what he was made for, what he was meant for

by herwriteness

Steve is so tired. So, so, so tired. Tired of the fights, tired of the battle. Tired of 'I can do this all day'. Because, in the end, even if he can do this all day, he doesn't necessarily want to.

You've been asleep for almost seventy years.

Peggy.

Oh, Peggy. God, he was really expected to live seventy years later in a world so drastically changed that Brooklyn, New York, no longer looked or felt like home.

Peggy could have made it feel like home.

But she was most likely gone, only a memory now. He loved her so much it hurt; he still loved her, and every day that passed he wished he could go back.

It was a few years before he figured he'd moved on. He got closure, in a sense, spoke with Peggy in the nursing home, had that dance. He was glad she moved on. Glad that she got the life he'd never have now because there was no one else besides her and there never would be.

Sometimes he'd be a little bitter, knowing some other man got to live the life he should have lived. But only sometimes. Steve Rogers was never the man to hold a pointless grudge, to let something like that eat him away from the inside out. Peggy got the life she deserved.

Steve, well, Steve still had a whole life ahead of him.

A life of fights and his shield and reds, whites, and blues and 'I can do this all day's, and freezing cold nights spent silently screaming into pillows because all the things from seventy years ago that he tried so hard to leave in the past came back in his sleep. The cold reminded him of the ice. The spangly outfit reminded him of the Howling Commandos and his friends. The shield reminded him of Erskine and Howard, and Steve was saddened a bit every time he picked up that shield now and saw that the bullet marks Peggy put there were gone.

And the fights reminded him of Bucky and the train but also Coney Island, couch cushion forts, back alleys, and sitting on fire escapes talking about whatever the heck they wanted to.

Everything reminded him of something that, to him, happened fairly recently, yet somehow, somehow, it all was seventy years removed from the life around him.

The fights were familiar, the only familiar thing in a world where commercial flights were no longer a great novelty, Howard Stark's son flew around in a metal suit, information was literally at one's fingertips, films were all in color and looked exactly like real life, and you could do your grocery shopping without leaving the house. A world where most of his friends were dead, Peggy Carter was old, and the SSR was SHIELD.

And both the Dodgers and the Giants had moved to California. That was more ridiculous than sad.

All this had happened while he was in the ice, and while he looked the same age, maybe even younger, as his Avenger teammates, his memories were old.

Of course he had to fight so soon after being pulled from the ice. He barely had learned what Google was and still had no idea how to use that stupid contraption that was called a dishwasher and looked nothing like the dishwasher he used that one time he worked for a week in that old diner, and he was expected to fight again. Save the world.

The seventy year gap in his memories seemed like it didn't exist at all. Crashing the Valkyrie into the Arctic felt like mere months ago. It was still fresh and new to him.

New to him, old to everyone else.

Or maybe not.

Bucky?

Who the hell is Bucky?

When he learned that Bucky was alive, stared into the eyes of his oldest and best friend, saw the emptiness behind those eyes, and recognized the lack of recognition in the mind of James Buchanan Barnes, Steve broke just a little more.

Of course the world seventy years later would be a world where Peggy was old and forgot he was alive and had come back every time she saw him. Of course, in this new life, Bucky didn't even know his own self, much less Steve. It hurt so bad, visiting Peggy and watching her cry again, finally seeing him after all those years, even though not even a month had passed since the last time he'd visited her. It hurt every time he was let down, thinking he and Sam had finally found where Bucky was hiding - only for it to lead them to an actor who somehow looked exactly like Bucky. Utterly mind boggling, infuriating, and completely, wholly heart breaking.

Every once in a while he'd see a film preview with that doppelgänger actor in it, and he'd wish to be back in the 40s, before the train, before the serum, before all this. Life in these days was better, safer, yes. But the things that had made life worthwhile then seemed absent now.

