal. After, they settle in for a movie, snuggled together on the couch – the same couch where Tessa and Steve had sat with Bucky for so many other movie nights, so many years ago. The cartoon images play before them, sucking Ava in but barely even registering for the two adults flanking her, each too consumed with fears and worries – and an unbridled, dangerous sort of hope – all their own.

A quick bath before bed, a thorough check into all of Ava's bags to make sure that her favorite stuffed animals are packed for her sleepover tomorrow, and then Steve dismisses Tessa to go take something for her headache while he settles with Ava into the king-size bed where they'd all been sleeping and dives into a bedtime story.

Time passes quickly, as it always seems to do when it's held too tight. She knows, of course. Tessa knows that this is their last night together. As a family. As this family. One way or another, things are going to change.

Ideally, everything will go to plan and they'll get back all those whom they lost. She'll get back her husband… James… Jamie. Ideally, he'll race into her open arms without a second thought, without a worry about how much time has passed nor what that might mean for the time they have left. And if that happens, well, everything that she and Ava had built with Steve will be… gone. All of this will be gone.

Of course, once he sees the life they built here without him, he may not want her at all.

Then again, the plan might not even work. They might fuck something up, might not make it out alive. Any one of them could very easily lose their lives tomorrow. It's a harrowing realization for a mother to have – that she might be depriving herself of seeing her daughter grow up, that she might be depriving her daughter of having a mother. But she's made her choice and steeled herself for that possibility. Tessa is prepared to die tomorrow. If it means that everyone they lost might live. She can accept that outcome.

What she cannot accept is the very real possibility that they might do everything right, tick all the boxes, and still no one will return. And they'll be thrust back into the same quiet, lonely world they'd been living in going on five years now. Only it wouldn't really be that same world for them, for any of them who had been given a new hope, a new chance. There's no way that they could just fall back in step and continue on as they had been going. There's no way that a failure tomorrow wouldn't break them all.

A long, pitiful sigh pulls from somewhere deep in her chest as she works to force those thoughts from her mind. They will succeed. They must. But even that will carry a heavy weight.

Steve appears at the end of the dark hall, softly pulling the door mostly shut behind him as he leaves the bedroom. "Hey," he mutters quietly, cocking his head in question when he sees her perched atop the arm of the couch.

She smiles crookedly at him – "Hey." – and casually crosses her feet at the ankles, staring up at him with permission in her gaze.

He steps slowly over, lingering in front of her, looming above her, reaching out and lazily dropping his hands to her hips before lowering his forehead to hers. "Hey," he hums out again, breath hot on her chin as the word – now sounding exhausted, defeated – falls from his lips.

She glances at the bright numbers on the clock behind him, realizes that, while it feels like no time at all has passed, he'd been with Ava for over an hour. "You were gone a while," she mutters softly, her hands falling atop his, fingers winding together. "How many stories did it take?" she asks with a grin, imagining their little girl begging for just one more even as her eyes drift shut.

He lets out a small chuckle – "Four." – and steps closer to her, easily breaking apart her wound-together ankles and sidling in between her legs. He slides his left hand free of her loose hold and slips his warm fingers up beneath the hem of her shirt, raising them slowly, brushing delicately along her skin as he goes. "Pepper's picking her up in the morning?" he asks, forced-casual note to his tone as he splays his hand – his hot, open palm – over her ribs, pressing it into her flesh.

She leans into the touch – this scorching touch that only he has ever laid upon her – and whispers simply. "Yeah."

Pepper had agreed to keep Ava with her, calling it a sleepover with Morgan to keep the girls from catching on to the hectic unease surrounding the adults in their lives right now. And once their little girl is gone from the compound, it'll be time to suit up. Time heist, here they come. Tessa almost laughs at the thought of it. Almost.

"You know," Steve whispers into her hair, planting a soft and subtle kiss to her crown. "If this works…" he mutters hesitantly, as though reading the thoughts still spinning through her mind.

She leans back a bit, pulling only slightly away to look up into his clear blue eyes, the dim light of the corner lamp reflecting perfectly in his irises. "Yeah," she breathes out. "I know."

He stares down at her with a sad, crooked smile. "It's okay," slips easily from his lips, no further explanation needed nor given.

She continues to gaze deeply into his sweet, sincere eyes, silence – but for the steady cadence of their breaths in unison – surrounding them. Slowly, a reticent smile pulls across her face, tugging her lips up even as her gaze falls down. She shakes her head, "It might not be," falling in a soft whisper.

His hands tighten around her – one on her hip, the other still pressed to her ribs, cradling her side as his thumb brushes along the line of her bra. "It will be," he assures her, brow raising in a commanding way.

A short snort of a laugh tumbles out of her, and she pushes away from him, reaching up to shove him back at the shoulders before she pivots to lose herself over the arm of the couch, flopping back onto the cushions with a dramatic flair. He laughs as well, unable to contain the quick chuckle as she issues out a disgruntled moan. "But what if it isn't?" she asks with an audible pout.

