This is another one that was originally intended to be a chapter in my Moments story. It quickly grew into something that wouldn't fit there, but was too intriguing to just scrap. I kept writing and ended up with this.

Enjoy!

"Are you still carting around that old thing?" Peggy asks from the doorway as she spots the compass in Steve's hands. He's sitting in a chair while idly opening and closing the latch, and occasionally spinning the whole thing between his fingers.

She'd been shocked the first time she saw her own picture in it in the film. And now to think he'd kept it for all that time...including in another timeline altogether…it was enough to make her heart swell. He hadn't told her much of anything about things from his time, though she had gathered that he'd been through hell and then some.

"Hmm?" he hums distractedly before he blinks and refocuses on her. "Oh, yeah. Of course," he says with one of those boyish smiles she so loves. "It's guided me for decades, why would I leave it behind now?"

"Well, for one," she begins as she walks into the room and sits down on his leg, and then plucks the compass from his hands with one hand while wrapping her other around his neck, "you've got the genuine article right here. Why carry around a pale imitation?" she teases, leaning in for a quick kiss.

He chuckles as he snags it back from her and offers another smile, but this one isn't quite as jovial as the last one she thinks. He slides it into his pocket before wrapping his arms around her.

"Nothin' wrong with having both," he answers finally before dropping his head for another kiss.

Later that night as they're getting ready for bed she spies the compass again. It's been years since she'd seen the picture of herself and she's curious how much wear it's had in its vast travels. She opens the latch and flips it open, surprised to find a piece of ribbon folded neatly. It's dirty, with smudges of black and a brown-red colour, but its original pink colour is present enough to identify. She frowns gently as she scrutinizes it, rubbing her fingers across the soft, satiny material. It's not something she remembers ever having, or wanting for that matter, so she feels somewhat confident in saying he isn't keeping this here because of her.

She hears Steve enter the room and she turns, a slightly guilty expression on her face as she meets his gaze. It's not as though he ever told her to not to touch it or poke around inside it, but it was his compass. Yes, they shared a lot with each other, but not everything. She knows there are things he can't share with her about where and when he came from. And she's certain that he knows there are things she doesn't want to share with him about that painful time after losing him.

But his expression isn't accusatory or angry in any sort of way. It's just sad. She watches as he walks over to her and reaches in front of her to pick up the ribbon gently and begin folding it again. He places it back inside the compass with such a gentleness that Peggy is caught off-guard. She hears him let out a soft sigh as he snaps the latch shut and then picks up the compass before going to sit down on the bed.

She joins him a moment later, banking on her ability to read him correctly that he's not upset with her and that he actually wants to say something. She stays quiet, letting him gather his thoughts because she knows he'll share when he's ready. Clearly whoever this ribbon represented was near and dear to him, and he'd apparently left them behind to spend his life here with her, so she can only imagine how hard it must be.

"Her name was Natasha," he says finally, tone a bit wobbly and tinged with so much regret that Peggy can't help wondering with intensity exactly who this woman was to him.

"Steve," she says softly, laying a hand on his arm gently, "you don't have to-"

"I want to," he insists. "I can't tell you everything, and you know why. But...I can tell you this. I want to tell you this."

"Okay," she answers with a nod, feeling a lump of uneasiness settling into her gut. He had steadfastly refused to reveal strictly more than necessary to her about where, or rather when he'd come from, so the fact that he wanted to share something was a complete novelty.

"She was a friend of mine. A teammate."

Peggy watches his gaze stay focused intently on the compass. He flips it open and his thumb caresses the material ever so gently. Almost reverently, she thinks.

"She uh, she danced," he begins, voice rough and tentative as he tries to build up some courage, she thinks. "I didn't know she did at first...well, I didn't know much of anything about her at first other than she was a hell of a fighter and was totally fearless," he says, thumb still moving gently over the ribbon and his gaze fixed on it. "But eventually we got closer and as we started to get comfortable around one another she'd start to sprinkle in these details about herself in our conversations. She didn't say a lot, and was probably the most private person I've ever met, so when she said this stuff it was significant, you know?"

There's a bittersweet smile on his face, like he's remembering some of those conversations fondly all while his distance away from her is painfully evident.

"Anyway, it wasn't until years later that I found out she danced and that she was actually pretty good. She'd trained in it growing up, and even though she hated how she'd grown up, she told me she always loved dancing. Even when they'd make her do it until her feet bled and her ankles were near broken, she still loved it. Even when they tried to use it to break them, she loved it."

Peggy's brow creases with a frown because that certainly didn't sound like a run of the mill childhood. Perhaps a professional dancer's upbringing, but that didn't tend to lead to a life fighting alongside Captain America. No, the more likely scenario was some sort of child abuse, which breaks her heart to think about. She mentally files away her musings to think more on later.