Slowly, slowly he moved on. He accepted that he and Peggy just weren't meant to be together in the end. Understood that now he had a job to do, and he would do his job to the best of his ability.

Steve still had his bad days - rarely though - days when he would stare at the black and white newspaper cutout in his compass and sob silently, when he would look through the files of former Howling Commandos, when he saw old photos of him and Bucky laughing. On these days, sometimes he'd sit at a bar and drink until he thought his bladder would explode, never even getting tipsy, never any closer to forgetting the pain, even if just for a single moment.

And maybe 'rarely' was code for almost once (or twice) a week.

After Ultron, Steve came to terms with it all. He would fight for America and to save the world until he couldn't anymore. He would live without the American dream he had always wanted. He wouldn't be alone; he had his teammates.

He would embody the American dream and still be so far from it. Everyone looked at him and saw his classic, boy-next-door good looks and thought of America, of freedom, of picket fences and six o'clock suppers, of children playing in the front yard and their parents holding hands on the porch. It was America, of course Steve was free, but being Captain America had given and then taken so much. But that was where it ended. He loved his country and had his liberty, but any chance he had at the picket fences and yellow houses and backyard gardens was gone. Frozen in the Arctic seventy years ago.

But he was home in upstate New York. That's what he told himself, anyway.

The war's over, Steve.

We can go home.

Imagine it.

And still those words he'd heard spoken in that lovely English accent from whatever mind-screwing thing Wanda had done to him echoed in his brain.

Home.

Maybe the first sign that he hadn't moved on, even though he thought he did, was that his compass went everywhere with him. He never used it anymore; the quinjet computers always told you the direction, but it just didn't feel right without it. And sometimes the smiling face from the compass made her way into his dreams, not the nightmares, the good dreams, and he'd wake up knowing just exactly how much he loved Peggy Carter and how much it hurt that their first kiss was also their last.

She would have been his home, but now? Now his home was his apartment that he really only slept and ate in, and a very modern building in upstate New York with a giant 'A' on the front of it.

The Avengers were his family, the headquarters were his home, and his heart was somewhere in the 1940s in the hands of an English agent with a sharp tongue and red lips. And maybe his home was really with her too.

And then the Accords. Those stupid, darned, God-forsaken Accords. He found Bucky. Peggy died. Tony fought him. Everything happened so fast.

He left the red, white, and blue shield there, in the freezing cold, next to the son of the man who gave him that shield.

He went on the run.

Bucky knew him now. He remembered Coney Island, and Dot, and the time Steve threw a trash can lid at some bully's head. Shuri, God bless her, figured out how to remove Hydra's programming from Bucky's brain, and it was like old times again. Every time Steve visited Bucky in Wakanda, it was almost like seventy years hadn't gone by since the war and almost like they were innocents again, untouched by blood and war and the evils around them.

Bucky's missing arm was always a stark reminder of how much they'd really gone through.

Bucky, Sam, and Natasha were his family now; he'd lost the rest of them when he fought Tony there in the icy air of Siberia.

Steve looked in mirrors now, at his reflection in windows, and didn't recognize the man who looked back at him. His uniform was dirty, stained so much that the red white and blue was no longer visible. The white star on his chest was ripped out because it drew too much attention to him. His hair was dyed brown, his beard grown out. He'd never had a beard before. He wasn't sure he liked it. He was tired.

They worked silently, him, Nat, and Sam. They would never stand by and hide away while bad things still happened in the world. Often, Shuri, God bless her again, found missions for them. They'd go in and get it done and leave without anyone knowing who was there, only that whatever problem that had presented itself was now solved.

So many of the things that reminded him of his old life in the forties had been taken from him now. Captain America, the red, white, and blue, his shield with the bullet marks he knew were hidden under the paint. He didn't even live in his own country anymore; he was a fugitive, running from the government of the country he'd loved. And even though it had hurt to have all those things that reminded him of the times he'd had so long ago, it hurt even more to have them taken away.

