MCU (c) Marvel Studios

I wonder do I love you? Or the thought of you? Slow, love, slow only the weak are not lonely. Lips to ear rhymes, a slumber deeper than time. Slow, love, slow only the weak are not lonely. — Nightwish

They made it back to Steve's room and laid in bed, naked. It was comforting, laying there and only feeling his skin against hers. The humid night was sticky and warm yet despite it all she felt cold, goosebumps pimpled her skin and she rested her head on Steve's chest, listening to his heartbeat. He played with her hair, both two caught up in their own thoughts to speak. Outside she heard the fluttering of bats, a few frogs clung to the glass and the moonlight cast eerie shadows upon the walls. It reminded her of the moonlight on snow in the middle of a Russian winter. It did something with the mind, mess with it, made you wonder if you were seeing things. "Do you love him?" Steve broke the silence and she let out the breath she was holding.

"Who?"

"Be honest with me."

"I'm not an honest person." She watched a frog crawl across the window, ignoring his glare. She didn't have to look, she knew what it looked like: his lips pressed into a firm line, the blue of his eyes washed out, and his skin bone pale from the moonlight causing his beard to be darker than normal.

"Natasha." There was a slight growl to his voice and she didn't bother to suppress the shudder. She closed her eyes; she knew who he was referring to and she knew that she had to choose her words with care. This could snuff out the burning ember of their romance or it could be the storm they weathered together and coax that ember into a roaring inferno.

Steve was always honest. He disliked liars and secret-keepers. Yet, he fell in love with me, the mistress of lies and secrets. She looked away from to frog to meet the gaze of the man that managed to win her heart. Others had tried to break in, to force it open; all had failed. Steve had simply knocked and talked through the door until — inch by inch — she had allowed him in. The door to her heart was still open though, and he could leave at any time. "Do you still love Peggy?"

"I—" he swallowed; she watched the muscles in his throat contract, wondering if he was struggling to phrase the question without hurting her.

"Be honest," she said, a hint of steel in her voice. The night was making her reckless or maybe it was her emotions, the fact their team — their little family of misfits — was breaking up. Maybe it was Steve and his damnable but so welcomed, ability to get her to be honest with herself and what she wants.

He huffed, shifting away from her with a grumbled, "I'm always honest."

The rejection stung. "Yes" — she turned his head, so she could hold his gaze — "but are you honest about this?" she asked, placing her hand on his heart. The feel of his strong heart beat made her smile. For all his strength and near indestructibleness, Steve's greatest asset was his pure golden heart. His lips turned into a frown; he wasn't good at guarding his emotions (at least not from her).

"I won't be upset if you still love Bucky."

She snorted, knowing full well that was a bold face lie. He's getting better I'll admit, she thought with a note of pride; but she knew better. Steve never did things half-way. He did things a hundred percent and had the persistence of a starving dog trying to get a bone. This was a man, who despite his plethora of illnesses, still tried to join the army five times. "Yes, you will," she said, cutting through his lie. He huffed, pulling away from her and laying on his side. Tears stung her eyes, and she had to take a few calming breaths to gather herself. She pressed herself against his back, tracing patterns on his smooth skin, feeling his muscles twitch and memorizing how they dipped and curved. "I wouldn't call it—" she stopped, thinking about her relationship with Bucky and how she still felt about it. There was a thrill with being with him, a risk that burned like a firestorm. The adrenaline rushed was something she craved but it was more from that fact that Bucky was so easy to manipulate, his emotions strings for her to pluck and tease until she got the reaction she wanted. It was no way for a romance to survive, a true relationship to continue.

It was petty and cruel and a product of the Red Room. To the Red Room, relationships were just a way to crack people open to pluck at their strings. She had learned from her mistakes with the help of Steve and Clint. They had both showed her how relationships be they romantic, platonic or familial should work. A soft surrendering of the walls around one's heart coupled with the absolute trust that the other person would not rip it out of your chest. She never understood it with Bucky. "I love the thrill of being with him," she said, lips brushing his spine as she peppered the knobs of his vertebra with soft butterfly kisses. "Did I love him at one point? Maybe, though any relationship I had before you I would hesitate to call love."

"What about you and Bruce?"

"You know how I kept setting you up on dates?" she gave a breathing laugh. "Or trying at least."

"I did call Sharon."

"I know, you took her to coffee and she was flirting with you and you were too polite and I think a lot of it went over your head by how red your ears got."

"How… how did you know about that?" This time he flipped over to look at her, a flummoxed expression on his face.

"What I had with Bruce was me trying to deny what I felt for you. I care about Bruce and in some ways, I relate to him" — she frowned — "but he made his feelings real clear after we dealt with Ultron. The least he could do was be a man and dump me to my face instead of running away. Coward."

