Steve has been in Louisiana for a month. He has naturally fallen into a pleasant routine and the guesthouse has begun to feel more and more homely.
This morning he is woken up by wet kisses in his neck. Long, slobbery kisses.
He cracks his eyelids open and groans slightly, gently pushing away the affectionate lady in the bed with him.
"Riley, how did you get in?" he mumbles and the Golden Retriever's tongue runs across his face. He chuckles and tilts his head away before propping himself up on his elbows. Riley is wagging her tail with an open mouth smile. He strokes the back of her ears and her head shakes approvingly. "You gotta stop doing that," he says.
He sits up and Riley hops off the bed. He makes his way to the en-suite bathroom, showers and gets dressed.
When he comes down to the living room for breakfast, he finds the other two ladies in the house chatting across the table, with a mug of coffee in their hands.
Eliza and Kat greet him with a smile.
He smiles back and goes to pour himself coffee from the warm glass jar. He then sits down next to Katherine and helps himself to one of the freshly-made French toasts lying in the plate.
"Tomorrow night the Donovans are hosting their annual party and all the locals are invited," Eliza begins.
Kat leans closer and nudges him gently with a smile. "You should come," she says.
"Are you going?" he asks.
"Carol would resent me and take it to her grave if I didn't," she laughs. "It's quite nice. It's just people coming together and drinking a lot. This year should be even more special being the first one since the Second Snap. And you now belong to our community too, so."
Katherine smiles. She seems enthusiastic about it.
"Then I guess I'm in," he says.
The early evening of the party, Steve quickly stands in front of his bedroom mirror to have a look. He has put on a casual — albeit visibly more elegant— white shirt, sleeves rolled up, with dark jeans. He is a little nervous although Eliza assured him his presence would go unnoticed and that it was very unlikely any of the guests would recognize him. "They're just a bunch of either old people with undiagnosed cataract or rubes. Or both," she told him.
When he comes downstairs, he finds her waiting by the doorstep in a long floral dress with a light grey cardigan over her shoulders. She is wearing a necklace and has a bit of mascara.
"You look fantastic," he tells her.
"Does it mean you are officially my plus one, then?" she jokes.
"I intended to be your plus one all along," he answers walking up to her.
She holds her arm out and he gently slips his under to stand by her side.
Eliza smiles. She tugs her short hair behind her ear and shows her pearl earrings. "Robert bought me those to celebrate our 35th anniversary."
Steve smiles. "A man with great taste."
The sound of footsteps rings out upstairs. Katherine's black high-heeled appear at the top of the staircase. Steve looks up and watches as she comes down.
She is wearing an elegant and slinky, knee-length black dress flowing gracefully. The sleeves are short and fall over her shoulders. Her red hair is down and styled in natural-looking but full waves. She goes to the coatrack and turns, revealing a slightly glamorous but elegant back cleavage. She picks a dark red shawl and throws it over her arm.
"I'm ready," she says.
Steve can hardly speak. She looks nothing short of stunning. He has seen Natasha in evening dresses before — dresses far more fashionable and stupendous than this one — but there is something about Katherine's simple bucolic charm that strikes him just as powerfully.
Her eyes look him up and down. "You look really elegant," she says cordially.
He clears his throat quietly but he is sure Eliza heard it. "You too," he says.
Katherine walks through the door and he stands motionlessly for a couple of seconds. When he normally responds again to his surroundings, he finds the woman at his arm smirking softly.
All three of them get in the Chevy and drive over to the Donovan farm. He pulls over and leaves the car among the bunch of pick-ups randomly parked along the path. The sun has barely begun to set.
Then they make the way to the big barn from which emanate strong, warm light and the distant sound of country music. The gates are held open by straw bales where a couple of men are chatting with a bottle of beer in their hands.
They walk through to a large, bright room, painted red with hay bundles and equipment at every corner. Down the room, there are large rectangular tables with food, glasses and an immense glass punch bowl almost filled to the top around which gravitate a dozen guests.
Right across there is a group of people talking loudly. Some children whiz past them, across the barn to the exit where they are still standing. Three or four couples are already dancing on the improvised dance floor which majorly consists of an old wooden floor with straws scarcely scattered.
George — the man who regularly brings in milk and cheese — and a woman come over with big smiles. They hug Eliza first, then Katherine, and shake his hand.
"Enjoy the evening. The ribs are still hot. You should go and grab some before the young Johnson stuffs them all down within ten minutes."
George pats Steve's shoulder warmly and goes to greet new guests.