He had Bucky, though. He had nothing now, but he still had Bucky. And Sam. And Nat.

And a worn compass with a newspaper cutout pasted on the inside of the top flap.

What he wouldn't do now to have some advice from her. Anything. Any common sense, any wisdom, because sometimes he really didn't know what to do. Running from the U.S. government really got tiring.

But she was gone. Dead. Really gone. And he could never go back. She told him once that sometimes the best that could be done was to start over. He'd had to start over when he left that shield by Tony, and he wished he could have made a different choice. It was so simple - really, though. Sign those Accords and give up some of his freedom and never be able to save Bucky, or save Bucky and leave behind the life he was finally fully growing accustomed to. A much more comfortable life than the one he lived now.

Every once in a while, he'd catch a glimpse of a news report talking about efforts to find him, Sam, and Natasha, and they'd show a picture of him. It was funny how changed he was from the photo they chose as identification for him. It was the headshot from his last uniform fitting that seemed like ages ago.

Sometimes he slept in Bucky's hut, the sounds of goats bleating softly drifting in, the thatched roof directly above him, Bucky breathing softly, peaceful finally, without HYDRA and its evil programming messing with his head. Sometimes he would listen to the goats and close his eyes and think about what it would have been like to buy a house with an acre of land with the love of his life and raise children and maybe a few animals and have a white fence all around and fresh eggs and a garden and live the American dream. A peaceful life without the fighting, away from the harsh city sounds and the trash filled gutters. He loved Brooklyn, but maybe a quiet life wouldn't have been so bad.

He'd never know what the quiet life was like though. His chance for that froze when he did, but unlike him, it was never defrosted.

And just as soon as he was beginning to grow used to his life on the run, his life as a fugitive (As a vigilante they called Nomad because nobody knew where he was from, who he was, or why he did what he did, only that he did it. He thought the name was funny), his life was turned upside down. Again. Only this time he'd be more horrified than he'd been in his entire life.

It had been over a month since he'd last seen Bucky. Sam, Nat, and he had been going around Europe snuffing out trouble wherever they could and whenever they could get intelligence.

That's when he got the call. Vision had turned off his transponder, Tony couldn't get ahold of the android; Bruce called him on the burner phone he'd sent Tony. Aliens had come to Earth. Again. And this time they were looking for the Infinity Stones, one of which was embedded in Vision's forehead. Tony was missing. Only Steve knew where Vision was.

They found Vision and Wanda - Vision was saved for the time being - and for the first time in over two years, Steve went home. The closest thing he had to home in this day and age, anyway. Rhodey was glad to see them; General Ross wasn't.

It seemed like there was hope, but only for a second - before they learned about Thanos. Thanos, who overpowered the Hulk without breaking a sweat. Thanos, who called his assorted alien assassin collection his children. Thanos, who was planning on murdering half the people in the universe. And he already had two of the Stones.

They went to Wakanda, and everything that followed, up until standing on the front lines, preparing to defend the earth for the fourth time, was a blur.

He fought. Hard. With everything he had. He wanted to laugh; it was so absurd, and none of it made any sense, but really what he wanted to do was cry. The hordes of creatures would not stop. They were everywhere, and his head spun. His body was on autopilot, working off muscle memory, fighting for his life. For his country (Did he even have one anymore?). For the world.

And then everything started to fall apart.

And when everything seemed bleak and helpless, Thor showed up after what seemed like years since Ultron with his new friends: a tree and a rabbit (Steve was positive it was actually a raccoon, but it talked, so maybe wherever it came from it was called a rabbit.) And then it was bleak again; one of those maniacal children of Thanos was so close to tearing the Stone from Vision's head.

Then the air changed. Everyone stopped. It wasn't a blur anymore.

Thanos.

And the purple giant had five Infinity Stones.

Steve took on Thanos with his bare hands (of course he did), and then Wanda blew the last stone to bits with one hand while holding off Thanos with the other, sobbing all the while.

