MCU (c) Marvel

The time will come when all of us say goodbye; feel that aching in your heart leaving you broken inside, but we're never really one as long as there's a memory in your mind. So now go do the best things in life. Take a bite of this world while you can. Make the most of the rest of your life. Make a ride of this world while you can. Take the ones you love and hold them close because there is little time. And hold on to memories, hold on to every moment to keep them alive. The world's greatest tragedy: souls who are not remembered, cannot survive. — Disturbed

The last time he felt a sense of peace was moments before he lost consciousness. He was at peace knowing he saved the world, protected it from Schmidt's evil. He was at peace knowing that at least he lived his life the way he chose, he was at peace that he got to at least love Peggy — even if it was for a little bit. He was at peace and then blackness had engulfed him.

Now, this feeling of peace was different. It was a freeing type of peace, his soul unburdened by the baggage he carried around with him. Liberating; he understood what Peggy meant by rebuilding. He had to be broken down in order to rise again, a phoenix reborn from the ashes of the life he once knew. And with that rebirth, he was able to love himself again, love someone new with all he possessed. He will always love Peggy, she changed his life so much, but there was plenty of room for Natasha, he just hadn't seen it. He smiled at her, tucked against his side, their hands entwined and watching the dawn. If he could stay with her forever like this, he'll be a happy man.

"Clint's not mad," she said, after a moment.

"Huh?" he frowned, wondering why Clint would be mad at him. He didn't do anything to anger the archer, at least he didn't think so. He looked out across the field, he could hear birds in the bushes, singing their ode to the dawn, the last of the summer's robins bobbing along with the red breasts puffed out as they looked for worms.

"He's not," Natasha insisted, "he's just concerned about you… about what happened last night." Her fingers graced the bruising on her neck. His blood chilled as his memory of that night came flooding back: the nightmare, choking Tony only to realize that he was choking Natasha, running to the jet and crying in Natasha's arms.

"Oh," he whispered, he brushed his fingertips against her tender neck, guilt washing him anew. "Nat, I—"

"I told you," she said, taking his hand and kissing his palm. "I forgive you. I strangled Clint once in my sleep. Actually, I've broke his ribs once or twice while I was sleeping too. I'm a violent sleeper." She quirked a smile. He stared at his hands, not wanting to meet her gaze. He looked up when she bumped his shoulder. "We've dealt with this stuff before, Steve. We understand that sometimes our demons reappear in our dreams and we hurt those we care about in our dreams. Clint's slept a few times on the couch because he's had a bad day, so he doesn't hurt Laura if he has a bad dream."

"I know, it's just that I—" he licked his lips. "I don't want to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you."

"You can never hurt me, Steve," she said; he felt his eyes well with tears, "at least not intentionally."

"Is that why you never brought up Peggy?" he asked. She titled her head, flummoxed at his question. "I mean… you knew I loved her, that I still love her… that I, well uh—" he stopped talking when she pressed her finger against his lips. He never realized how soft her hands are or how green her eyes were with her hair that platinum blonde.

"It hurt," she said, "to know that the man I was falling in love with still clung to a dead dream—"

"Nat, I'm—"

"Ah-uh, I'm talking." She wagged her finger in front of his face. "But I knew your history. I saw the classified newsreels. Hell, Steve I drove you to the nursing home a few times. I knew what she meant to you. That's why I didn't want you to be alone at the church that day. Who am I to begrudge you your mourning. Yeah, it hurt, but I understood that hurt." She closed her eyes, pulling away from him and wrapping her arms around herself. "I've felt that hurt too."

He swallowed, his throat tight. He rubbed at his eyes and reached for her but lowered his hand. "It's Bucky right?"

She shook her head. "No, Bucky and I… we were two lost souls trapped in the darkness and too comfort in each other's speck of light. Once I… once I… once it ended, I moved on. Bruce and I tried to start something but he ran away for whatever reason," she said and tilted her head up to stare at the cerulean sky. "No, I know that hurt because of my ex-husband" — she swallowed, he saw the muscles contract, the sheen of tears in her eyes — "I loved him, Steve. He was my first love. After years in the Red Room, being taught to forget how to feel, how to have a heart, Alexi gave my heart back to me" — she licked her lips, bowing her head — "when I was told he was dead…" she gathered herself, wiping at her eyes and giving him that blithe smile he had come to recognize as mask to hide how much she was hurting inside. "Well, I understood your pain."