"Oh, Natasha," he whispered and pulled her close to him and she accepted his comfort. This was the problem with loving anyone, they always managed to hurt you in the end. "I'm sorry."

"It's over Steve. So, to answer your original question: No, I don't love Bucky," she said, looking at him. "I love you, and you want me to be honest?"

"Always."

"Never try to seduce someone and expect to not get attached, even if it was a brief public display of affection," she said and patted his chest. "Pro tip from a pro. Never works out how you think it will."

"Natasha…" he whispered. She pressed a kiss to his lips, but he didn't return it. "I… I still love her, Nat. I'm sorry."

"I understand," she said, even if it hurt her to admit it. She wrapped her arms around him, pillowing his head against her shoulder. He nuzzled the junction between her neck and shoulder. "I understand." She didn't really. Bruce and Bucky had both been flings in the long run. The man in her arms on the other hand… he was the one waiting for her at the end of the alter in her dreams. His tears were warm against her skin and she held him until his breathing evened out into sleep. The frog on the window had jumped into the jungle and the squeaking bats broke the nighttime silence. The door hissed open and she tensed, the moonlight striking the glowing eyes of the cat. "Hey, kitty," she cooed, the cat gave her a dismissive flick of his tail before walking away. "Cats." She gave a deep sigh, tracing patterns in the dark. Steve murmured in his sleep and pulled her closer. She snuggled against him and allowed her weary body to drift off to sleep.

The dance hall was empty, confetti and balloons littered the ground. A banner hung over the stage with a tired saggy appearance: WELCOME HOME emblazoned on it. The band had long left, plates and cups had been whisked away though there were suspicious stains on some of the tablecloths. He looked down at himself, he was dressed in his captain's uniform, the SSR pin and double silver bars on his lapels and he wore his ribbons. He tweaked his hat in his hands, dress shoes making soft thuds against the hard floor. "Hello?" he called out, even though he couldn't see anyone. He kicked a deflated balloon, it bounced sadly for a foot or two before stopping.

"Took you long enough," a woman said. He turned, and his heart leapt into his throat. Peggy was standing before him in a pearl white dress with a dark belt cinched around her waist, her hair pinned back, the soft curls cascading down her neck and she painted her lips a soft red. "Feared you weren't going to make it."

"Peggy," he said, a smile blossoming on his face as he set his hat on the table. He took her hands. "Wow, you look beautiful."

"Thanks." She looked him up and down. "You don't look half bad yourself."

He chuckled, smoothing his thumbs along her soft hands. "We won."

"We did." They looked at the empty dance floor. "Come," she said, giving his hand a little tug. He stumbled, still frozen in place but followed once he regained his footing. "Let's dance."

"The band's gone, can't dance without music," he said as she took his hand and placed his other on her hip. "You're so beautiful," he whispered, still not daring to believe this way real.

"I can carry tune, unlike you, besides this is a good way to teach you," she said and began to move. They stumbled for a few minutes, both fighting for dominance. "Steve, you either let me lead or you do it because we both can't."

"Oh… right, of course," he said and began to relax, letting her lead. A piano plinked in the distance followed by the low thrum of a bass, a clarinet and saxophone joined in crooning softly and carrying the melody and harmonizing with the piano was a trumpet. He looked around and saw the band. It was small, but they played something slow and it was just for him and Peggy. He grinned, pulling her closer until she rested her head on his broad chest. He ended up leading at some point, enjoying the intimate closeness with her as he allowed the music to whisk him away. Someone began to sing in a soft husky voice. "I love you," he said and dipped his head down, giving her a tender kiss. She returned it with just as much tenderness.

"Steve." Peggy stepped away from him, the music dying on a mournful note. The dance hall fell into decay, the grey sky of the New York skyline peeked through the gaps in the ceiling. Weeds tumbled through the once glossy dance floor. They stood in an abandon lot, surrounded by a chain linked fence and towering skyscrapers. They hadn't changed, only their surroundings. "Steve, I'm dead."

"I know," he said, squeezing her hands tightly as he heard an airplane rumble across the sky. "I know Peggy." He helped carry her casket, draped with flowers and the British flag. He still remembered the text he got telling him that Peggy had passed.

"You need to let me go," she said, cupping his cheek. "Please."

"How can I? We never got our dance." The wind blew, causing something to creak, the welcome home banner fluttered in tatters, and on the wind was the scent of dust and concrete and car exhaust.

She smiled, it was melancholic. "I know," she whispered, "but you can't put your life on because of dance, Steve. That's not want for you. I told you, at some point you realize that you have to start over to go forward."

"Peggy, please I—"

"I want you to be happy Steve," she said, her other hand coming to frame his face. He bowed his head, feeling the tears well in his eyes. "That's all I ever want was you to be happy."