But the Mad Titan was not fazed, for the time being. For now there was no time at all, and he restored Vision, plucked the stone from the android's head, and let the energy surge through his body. Not a soul there was not horrified by the spectacle.

Just when all seemed lost, Thor came to save the day once more, barreling in with his new axe and thrust the blade into Thanos' heart. There was hope. And then there wasn't, for Thanos whispered, 'You should have gone for the head,' snapped his fingers, and disappeared.

Just like that.

Everything was still. Silence fell. And then all chaos descended.

Steve stared blankly and defeatedly at where Thanos had just stood and snapped.

What had happened?

"Steve?"

Bucky.

Steve turned around, only to see his best friend turn into dust and be blown away by the breeze. He went to the spot where Bucky had stood and sunk to his knees. His heart dropped. He felt sick. The vomit crept up his throat; he was going to throw up now, there was nothing else to do.

Oh, God, this was bad.

Sam disappeared too. The tree. Wanda. Half of those on the battlefield disappeared.

His eyes blankly stared around him, he turned his head to see what was likely the most horrifying sight he'd seen.

Thanos had done exactly what he said he would.

"Oh, God."

All the prayers he ever knew he said in his head, over and over, all the way back to the compound, the closest thing he had to home.

He was so tired.

Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky.

Now he didn't have Bucky anymore. He was sure he didn't like the 2010s anymore.

He shaved the beard off and looked like himself again. It was nice, not being covered by that thing. What wasn't nice was knowing all the tragedy that had just befallen the entire universe.

The glowy lady - Carol - found Tony and brought him back, along with a blue woman who was, as he understood it, another one of Thanos' children.

"I couldn't stop him."

"Neither could I."

"I lost the kid."

"Tony, we lost."

An emaciated, gaunt Tony barraged words at him, words that hurt, and that were, in a way, true. Steve had once said that if they lost, they'd do it together, but now they had lost, and it was because they were not together.

"No trust, liar."

It took a heck of a lot of self control not to cry, looking at a Tony who was only a shadow of himself, taking into account that he had seen far too much in the past month, knowing how much everyone had lost, and thinking about how they were all meant to somehow go on after their whole worlds had been shattered.

"...what we needed was a suit of armor around the world! Remember that? Whether it impacted our precious freedom or not- that's what we needed!"

Freedom was still worth it, Steve thought. A fundamental human right couldn't be infringed upon just for a fragile peace. But in one way, Tony had a point. They wouldn't have lost if they hadn't been divided.

The next few days were a blur, except for the terrifying moments where they went through a wormhole and Steve was sure he was going to fly out of the ship and die. They found Thanos, learned that the Infinity Stones were destroyed, and along with them, any hope they had to reverse Thanos' deadly snap.

And then Thor chopped off Thanos' head, and that was it.

Without the Stones, there wasn't any hope for the world to return to any semblance of what it was before.

Five years came and went, five years that were a drag on his head and his heart in so many ways. During the day, he worked tirelessly to help all those he could. He led a support group and spewed optimism that helped everyone in the room except himself. At night, he stared at his ceiling until he was sick of it, and then opened his compass and stared at that until he fell into a fitful sleep. He was so desperate now that he stayed up sometimes and planned the life he always wanted but would never have without regret, without feeling like he was dwelling too much in the past, because now - now, everyone was dwelling in the past. Everyone wanted to go back. Back before Thanos. Back to before half the population disappeared.

And he wanted to go back to 1945, back to red lips and brown curls and 'Do you fondue?', though he'd never admit it.

He'd visit the compound almost every day and do what he could to help monitor the situations that arose. He would talk to Natasha and spew more optimism that he wished he could take for himself. And then Scott Lang showed up, swallowed a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and unironically proposed the invention of time travel.

It made little sense. But then again, so did half the population disappearing. So did the life they all were living.