He steps to her side and drops down to the edge of the sofa, hip to hip with the laid out woman as he sits beside her. He tugs absently at her shirt, pulling it back down to cover her. "Why do you think it won't be?"

Her arm flops over her head, covering her eyes, a subtle ache growing in the back of her skull. "If it works… it'll be worth it… to have him alive." She ducks out from beneath her arm, just a bit, cranes her head and squints up at him. "But that doesn't mean we'll get him back."

"It does," he states definitively, offering a single, curt nod.

She thrusts her arm away and shoves her elbows beneath her, propping herself up. "It's been five years, Steve," she says, tone serious and somber. "A lot can change in five years. A lot has changed." She raises a brow at him. "I'm old now."

He barks out another laugh – "Who do you think you're talking to?" – continuing to chuckle as she splats back down to the cushions below. He reaches out and lazily runs the pad of his thumb down the worry line between her eyes, the one that he's been trying to kiss away for years now, never able to be the one who can kiss away her concerns. "This is a little bigger," he says, voice soft and teasing. "A little deeper."

She reaches up and presses her index finger to the nearly identical line on his forehead. "So's yours."

He leans up and lays a swift kiss to her palm before her hand falls away, back the to the couch below. "Other than that, you don't look a day older."

She rolls her eyes. "How the hell would you know? You've been here every day. You can't see it when you're watching the aging process happen every day." She lets out a lingering sigh and turns her gaze towards the ceiling. "I'm… different. I've changed."

He nods slowly – "That's true." – and drops his left hand to her hip, giving her a small jostle to get her attention. She looks back up at him, not at all surprised when he doesn't pull his hand away, instead leaving it to press into her, his fingers gently stroking along her pelvis. "You have a much better work-life balance," he points out, tone light.

She scoffs. "I just don't spend as much time in a lab anymore. Working too much with patients," she issues with an almost disgusted lilt. Then, cocking a brow high, she announces, "If we get Shuri back, I'll probably head back into the lab. Oh, man, that'd be great."

He laughs easily, heartened by her suddenly dreamy stare. "You know how to cook now," he points out next, choosing another difference between the Tessa from before and the one from after.

"Barely," she scoffs again.

He frowns at her. "That chili last week was great."

She waves a dismissive hand through the air, almost hitting him in the face. "That was mostly Bruce… he kept tweaking it and adding stuff. He used more spices than I've even heard of."

"Well, I'm still counting it," he declares before going eerily silent for a long moment. His fingertips continue their slow, tender trace along the jutting bones at her hip, deep blue eyes still staring as if straight through to her soul.

She opens herself up a bit – only a bit, lest she get hit with all of the nervous energy currently thrumming through the compound – and she feels a deep sense of peace wafting from him, so thick and sincere that it makes her want to cry. "Steve…"

He shakes his head languidly, as though he knows what she's about to say despite the fact that even she doesn't have a clue. "You're the mother of his child," he murmurs, voice heavy and genuine. "Tess, he's gonna take one look at you with Ava… and he's going to fall in love with you all over again. Not that he'd have to," he intones with a smirk. "Considering he never fell out of love with you. And never could."

Her brows twist together, that worry line at their center caving in as she looks up at him with such despair. "Never? What about when he hears Ava call you papa?"

His eyes tick away for just a breath of a moment, but it's more than enough to tell her that he too has his doubts, that he's asked himself this same question a hundred times over the last few weeks. "He'll understand," he says finally, leveling her with a decisive stare.

She reaches up to cup his cheek, fingers dancing lightly near his temple, thumb softly caressing at the corner of his mouth before moving over to gently pluck at his bottom lip. He nips at her playfully, eliciting a warm laugh, before turning his face into her hand, eyes drifting shut as he presses a long, lingering kiss to her palm. "What about you?" she asks, the words so soft they're nearly nonexistent. "Will you understand?"

He blinks his eyes open and twists again, leaning into the curve of her palm, smiling gently as her fingers move just a bit further up to scratch softly at his scalp. "I've always understood, Tess," he tells her honestly. "You've never been mine."

A small, tender smile stretches out along her face. "When you first came out of the ice, I remember you telling me that you met the love of your life right before dying. But that at least you considered yourself lucky to have had that."

He raises a brow. "I feel like I might've also mentioned I was too chickenshit to do anything about it. Until… until right before flying into a glacier."

She giggles a bit. "Yeah, there's that." Then, settling further into the sofa, turning deeper into the hand at her hip, she states plainly, "Peggy was your one." She shrugs, frowns a bit, and reaches her other hand up to cup his face, holding it steadily between both palms when she says, "We're each other's second best."

He huffs out a short, sardonic laugh at that, rolling his eyes just a bit before settling them on her once more. Then he nods stiffly, a small but true smile perking his lips as he lowers himself down and presses them to hers, parts her mouth to slip inside for just a breath of a moment. The taste of her remains when he pulls away, the coconut lip balm that he'd been buying her for years, the celebratory wine that they all had split at dinner, the unmistakable, indescribable taste that's just her. "Close second," he mutters headily, his forehead bearing down on hers. "Very, very close second."