"She continued it on and off for years, but when everything went to shit-" he pauses abruptly, looking up almost bashfully. "Sorry," he says quickly, clearly apologetic about his choice of words.

Peggy smiles at him warmly in encouragement, giving her a head a little shake to dismiss the need for the apology. She may be a lady, but cursing was very much a part of her own vocabulary, so who was she to cast judgment?

"When things got bad again in the kinda way where we couldn't do anything to fix it...she started dancing again more regularly. I think it was probably because it was one of the few things she could do where she had some control."

Peggy hums in agreement because his assessment makes a lot of sense, but she doesn't say anything else. She knows that as much as he's telling her about Natasha, he's also reacquainting himself with her too.

"She let me watch her dance a couple times, and it was… She was so graceful. She'd always been so agile when she was fighting, and seeing her dance...it all made sense."

He falls silent then, and Peggy can tell while the earlier memories were fond ones, he'd reached the more painful ones now.

"She was such a good friend to me. She taught me how to use all the new technology, brought me up to speed on tactical maneuvers, taught me new fighting styles, and gave me a long list of movies and books to get caught up on. But more than that, she just...she got me. Everyone else saw Captain America or the man out of time. She just saw Steve, a man who'd been thrown into a situation he was trying to cope with. Maybe it was because of how she grew up and how she felt after she joined our side...I don't know."

Peggy's mind turns over the 'joined our side' description he'd used. Had she defected? If so, combining that with her apparently traumatic upbringing meant something like Dottie Underwood's training wasn't out of the question. They hadn't managed to shut that organization down completely, after all. Maybe it had endured through the years and grown. The thought gives her pause, and she desperately hopes she's wrong. Not to mention that Natasha is an westernized version of Natalia, a Russian name...

"What happened to her?" she prompts him gently.

He breathes a few harsh breaths before he replies, and she recognizes the grief from when he lost Bucky. "She sacrificed herself to save all of us. To save...the universe, really."

Peggy leans her shoulder against his. "I'm sorry."

He sighs. "You two woulda gotten along well. You're both so strong, independent, and can wrangle the rest of us idiots into shape."

"She sounds like quite the woman."

"She was. She spent her whole life trying to be better. Trying to make up for what they'd forced her to do. I don't think she ever believed she was a hero though, even if she'd helped save the world a few times over even before her sacrifice."

Peggy files those bits of information along with the others away for further contemplation later. There seemed to be a shroud of mystery around her, and if her suspicions about her ties to the Red Room were true...well then it made a lot of sense that she'd been a private person. You don't live through that and come out the other side a warm, open, and vulnerable person.

"Did she give you the ribbon?" Peggy asks, the question teeming with a deeper meaning. She knows the love they share is timeless, but she also knows he was apart from her for a very long time. She wouldn't hold it against him if he had gotten close to this woman.

He shakes his head but doesn't explain further. It takes him a moment but then he begins to recount his memories.

He's still in disbelief. He can't reconcile that she's just gone. They'd all known that losing someone was a possibility, that there were a hell of a lot of risks with the plan. But it had still been a nasty shock to arrive back on that platform and find their group missing one person. He's staring at the last spot that he'd seen her, and he can't believe that she's gone.

"Cap?"

He looks up and finds Tony standing next to him.

"Yeah?"

"Dumb question," Tony says gently, "but how you doing?"

Steve shakes his head. "I can't believe she's gone."

Tony nods. "Me neither. She always beat the odds, you know? Sorta seemed sometimes like she was invincible, even though she never had any shield or special abilities."

"I just...I know I said whatever it takes, but...I didn't mean this."

"You did though," Tony replies and for a moment Steve feels anger swell, "you just meant for yourself to do the sacrificing."

His anger deflates and he realizes Tony is right. He'd always been willing to give his life but had never been fond of the idea of his friends doing so.

"Bruce was thinking we should spend some time together and maybe talk about her a bit. I know we have the stones to deal with and everything, but it just seems like the right thing to do, you know? She was one of us."

"The best of us," Steve corrects. "She was the only one who didn't give up. If not for her, we wouldn't have even had a chance at this. And now she's not even here to see us get everyone back," he finishes bitterly.

Tony stays quiet, perhaps sensing that Steve needs a minute to rein in his emotions.

"We can go down by the lake," Steve suggests. "She liked to watch the sun there."

Tony nods. "I'll let the guys know and we'll head down there."

Steve nods and then turns his gaze back to her assigned spot on the platform. God, he missed her.

"We're just about ready, Cap," Tony says. "We're gearing up just in case - no idea what this could throw at us."