A familiar slender figure suddenly appears behind them and cover Katherine's eyes with their hands. She smiles and spins around, holding Jake in her arms.
"Wow," he simply exclaims as he looks down at her. Holding her hand, he comes over to greet Eliza.
"Good to see you, too," he says to Steve while shaking his hand. "This party is like a big event around here. Just a festive come together."
He then turns to his girlfriend. "Oh Kate, there's someone I wanted to introduce you to." He turns to Eliza and Steve. "Do you mind if I steal her from you for a moment?" he asks. He then plants a kiss on her cheek and takes her away, far across the barn.
The moment lingers, drags on to become an hour. When she finally joins them again to have some nibbles, Jake eventually rolls in again and takes for a dance.
Which becomes two.
Which becomes three.
On and on.
Steve throws glances from across the barn, sitting on a bench next to Eliza who is looking at the audience with a remote calmness which resembles tame disinterest, a gentle fixed grin on the lips.
"Looks like you've blended in," she says. "Fully incognito."
"And without reading glasses," he says with a smile. Earlier she had suggested he'd wear glasses to keep his identity crisis, as it seemed to work so well for Clark Kent.
"Since the Second Snap," she says softly, "people have been craving a sense of normalcy. They'd do almost anything to resume their satisfying, unordinary life…even ignore the elephant in the room. They'd rather convince themselves you're the new, vaguely familiar-looking handyman than acknowledge who you really are."
He nods musingly.
An amused smirk tugs at her lips. "Glasses or no glasses."
After a while, when Katherine returns, her face slightly flushed from the exhilarating dancing, the elderly woman says she is going home and asks one of the locals on his way out if can drop her off.
She presses a hand on his arm in a motherly manner. "You enjoy yourself."
Katherine fills up her seat next to him. She casually props her forearm on his shoulder, leaning over.
"Jake has gone to get me a drink," she says then looks at him. "By the way, why are you the soberest person in the room?" she asks.
She ostentatiously glances down at the glass of punch in his hand.
He smiles. "Super-soldier serum," he sums up in a low voice.
She looks amazed. "I think that's the coolest of your superpowers." She pauses and a cute deeply concentrated expression comes on her face. "Or wait…it's not."
He snorts. "It's not," he confirms. He can vividly recall the times in his life when he would have needed some assuaging boozing but couldn't get it."
She pouts sympathetically. "I'm sure you won't mind if I help myself, then," she says as she leans in — he smells the subtle scent of her fragrance—reaches for the glass in his hand and takes it to her lips.
"You haven't found yourself a partner yet?" she asks. She throws a look around the barn and at the many women standing alone in the barn. "I mean, I can see half a dozen women who are desperately waiting for you to invite them for a dance. Like that blonde over there."
He follows her look and sees a charming-looking blonde standing by the exit, with a glass in her hand, eyes roaming across the room. They meet his, freeze for a second, before darting away sheepishly.
He laughs. "I don't really do dancing," he simply comments, putting aside the complicated history behind it.
She frowns, perplexed. She is about to ask why when Jake turns up with a bottle of beer for her. She takes a sip and curls her lip. "I think I like the punch better."
Jake invitingly holds his hand out to her. She takes another gulp from the glass and slips it back into Steve's hand. She gives him a smile then puts her hand into Jake's. He pulls her up and takes her back to the dance floor.
Steve bites his bottom lip, he watches as Jake takes her by the waist and twirls her with insolent confidence. His eyes then wander across the room. Eventually, they fall on the blonde woman again. He notices she has long straight hair and light blue eyes.
She smiles at him. He glances down at the nearly empty glass of punch in his hand. He looks up again and grins.
More to himself.
She reminds him of Sharon Carter. And he realizes how much time has gone by and what a different man he has become. He is no longer that undecisive man fearful of rejection who kissed agent 13 under a bridge.
It took him to go through years of being a fugitive, failing to stop the decimation of half the Universe and living 5 years with the guilt of it, but most importantly it took him to lose the very woman who stood by his side through all those hard times to acknowledge how much he loves her; to know, without the shadow of a doubt, she is the only woman he will ever want to be with, because she has filled all the room there is in his heart — and expanded it in the process— to the point it simply has no space left for anyone.
He could watch marry and be happy with another man but that would never stop him from wanting to be with her. He would literally wait a lifetime until the two of them have become so old they can barely stand and if she asked if she could sit by his side and hold his hand for the little time they have left, she would find the empty space next to him, kept vacant just for her.