Tony wouldn't help them. Steve didn't blame him. He was living the life Steve always wanted to live and never could. If Steve was in Tony's position, he wouldn't want to compromise that either.

He would be lying if he said he wasn't jealous of Tony. Or that it didn't bother him, even a little, that the guy who used to be a womanizer settled down on a nice piece of land with a wife and a child, while he pined for a woman from the 40s and, if he let himself, could spend his life resenting the man who lived his life with that woman.

Nothing else could be done though.

They went to Bruce. Unlike Tony, he was willing to help. Scott got sent to different points in time. There were glitches. He turned into a baby. And an old man. It would have been hilarious and great fun if so much hadn't been at stake.

And then the most unlikely (or was it actually completely likely?) person turned up, speeding in his Audi, and offered his help. It was, of course, gladly accepted.

Plus, Steve had his shield back now. It felt so strange to hold it after what was nigh on a decade. He was so happy to have it back. It reminded him of his old life. Both of the old lives. Life in the 40s and life before Thanos ruined everyone's existence.

But it reminded him also of war and fighting and death. Ice and cold and red and blood. Red. Red always carried a positive connotation - it reminded him of Peggy. What he wouldn't give to have her here now in this world that has become so dark, far darker than any could have ever forseen. At the very least, the shield was familiar, and familiar felt good in a time where half the world was still in shambles. (At least, he now had a country to fight for once again.)

Perhaps the whole world being in shambles thing would be changed with the Time Heist, which was the most ridiculous, yet most promising, idea Steve had ever heard in his entire life.

Whatever it takes, he said, on that platform surrounded by the heroes spared by the Decimation.

And it worked.

It wasn't without sacrifice, though. They lost Natasha. It seemed so simple; no one was to be injured or die, they snap everyone back, and then return the Stones, but when was anything ever that simple? Of course someone would have to pay the price. He guessed Natasha did get to wipe out the red in her ledger after all. She died a hero.

Whatever it takes, right?

And then there was the whole thing about going to Camp Lehigh when it was still a S.H.I.E.L.D. facility and seeing that picture of himself, scrawny and asthmatic, on her desk (Why would she keep that thing if she was married at this point? It was the only one there, too). He really shouldn't have gone up to that window and watched, but he couldn't help himself. It was like she hadn't changed one bit from the woman he knew almost eighty years ago. Yeah, her hair was streaked with gray now, but her entire disposition was exactly the same.

As he stood there silently, hoping she didn't look up, and that the darkness of the room he was in was dark enough to keep him hidden, everything he had ever felt in the past ten, twelve years, sprung to life. It hurt so much then, more than had in a while because she was so, so close, and yet farther away than ever. He'd quite forgotten how much he wanted that life - the one Tony spoke of after Ultron while they stood in front of the newly completed Avengers compound. A quiet, all-American life. But maybe…a thought crossed his mind; it was quickly dismissed because how could he do that to her?

The dull ache would never go away.

There was the comfort of bringing everyone back, though, and every soul in the room sighed in relief as Bruce (Hulk? Bruce-Hulk? Banner?) and his injuries were seen to.

And then the shadow of a huge ship fell on them, explosives and bullets and bombs and whatever else Thanos had in his arsenal rained down on them.

Nausea rose in his stomach. Just when he thought they'd had victory without enormous bloodshed, without fight. He gathered his wits (looked at that compass one last time), found Thor and Tony, and they went to battle. Steve and his shield, Tony and his armor, and Thor and his new axe and old hammer would make one last stand.

Together.

They lost last time because they were apart. Perhaps this time it would end differently, now that they were united. But even if it didn't-

The three confronted Thanos before the ruins of the Avengers compound. Every word from Thanos' mouth made him want to vomit. He wanted to punch that hulking figure, twist his neck. He felt like that little guy in Brooklyn again, too small to defend himself but too stubborn to back down. He'd taken on Thanos once before - he didn't want to do it again.