Steve nods. "I'll be right there."

Tony nods and disappears down the hallway and back into the lab, and Steve is left grappling with his grief alone again. All he can think is that she deserved to be there with them fixing this mess.

He heads to his room to suit up and then makes his way toward the lab but finds himself pausing outside her room's door. The AI lets him in, and he sees the scene exactly as she'd left it. Bed made hastily, with the comforter pulled up roughly and pillows slightly askew. A variety of earrings and other bits of jewelry splayed over the surface of a dresser. Some books with deeply creased spines and faded covers on the bedside table. A pile of clean laundry sitting mostly folded on the other dresser. Her gym bag hanging off a hook by the door… It was all a cruel reminder that while they had all known the risks, she hadn't known she wouldn't be returning.

His eye is drawn to the pair of pointe shoes hanging off the side of her gym bag, their soft pink colour a stark contrast with the dark fabric of the bag. He runs his fingers over the ribbons of the shoes and smiles. Such strength hidden in such a beautiful, delicate thing - just like Nat.

He picks up one of the shoes and pulls the ribbon out with a bit of force before he slides off his glove and wraps it around his wrist. He tucks the end of the ribbon under itself to secure it and then slides his glove back on, feeling the support of the ribbon wrap around him the same way having her at his side once had. If she couldn't be there with them in person to see this through, then he'd make sure she was there somehow. Even if it was just symbolically.

He's knocked to the ground again and he can feel that what's left of his shield is hanging loosely off his injured arm. His body is in utter agony and he feels an exhaustion in his bones he hasn't felt since the days he'd spent fighting off pneumonia, long before he became Captain America. He can feel the gazes of hundreds, probably thousands of alien warriors and he squeezes his eyes shut as he tries to summon some strength to get up. He clenches his fist and feels the rigidity of the ribbon he'd wrapped there earlier. His eyes open and his gaze drops to his wrist where he can see just a sliver of the pink ribbon peeking out in-between his suit and glove. His eyes close again as he feels grief wash over him.

The odds, which hadn't been good to begin with, were now tipped in favour of Thanos and his forces with their own team battered and torn apart. But Nat hadn't given up. Not ever. If she could hold onto things even when her friends and family had given up, then he could do this. And he knows that wherever she is, even if she can't do anything to help, she's with them. He feels a wave of strength ripple through him at that thought and he grits his teeth as he pushes himself up onto his feet.

His hand drifts down to his wrist and his fingers linger on the sliver of pink ribbon before he grabs the strap of the shield and tightens it harshly. He stands up straighter and begins to walk toward the opposing army. He can't possibly win, not alone against all of them. But it doesn't matter, because someone has to stand up to them.

And then suddenly Sam's voice crackles over the comms and he feels disbelief again as his gaze drifts around him in confusion. Then there's a light from behind him as a portal appears and he sees figures walking toward him before he spots Sam swooping through and onto the battlefield. Hundreds of people begin to stream in behind him and suddenly the odds have begun to balance out. Now backed by an army, he summons Mjolnir as he squeezes the hand on his shield-bearing arm and feels the ribbon still tightly wound around his wrist. She's right there with him, at his side just like always.

Peggy wraps her other arm around him and holds him tightly as he shakes lightly with grief, while she absorbs everything he'd told her.

"Without her…" he begins but trails off almost immediately, the tears and emotion choking him. He coughs lightly to clear his throat and compose himself a little before continuing. "I miss her so much, Peg."

"I'm sorry," Peggy says, because she's not quite sure what else to say. It was painfully clear how good of a friend she had been, and how important she was to him.

They stay like that a little longer and eventually Steve's tears subside. "After the battle, everything she had was destroyed, so this ribbon is all I have left of her. I really wish I'd thought to bring a picture back with me."

"You could draw her," she suggests softly.

Steve shakes his head sadly. "Don't think I could do her justice."

"You should try anyway. She was a friend, and clearly very important to you. She deserves to be remembered."

He nods as he wipes at the tears on his cheeks.

"We could frame it once you're done. Hmm?"

He nods again even as more tears begin to form. "Yeah, that sounds nice."

"Good. But first, let's have some tea. You can tell me some more about her if you like."

"I'll make it," he offers. "I need to clear my head a little."

She nods understandingly. "Of course."

As he leaves the room he puts down the compass on the dresser gently. When she's sure he's out of earshot, she gets up and opens the compass again before laying her fingers on the ribbon gently. "Thank you," she whispers, "for being there for him when I couldn't."

So...were tissues required? Seem like a plausible thing that could've happened?

Other thoughts? Feelings? Comments?

Let me know - feedback is always appreciated.