If the Universe has decided that he could never have Natasha — or Katherine — in this lifetime, in this reality, then he would wait until the next one.
The blonde woman takes his grin as an invitation and walks over to him.
Katherine and Jake stand still as the band, composed of known members of the community, are taking a short break to have a sip. She runs her hand through her hair and instinctively turns, looking for Steve.
She finds him standing by the punch bowl, chatting with the very blonde she pointed to him. Her beaming smile fades, almost turns dull. She freezes, thrown off by a sight — and emotion— she did not expect.
Standing behind her, Jake glances over her shoulder, following her gaze. He smiles satisfyingly. "Looks like he's found some company."
Katherine drags her gaze away and turns to her boyfriend. "Yeah. Good for him."
The band resumes playing, hitting the first notes of slow-paced music. Jake takes her in his arms and both start slow dancing like the many couples around them. She presses the side of her face against his arm and her eyes flicker to the buffet table a few times.
At the end of the evening, when over half of the guests have headed back home, Katherine calls it a night. Steve politely says goodbye to the woman who kept him company, Lorna.
He grabs Katherine's shawl from the bench and she comes to collect it, draping it over her shoulders.
Jake has had one too many drinks and obviously leaves it to Steve to drive her back home.
"Do you want me to come with you?" he asks,
"Just let Tom take you home. Steve and I will be fine."
She kisses him on the cheek then glances at Steve. They walk to the exit together, say George and Carol goodnight before heading back to the Chevy.
They are driving back home, down a long and quiet rural road, with nothing but the car lights cast over the black asphalt. She leans over to turn the radio on and some soft music begins playing in the background.
"You had a good evening?" she asks.
"It was nice," he answers.
She lays her head back on the headrest, she watches him musingly as he gently steers the old wheel.
"You didn't dance. I'm sure the girl you talked to wanted to dance."
He smiles. "It's complicated."
She tilts her head, gazing at him. "Try me," she says softly.
"In the 1940s, I met someone. We thought we were each other's right partner and we thought we would finally have our dance when the war is over. But things turned out differently — I never saw the end of the war — and we didn't have our dance."
Her features have turned stern. "So, you're still waiting on the right partner?" she asks.
He snorts softly. "I'm way past that kind of sentimentalism. I just don't know how to dance and I'd find it awkward to have my first time with a complete stranger."
Kat frowns. "And I never danced with you? Cold," she comments.
He smiles, eyes on the road, then glances at her. "Well in your defense I'd never told you about this before…until now."
She eyes him intently, surprised by this unadulterated and selfless blast of honesty. They drive in silence for a short while as she pensively bites her thumb.
"Pull over," she suddenly says.
He shoots her a quizzical look. "Pull over," she repeats.
He does as she asks and pulls over on the side of the road. He turns to look at her but she has already opened the door on her side and stepped out of the car. Still holding the wheel, he watches her walk around the Chevy, in front of the bright lights, to his side of the car.
"Let's have that dance," she says.
He puffs. "It's fine, Kat. The last thing I want is some pity dance. You don't owe me anything just because I shared that old story with you."
She arches an eyebrow and probes him. She then leans and lays her arms over the edge of his window door.
"I never do anything out of pity," she affirms resolutely. "I want to have a dance with you, Rogers. But knowing that I will be your first is an honor."
He leans his head back on the headrest and smiles. "You seriously want to have a dance here, in the middle of the road? Somebody could see us…or even get run by a car."
"You know you are quite fearful for a hero," she teases.
"Comes with the job."
A beguiling smirk tugs at her lips. "Too shy or too scared?" she purrs.
He nervously taps his fingers on the wheel. It hits him he has never indulged himself to any kind of fanciful whim, because he was an Avenger with responsibilities and the weight of the world over his shoulders. But here, in Louisiana, he is just Steve — a normal man having a normal life. And right now, he is a lucky man invited for a dance by the most stunning woman at the party.
He reaches for the handle. The clicking sound makes her smile triumphantly and she takes a step back to let him out. He leaves the door wide open and the slow music on the radio resounds a little louder.
Her fingers pinch the shawl hanging along her arms and with a pull, makes it slowly slip off of her. She then puts it on the hood of the car and steps back to stand in the middle of the road.
It is a starry sky, a long straight road with nothing but grass and trees for as far as the eye can see.