But Steve wasn't alone this time, and he, Thor, and Tony worked together once more, fighting with all they had - Thanos would not get the Stones again while they still lived.

Then the unthinkable happened. It seemed like the unthinkable kept happening; he shouldn't have been surprised.

Thanos flung Tony aside and now had Thor pinned; Thor's new axe, Stormbreaker, inches from sinking into Thor's chest and ending his life. Thor's fingers tried to reach for a lifeline of sorts. Steve's brain screamed at him to do something, anything, for he could not let his fellow soldier, friend, brother (even if they weren't that close, experiences like this had and would bring anyone together) end this way.

Desperate, the memory of how easily Mjolnir moved under his grip some twelve years ago at a party in Avengers Tower flashed into his mind and he reached out to the ancient hammer, all his mind and will bent on it, hoping that maybe, just maybe, he was really worthy and hadn't imagined moving it. Maybe he hadn't changed so much in the past years that he would no longer be worthy.

It flew into his grasp, his heart leapt in his chest, and energy coursed through his veins. He charged toward the Mad Titan, all fury and power and the embodiment of 'I can do this all day', and rained a relentless set of blows and lightning on him. But as he raised his arm to finish the Titan off, he too found himself flung aside. Anger was evident in Thanos' face, and his full force fell upon the First Avenger blow after blow, and all Steve could do was put his shield up and take the full force of Thanos' enormous strength.

The shield shattered to pieces. He fell to the floor, beaten, dirty, bleeding. He could hear and see Thanos' army gathering behind their leader.

Dear God, he was tired. So tired. Everything ached and burned. He was sure he'd never felt such pain in his life, not even when he was enclosed in that pod feeling his body grow, not even when asthma tore his lungs apart.

"...it was never personal...but...the things I'm about to do to your stubborn, annoying, little planet, I'm going to enjoy very much. "

All he could feel toward Thanos in that moment was hatred.

He needed to get up. He could not lie there in defeat this way.

I can do this all day. I can do this all day. I can do this all day.

Thanos looked on in complete surprise as slowly, surely, Steve rose to his feet, tightened the straps of what was left of his shield, and stared defiantly into the eyes of the Mad Titan. Once again, Thanos had underestimated the resilience of humans.

You were meant for more than this, you know, Peggy had once said. He believed it wholeheartedly now. He was meant for this moment, this one right now, facing down what could be the most ruthless and powerful being alive, not parading in tights trying to sell bonds with the USO.

One man against thousands.

He was made for this moment.

His steely, unyielding gaze trained on Thanos for what seemed like an eternity.

And then his com crackled, and he heard the voice of Sam Wilson. Portals all around him opened. The vanished returned. He was not alone.

A sigh escaped him. There was hope.

With renewed purpose, he put his hand out to grasp Mjolnir and readied himself for more fight.

After all, he could do this all day.

Avengers, assemble!

He fights, they fight with everything they have.

Thanos gets the Stones, and all hope is lost.

They look on in horror.

This is the end of them, of their world, of their universe.

"I am… inevitable," Thanos says, and snaps, but nothing happens.

Steve's eyes immediately fall on Tony Stark, cringing from the power and energy of the Stones as they move into position on his armor.

He gasps silently, looks on, frozen.

And I… am… there is a pause, and Tony struggles to contain the energy surging from not only the Stones, but the Stones all working together in one place. Iron Man, Tony finishes, and he snaps.

Silence falls. They all watch as Thanos' army disappears, and finally Thanos himself.

And then Tony is lying on the ground, Pepper on his chest, and Steve knows that Tony did what he never imagined the man would do when he met him after coming out of the ice.

He gave his life.

After Tony's funeral, they prepare to send the Stones back to their proper places in time. Steve thinks about volunteering to be the one to do it. He thinks about time. About how he wishes he had more of it. How he can have more of it.