He nodded, setting his hand near hers, his pinky resting on top of hers. Her smile was soft and open, understanding and supportive, her love clear in her eyes. He wondered how he ended up deserving such a woman in his life. All he knew was that he appreciated Natasha even more: for her love, her friendship, for not wanting him to be alone. "Thank you," he whispered, "thank you so much, Nat. For everything."

"Well, you said you wanted a friend," she said, smiling. "Figured I'd go above and beyond that and become your lover."

He laughed. It echoed across the field, spooking some birds. He stood up and stretched, enjoying the early warmth of the sun. The wind ruffled his hair, a sweet scent of field and mountain — the smell of nostalgia. The sky had turned to a pleasant azure, the clouds whitish silver against the sun's brilliant gold. He looked at Natasha, watching her watch him and he felt his ears turn red. "What?" he asked, running a hand through his bangs. God, his hair was long, the longest he ever had it. He never understood the guys that had long hair down to their backs or waist. Bucky's hair had grown to his shoulders, but it didn't look slovenly. At least his beard wasn't so thick.

Natasha got to her feet with cat like grace, walking the few steps towards him with the delicacy of a spider crawling along its web. She slipped her arms around his neck and smiled, hooding her eyes as she looked at him. His hands settled at her waist, feeling nature and right. He returned that lazy smile of hers with one of his own. "Just thinking," she said, swaying; he moved with her.

"About what?" his voice was soft, husky, and he pressed his forehead against hers. She giggled, a soft sound in the back of her throat.

"I want to hear the stories about Peggy and Bucky and your life before the ice," she said. She rested her head on his chest. His throat tightened, arms snaking around her back. "I don't want that part of your life to die, Steve, just because you're here now."

Will you tell me about your past one day then? "Okay," he said, the words thick and heavy on his tongue. "I'll tell you everything." Even if the memories hurt.

"Thank you," she said and lifted her head, kissing his cheek. She pulled away and stared into his eyes.

He never noticed before but her green eyes had flecks of pale blue. It only made her eyes greener, like the sea. He leaned closer, eyes closing as he went in for a kiss.

"Hey, you two lovebirds gonna stay out there all day?" Clint called. He jumped away from Natasha as if she burned him, cheeks and ears pink. "Laura has breakfast. Made enough to feed an army."

"What kind of pancakes?" Natasha asked, slipping away from him with feline grace and walking towards Clint.

"Blueberry and chocolate chip," he said, flashing her a smile. "Laura knows what everyone likes."

He heard her chuckle, his heart lightening at the sound as he scuffed his toe against the ground, following her. He stopped when he felt a hand on his arm; it was Clint. The wind stilled, the coming autumn cold pricking his skin. He waited for Clint to say something, hoping the man wouldn't be too upset about what happened last night. "I'm sorry," he said, "about scaring you and your wife. Didn't mean to scare Cooper too."

"Just want to make sure you're okay, Steve. I know what happened with the Accords is… rough and—"

"I'm fine," he said, patting Clint's shoulder. "I'm fine. Better than fine, I'm good." He smiled, knowing it was the truth. "I just… I had to remember why I do this, is all. Why I continue to do the right thing, when it's not always the obvious choice."

"Okay, and if you need to talk. I'll lend an ear."

He watched Natasha, she had stopped, picking some late season wild flowers. She brought them to her nose, sniffing them as she watched the sky. Geese honked, their v-shaped formation heading south, summer was ending, and autumn was approaching; the world held its breath, anticipating the first breath of frost that heralds the first approach of winter. Nature was gathering itself, preparing to wait for everything to die. He smiled. "Thanks, but I already have someone."

Originally this was titled All I Need, but I got the new Disturbed album today and "Hold on to Memories" just fit the emotional theme helluva lot better than All I Need. Plus, I got some shit reviews about how Steve suddenly stopped pining over Peggy and Nat never was bothered by it. So, I edited it where they talk about Peggy and why I never made a huge issue out of it from Nat's end.

For those that are reading this chapter for the first time: the rest of the story gets angsty and it may seem that I'm just writing angst for the sake of angst. That is not the case. Some may even say it'll be better as different stories, I tried that and it doesn't feel right because everything is connected. Breaking it up into two stories will ruin my vision. Bucky and Nat will have a conclusion towards the end of the story. Steve and Natasha are a couple, they are together, everything I do from here on out will not break them apart even though it may seem like I'm throwing in roadblocks. But I firmly believe that by the time Infinity War happens, Steve knows about Natasha's past. This is how I see it happening. If you don't like how I've written the story so far you can leave, if you don't like how I plan to write it, you can leave. If you decide to trust me to deliver a good story then stick around, because I promise you: I know what I'm doing. I do have a plan. I've written stories before and finished them.

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