"I'm happy with though. Please, I—"

"Oh Steve." She hugged him, pressing her face against his chest. "We'll get another chance, I'm waiting for you."

"Peggy…" he wrapped his arms around her, kissing the crown of her head. He could smell her perfume. A soft floral scent, lilies perhaps. "I don't want to let you go."

"But you must," she said, looking up at him. "If you spend your present trying to hold onto the past, you'll be left behind by the future." She gave him a smile. "Besides, just because we can't go back doesn't necessarily mean it's an ending."

He gave her a sad broken smile. "What future do I have without you? I love you, I wanted to marry you, have a family with you, grow old with you." The tears came then, he sniffed, wiping them away. "What chance of that now?"

"Natasha," Peggy said. "You love her."

"Yes, but—" he stopped when Peggy put a delicate finger against his lips. He held her hips.

"Give her a chance, Steve. She makes you happy, I've seen it. Love her with all of that good heart you have." She stroked his cheek. "Please. That's my final wish."

He hung his head, nodding. "Okay." He pulled her into a tight hug.

"I'm just glad I got to see you one last time before I left."

"Oh Peggy…"

"No matter what happens, I'll always be with you," she said, giving him one last kiss. He closed his eyes, memorizing the feel of her lips against his. There was a gust of wind, his eyes fluttered open and Peggy dissolved into sparkles of light. "I'll always be with you."

"Goodbye Peggy."

It was bittersweet leaving Wakanda. Steve had spent the day with Bucky before his friend went back into the cryo, though Shuri promised that she was close to figuring out how to reverse the brainwashing. He had heard Bucky telling Natasha something about watching out for him, which she smiled and said something in Russian. T'Challa promised that he'll see that Sam, Wanda and Vision safely got to Europe and they exchanged hugs and sad goodbyes with promises of seeing each other again. Sam promised he'll call them if anything happened to Vision and Wanda.

Steve followed Natasha into the Stark jet, she had already settled herself into the cockpit, flicking switches. The engines hummed into life as he strapped himself into the seat beside her. "You're awfully quiet," she said as she maneuvered out of Wakandan airspace. She punched in coordinates and the GPS sprung to life.

"Had a… uh… interesting dream," he said, as they gained altitude.

"Wanna talk about it?"

"It was rather personal," he said. She nodded as she flipped a switch to engage the cloaking system.

"One of those dreams," she said, a smirk appearing on her lips. "Next time you have them, wake me, I'll help."

"What? No! No, not one…" he huffed, flushing and waving his hand. "No, it was… it was nothing, just don't want to talk about it."

"If you say so," she said and winked at him. He gave her a beady glare which she ignored. They lapsed into silence and he pulled his compass out, Peggy's picture stared back at him. He ran his thumb over it, the compass below spun as it tried to find magnetic north, but the cloaking system interfered with it. He snapped it closed.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"Masardis, Maine," she said, switching it to auto pilot once they reached cursing altitude. She swiveled around to face him.

"Never heard of it," he admitted. She grinned as she took his hand, he let her and watched her draw patterns on his palm. A little smile appeared on his lips as she did so.

"Didn't expect you too. It's one of those blink and you'll miss it towns in the middle of nowhere. Clint has a second safe house there. We'll be able to lay low for a while, relax and get some rest."

"His family's okay right?" he asked. He had worried about that ever since rescuing Clint and the others from the Raft. For safety reasons, he had broken contact with Clint. "I'd hate for Laura—"

"They're fine, and they're safe. Laura's a tough nut to crack, she has to be with what Clint does for a living." She chuckled. "It was funny when they first started dating, she kept calling him on ops. There was this one in Las Vegas, we were staking out this drug dealer when she called. We almost got marked."

"How did you salvage it?" he asked.

"Same way we always do. I claimed to not know English, and Clint pretends he's deaf. Between us we convinced the goon that we had butt dialed her." Natasha laughed, squeezing Steve's fingers. He frowned in confusion.

"Butt dialed?"

She wiped her tears of mirth away. "Forgot, you were still frozen. Before everyone had smartphones, if you left your phone in your back pocket and sat on it there was a chance that the buttons could get pressed in a random order and accidentally call someone." She gave a cheeky grin. "After that I'd tease Clint and whenever he needed to get in touch with Laura I told him he needed to go butt dial her."

"Wow." He shook his head. "I'm surprised she's still with him."

"After that Clint knew Laura was the one, and the rest is history."

"Yeah," he agreed. He watched the HUDs display, the little model of the jet following the projected flight path, the time remaining was several hours. "He knows we're coming right?"