He's so tired. So, so, so tired. Tired of the fights, tired of the battle. Tired of I can do this all day. Because, in the end, even if he can do this all day, he doesn't necessarily want to.

He thinks of the picture framed on Director Margaret Carter's desk, and wonders if he could. (Maybe she never let go of him, just like he never let go of her. His hand drifts to the compass in his pocket).

But it's foolish. It is foolish to think he can live the life he's always wanted now, change the timeline to fit his desires. Erase the life Peggy lived and the man she lived it with so he could be fulfilled.

That doesn't mean he doesn't want it any less though.

It comes as a complete shock when he and Bucky are sitting in Steve's apartment and Bucky says, You better stay with her. Steve doesn't know what he means, and Bucky clarifies by saying Steve should take the Stones back to their places and then stay with Peggy in the 40s. Steve protests, telling Bucky he'd rather stay with him and wouldn't leave him like that. Bucky looks at him seriously and reassures his best friend that he'll be alright, HYDRA and its programming was gone now.

Steve is not convinced. Bucky sighs and tells him to read Peggy's file, all of it, because he's read the whole thing and knows Steve purposely skipped over parts of it.

That night, Steve goes and looks through Peggy's file and reads the part he's never been able to bring himself to read. The part on her husband and family. He's never read it because he doesn't want to know who it was that lived the life he wanted to.

He is completely flabbergasted when the face that stares at him from the paper looks like him while he was one the run after the whole Accords debacle. Dyed hair, full beard, blue eyes. Listed as Grant Carter, a WWII veteran and former member of the 107th, status: alive. He remembers that no one ever knew his middle name except Bucky and the army (he wasn't very fond of it). And Peggy, after she bugged him endlessly about it.

He remembers that from all the internet snooping he'd done, all the pictures he'd gone through, and all the questions he'd asked, he never found out who Peggy married. The man wasn't in any photos, and the only information on him was in the file he held now.

It made sense. He was that man. It was funny, almost, how all this time he'd been resenting the man who lived the life he should have lived, when all this time, that man had been him.

The weariness seems to seep into his bones. His mind is tired of the emotional drain this life takes, more so than his body, probably.

So when the time came for him to return the Stones (and Mjolnir, as it turned out), Steve had made his choice. Only Bucky knew of it, and they hugged goodbye.

Returning the Stones was easy enough. Returning to Peggy was the hard part. He knew where she lived, but he didn't know where to start.

He was dressed the part, though, having brought clothes that would fit where he was going. The case that once held the Stones (and now held his repaired shield, albeit in a very small form) could be disguised as a briefcase, and it managed to help him fit in.

Everything around him was just as he remembered, only free from the touch of war. The year he had chosen was 1948, a year and a half before the marriage date in Peggy's file.

He walked to her house, rehearsing all the things he would say, running over all the possible outcomes in his head. What if she was with someone now? What if she didn't want to see him? What if…

Before he knew it, he was in front of the house, the red door mocking him where he stood. Red. It reminded him of her for a sudden moment, until he realized again that he was at her front door. .

His heart hammered in his ribcage, he knew he would vomit, and his palms began to sweat. Anxiously, he shifted in front of her door, several times raising his hand to knock, only to draw it back because he was so nervous and afraid. Finally, he shut his eyes tight and rapped on the door.

He didn't know what he was doing. This was all far above his pay grade, he decided, and just then the door flung open.

Only a glimpse he caught of her because she opened it and turned away quickly, tea in her hand, biscuit in her mouth and said, "Howard, you're awfully early, but I suppose could go over–" and it seemed as though she realized he hadn't come in. She whipped her head around, and his breath caught in his throat.

She was gorgeous, always had been, but it had been so long since he'd seen her, that the very sight of her stole his breath away.

"You-You're not Howard at all," she whispered through barely parted red lips, and her fingers faltered, leaving the teacup in her hand to fall to the ground, shattering into a million tiny shards.