He suddenly feels very nervous at the prospect of getting so close physically. He walks up to her while she waits like a wild bird that lets someone come near. He lifts her hand and her fingers gently grasp his hand and she pulls him toward her. He puts his hands on her waist while she rests hers on his arms and slowly, very naturally, they sway to the music. He is amazed by how easy it is — how obvious. His palms wrap up closer around her waist as the music guides him along. Then he pulls away, raises his arm and twirls her; she turns around with a smile then steps back toward him as they both swirl together, his arm clutched around her and her hand brushing up his shoulder before nestling at the nape of his neck.
They smile. He wonders if she feels what he is feeling, the sheer bliss born from their effortless harmony.
The moment seems to last forever and yet the song hits the last note. They dance on a little longer, finding a melody in their impeccable synchronized pace. Eventually, they stand still, right there and then in the middle of this country road, staring into each other's eyes.
She bites her bottom lip and slowly pulls her hand away from the base of his hair; he lets go of her waist, too.
After a pause as she seems to try and read him, she smiles. "Thank you for this last dance," she murmurs. She slowly steps out of his vicinity, back to the car.
She picks up her shawl on the way back to her seat.
The following day goes normally with no mention of the midnight dance. They chat about the party over breakfast with Eliza before resuming their respective work.
A couple of days later, Steve is sitting at the living room table, calculating the spending for finishing the flooring. He hears what he assumes is Jake's car pull over as he came earlier to take Katherine out for dinner. Loud voices echo from the distance. He hears fast footsteps go up to the porch, followed by others.
"I try, I really do. But you gotta give me something," he hears Jake's voice exclaim helplessly.
He catches sight of her silhouette standing on the porch. "Go home, Jake!" she shouts.
His shadow is cast over the shadow. A sigh echoes and his shadow disappears. A moment later, the engine of the car is on again and the car is driving away.
Katherine comes into the house. She takes off her denim jacket and lays it over her arm with a sullen expression. She is headed towards the stairs when she sees him.
She freezes. She doesn't seem upset he heard them. She walks over to the kitchen.
"I need a drink," she says apathetically as she goes around the kitchen, opens the top cabinet and takes out a bottle and two glasses. He takes the second glass as an invitation to stay.
She comes back to the table, slides one of the glasses toward him, flips around the chair in front of her and straddles it. She opens the bottle and fills their glasses.
She raises a toast and drinks it up, shutting her eyelids tight as the strong liquor travels down her throat. She pours herself another glass while his is still wrapped in his loose hand.
"Want to talk about it?" he ventures.
Her fingertips are massaging her temple, elbow propped on the table.
"No. Maybe," she says, staring into her glass. "Jake is a good guy — he's a great guy, actually — but it's apparently not that simple to date someone with amnesia."
He nods, listening closely and focused.
"Every relationship needs time," he says. "Each grows and blossoms at their own pace."
She smirks an ironic, tainted with some sadness.
"Did it take time for us?" she ponders aloud. Her eyes heavily turn in his direction. "I mean, you've made it look so easy and obvious since you got here."
He snorts quietly. "Yeah, it took a little while."
Her thumb goes to her bottom lip, pinching it lightly. She glances around the room, looking both hesitant and decisive. Her eyes finally dart back to him.
"Were we lovers?" she asks grimly.
The question takes him by surprise.
"No," he answers with a similar stern and collected expression.
"Did you want to?" she continues.
He feels a lump in his throat and his heart is racing but he does not lose his composure.
Sitting here before him with this somber look and a disappointed heart, all he sees with certainty is how much he loves her.
"Yes."
The word slips out of his lips with astonishing ease, releasing the burden of a secret he had kept for so long. He's afraid it might put her off, frighten her, make her flap her wings and fly away.
Katherine's face is unfathomable, still and expressionless.
"Did you think I wanted to?" she asks with similar aplomb, imperturbable.
He reminisces their many conversations, their banters infused with innocent but deliberate flirting, the unmissable intimacy between them in a busy room, her complete loyalty to him beyond professional bounds and logic, her wistful expression whenever she caught him looking at the compass.
"Yes," he says softly.
She stares at him intently, stunned, then her expression finally cracks. She glances away. When she looks back at him, it seems her green eyes are covered with a fine gleaming screen. Her lips part a little, and a for a brief second, not a sound can come out.
"Then why weren't we?" she murmurs, bemused.
He has asked himself the same question many times — even more so during the four months he lost her. His gaze mirrors hers, with a sorrow far more profound as it carries years of fond memories and unfulfilled desires.
"Because you and I, we put others before ourselves."
And there is an immediate understanding between them. Wordless and fated.