"Sent him a message, his house is a bit of a walk from the barn we'll be storing this thing in, but it's all on land that he owns." She gave his hand a squeezed. "We'll be safe there." She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. "Get some rest, it'll be a long flight." She got out of the pilot's chair and went to one of the little cots in the back.

He watched the blue sky, the jet banking with the air currents. "Yeah, sleep." He didn't feel like sleeping.

He didn't sleep. Instead he paced or went through some boxing moves, did push-ups and sit ups. Sat in the pilot's chair and made adjustments to the ship when needed. He found a picture of Natasha — it was actually a group photo — and carefully cut her picture out. He pulled his compass out, staring at the picture of Natasha and his compass before putting them both away. He'll do it when he was ready.

He ended up dozing in the chair, the system beeping as they approached US airspace. "Natasha," he called, getting up and going to her. "Natasha," he said, shaking her gently. She woke with a start, her eyes adjusting to the dim light and his face leaning over her. "Natasha, we're approaching US airspace."

"Okay," she said. She yawned and stretched, going to the pilot's chair. He strapped himself into the co-pilot's chair and watched the screen. The cloaking system should hide them as they slipped into the United States, but he still worried that they could be caught. Natasha did too, as he noticed how she held her body rigid. It was late afternoon, dusk was approaching, and he was taken back to flying the Valkyrie into the ice shelf. The fear caught in his throat and he closed his eyes, trying to calm himself. Someone grabbed his hand, he opened his eyes and saw Natasha smiling at him, her hand holding his. He returned her smile.

Masardis was a beautiful picturesque town, if he could call it that. He'd call it more of a village as it reminded him of the tiny European villages he liberated as he and the Howling Commandos dismantled Hydra. "It's lovely," he said. "I was interviewed when I was doing the USO tour, someone asked what I wanted to do for retirement." He laughed a little. "I said settle down in the country with a wife and kids, painting the landscape." He looked around as Natasha guided the jet to its landing site. "I can see myself doing it here."

"That's a nice dream, Steve," she said, sparing him a glance. "Hope you get to live it one day."

"Me too," he said, "think I may have found the right partner."

"One with shared life experiences?" she asked, that smirk on her lips, a twinkle in her eyes. He chuckled, running his thumb along her knuckles.

"Yeah."

"Look, Clint's here to see us," she said, pointing to the tiny man in plaid flannel, jeans and boots. She guided the jet into the barn, it's wings folding up to make room, and switched the engine off once they had landed. The door hissed as the pressure lock was released and sank down. Clint was up it as soon as it was low enough for him to jump. Natasha ran into his arms. "It's good to see you Clint," she said.

"Good to see you too Nat," he said, holding her at arm's length. "Changed your hair. Laura's gonna throw fit about that."

Natasha tossed her head back and laughed. "How are the kids?"

"Cooper and Lila are upset we had to move, they miss their friends, but other than that they're okay," he said, and looked over at him. "Hey Cap."

"Barton," he greeted, a small smile on his face.

"Nice beard."

"Oh, yeah." He made a vague gesture to his face and went to get their bags; they didn't have much, both of them barely had a duffle bags worth of clothes and other things.

"Let me get those Cap." Clint came over and took the bags from his hand. "You're guests here. Laura would have my hide if I didn't treat you like guests."

"It's fine," he said, but allowed the other man to do so anyway. He walked down the ramp, Natasha and Clint were deep in conversation as Clint filled her in on his kids. The archer kept trying to engage him in the conversation, but it fell flat. He sighed, reveling in the sweet scent of the countryside evening. The sky was a pale blue, turning pink and lilac in the west and grey and indigo in the east. A few clouds speckled the sky and he heard the honk of geese flying to their nesting grounds for the night. It was peaceful here.

"Steve?"

"Cap?"

He looked at Clint and Natasha, worry and concern on their faces. He mustered a smile. "Go on head, I'm fine. There's something I have to do."

"Alright," she said. "We'll go on head." She ran back to him and gave him a kiss, he pulled her close depending it. "Steve?" she asked as he pressed his forehead against hers.

"I love you," he said, and his heart swelled when she smiled. They shared another brief kiss before letting her go. He laughed when Clint began to bombard her with questions. He chuckled, watching as they headed towards the house in the distance. He pulled out his compass and flipped it open. Peggy's photo stared back at him, the tiny up turn of her lips and the warmth in her eyes. He hesitated for a long moment before snapping his compass closed. He couldn't do it. "I can't Peggy, I'm sorry." He slipped his compass into his pocket. "I'm not strong enough." He headed towards the house.

It's okay if you cried. I did too.

So this closes the door on Nat's relationship with Bucky and Bruce. Steve is still… well, he has issues letting things go.

To my silent readers! Thank you, I love you! Leave a kudos in the comments if you like!

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Nemo et Nihil