"Steve–" her lips move but no sound comes out.

But neither paid any mind to the crashing sound of her teacup falling. He stared into her eyes, transfixed, barely registering her motion for him to come inside. She closed the door behind him and motioned again for him to sit.

Her eyes were full of tears now; she was close to sobbing but held it all in. He was torn between seizing her in his arms and kissing her desperately and maintaining a respectful distance while she gathered her wits, choosing the latter.

"I trust you have an explanation," she said quietly.

He swallowed. "Yes, ma'am."

"Is it really you?"

He nodded.

"What did you think Howard and I did during our spare time?"

"Fondue-fonduing."

"How many bullet marks were on your shield and how did they get there?" Her voice was still barely audible.

But she was too far, too far. He wanted to touch her, feel that she was real, that this was real. That he was really here.

But he only answered her question. "Six." He smiled wryly. "And they came from you, of course." Trust Peggy to make sure it really was him, even if it took subjecting him to a whole interrogation.

A smile broke onto her face, a sob escaped her lips.

"But how?"

He smiled fully now, standing up and gently reaching a hand up to cup her cheek.

"I'll tell you everything." She nodded. "But first, I'd like to claim that dance." His own eyes were full of tears, and his fingers burned where he touched her face. She only nodded again and quickly pulled away to set the record player on.

Harry James filled the room. He knew this song; he'd played it in his own apartment sometimes. It reminded him of what could have been. Of what was, now.

Steve held his hand out to her, and she took it. Slowly, he pulled her into his arms, and they swayed to the music. Her head found its way onto his chest, and they stayed like that for a bit, both with tears in their eyes. He closed his eyes and laid his cheek on the top of her head, relishing in the feel of the woman he loved in his arms.

This is where he was meant to be. Perhaps this is not what he was made for, but nevertheless, it was the right place for him.

And then he stepped on her toes. His eyes flew open, and he apologized profusely, still holding her close.

She laughed softly, looking up at him.

He smiled, a soft, warm, content smile. He was tired, yes, but here - here he was rejuvenated, here he found purpose again.

Here he was whole.

He leans down slowly, gently, purposefully, eyes fluttering closed. She lets out a breath that it seems she's been holding it for years, and then their lips meet. For him, it's been over a decade; for her, a few years. He can taste her lipstick; it's the same one from their first and last kiss, and now he's so glad that it wasn't really their very last.

His arms tighten around her, and she smiles up at him, and he's sure his heart will burst and his face will crack from how wide he's smiling.

"Peggy…"

"Yes?" her reply is nearly inaudible, breathy as it leaves her lips.

Steve forgets what he meant to say and just kisses her again, one arm around her waist and the other holding his hand up to her cheek. He smiles into the kiss, their third one ever, and her arms wrap around his neck.

When they break away, she laughs because there's lipstick on his mouth, and he doesn't care because he loves her more than anything in this world, and she doesn't tell him to wipe it off or wipe it off for him because it reminds her that this is real, that he's alive and has come back for her.

They don't say anything for a while, until she suddenly snaps her head up and whispers, "You're late…"

"Better late than never," he says, remembering the last decade he's spent thinking he would never have a happy ending.

Steve is home now. He's still tired - the whole time heist was less than a week ago for him - but he's here now, where he's always wanted to be. He can breathe now. He is no longer Steve Rogers, the unyielding soldier, dedicated to the fight, he is Steve Rogers, the broken man, able to make his own decisions and not worry about another mission. Able to heal.

He is where he is meant to be, where he is supposed to be, where he was destined to be.

He knows he won't be able to stay away from fights, from standing up for the little guy and fighting for what's right, especially when he has the abilities he does, but it will never be like it was when he was Captain America again. And for now, even that doesn't matter because Peggy's in his arms, smiling up at him, perfect just as she is, and there's nothing else in this city, country, world, or universe, that he wants more than this.