As usual, any recognizable characters belong to Marvel. Erika and Jormungand (kinda) are mine.
On a separate note—The Winter Soldier was beautiful, and I might reform my plans to eventually realign this with MCU canon. Well, semi-canon, anyway.
How I'll do that, I have no idea, but I'd like to try.
Jormungand did not want to talk to Steve.
He didn't want to feel more humiliated than he already did.
Steve cornered him, though, not long after Jormungand and Fenrir's fight. The Super Soldier took him completely by surprise one night while he was getting a glass of water (and how strange it was, Jormungand mused, that he could not simply conjure a glass of water).
Steve was in the doorway and cleared his throat. Jormungand flinched and dropped the glass in his hand, and flinched again at the sound of breaking glass. He waved his hand, expecting a shimmer of green magic to repair the glass. When nothing happened, Jormungand stared at his hand for a few seconds; at the thin bracelet around his wrist, blocking his magic.
He'd forgotten.
"We need to talk," said Steve, not moving from the doorway.
Jormungand said nothing.
"Were you ever going to tell me you were flirting with me?"
Jormungand cringed. "Straight to the point, I see," he muttered. "No, Captain, I was rather hoping you'd 'get the message,' as the saying goes."
"Steve."
Jormungand frowned. "What?"
Steve sighed. "You've been trying to seduce me, the least you could do is use my name. Look, I'm not mad about the flirting—a little weirded out, sure, but not mad." He paused. "I had JARVIS translate your conversation with Fenrir, right before . . . . ."
"Before we levelled half of Manhattan," Jormungand finished.
Steve nodded. "What he said to you, what he called you—that's not okay."
Jormungand fought the blush he felt creeping up his neck. "I've been called worse," he managed to say, his voice cracking.
Steve shook his head. "Look, I know you've had it rough, and I'm sorry." He paused. "You're a good man, and I'm flattered you're interested, but I'm not . . ." he trailed off, at a loss for words.
"You are not hommi," said Jormungand quietly.
Steve didn't ask for a translation.
He didn't need one.
Jormungand swallowed. "I apologize for any discomfort I have caused you, Capt—Steven. I promise you, I will . . . . I will keep my distance." His head bowed low, Jormungand moved to pass Steve.
The shorter man caught his arm, catching him by surprise.
"I'm sorry, Jormungand," said Steve sincerely. "I really am. I'd like to still be friends, if that's okay with you."
Jormungand swallowed thickly and gave Steve a sad smile. "My dear Steven, any time I may spend with you is a blessing," he said quietly, and Steve could tell he was doing his best not to cry. "Right now, though, I think I'd like to be alone." He tugged meaningfully at Steve's hold on him, and Steve let him go.
Erika found Steve later, and she was livid.
"What did you say to him?!"
Steve didn't even look up from his drawing pad. "Nothing he didn't need to hear," he said firmly. "Jormungand's a good guy, but I'm not interested. It would have been cruel for me to lead him on."
Erika gave a short, humorless laugh. "Yeah, okay, but you totally have been leading him on—you know that, right?"
Steve frowned. "No, I haven't."
"Yes, you have! He's been flirting with you, and you've been flirting right back!" she snapped. "You're not stupid—you know what flirting is!"
"Yeah, but I've never had a man flirt with me!" Steve snapped back, dropping his pencil. "In my time, men didn't flirt with other men—I thought he was just being friendly!"
Erika rolled her eyes. "It's the Twenty-First century! Guys can flirt with guys now, it's not a crime! Jesus Christ, Steve, you made him cry! Do you know how weird that was for me? I went to check on him, and he was curled in a ball crying gross, snotty tears! And do you know why?"
"Look, I already apologized to him—"
Erika held up a hand. "I know you did—he doesn't blame you, he blames himself."
Steve's frown deepened. "Why?"
"Because he hates himself, that's why!"
Steve's eyes widened.
Erika took a deep breath. "He hates himself, and he hates that he can't be what passes for normal in Asgard—a big, beefy, maiden-wooing warrior. Instead, he's skinny by Asgardian standards, he's gay, and he's a mage. Sorcerer. Whatever they call it."
Steve shook his head. "Jormungand doesn't care what other people think of him."
"Yes, he does. He puts on a good show, but that's all it is—a show." Erika swallowed. "Only three people in his life know that, and one of them uses it against him all the time."
Steve let out a small breath. "Fenrir."
Erika nodded. "Brother of the Year, he is not. I swear, if the guy weren't a hundred times stronger than me . . . ."
Steve swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat.
Erika sighed. "Look, I'm not trying to turn you into the bad guy, okay? It just . . . really sucked, seeing him so upset. I'm not trying to guilt trip you, either, if that's what you're thinking. I just . . . . ugh. He just had to fall for Captain Hetero. No offense," she added.
Steve cracked a smile. "Captain Hetero, huh? That's a new one," he admitted. He sighed. "Was I really flirting back?" he wondered out-loud.
Erika shrugged. "If he were a woman, would you have responded differently?"
Steve thought about all the conversations he'd had with Loki's son. He thought about when he'd seen him at the Charity event, and then when Jormungand had made breakfast. He thought about their mornings together sharing a pot of coffee, comparing notes about their lives, talking about everything and nothing.
He thought about how free Jormungand had been with him about physical contact, and how he didn't touch anyone else in the Tower nearly as much as he had with Steve.
If Jormungand had been a woman, would he have responded differently?
Before Erika left, she took a quick look at what he'd been drawing. "Nice likeness," she said with a small smile. "You should show it to him—he'd like it."
Steve blinked and looked down at what he'd been drawing. He hadn't been paying much attention—just moving on autopilot.
A perfect pencil sketch of Jormungand stared back at him.
Everyone was on edge around the brothers now, like they might explode at any given moment.
"Honestly, Clint, he's not going to do anything," Erika sighed as Clint watched Fenrir get coffee with narrowed eyes.
"Remind me again why Director Fury let them go," asked Natasha, one arm still in a sling from the brothers' fight.
Erika tapped one of her wrists. "No magic means no sudden magical transformations or city-levelling fights."
Natasha narrowed her eyes at the younger woman. "There's something you're not telling us," she said. "Even with the new restraints, it would've taken more for Fury to let them come back."
Erika said nothing.
Natasha leaned forward. "Erika."
Erika looked at Natasha.
"What did you give him?"
Erika swallowed. "Something he's wanted ever since my mother decided to invade Manhattan." She stood up. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an appointment I need to get to."
"What is she giving you?"
Director Fury didn't look away from the one-way mirror and the observation room on the other side. "Nice to see you, too, Agent Romanov."
"She's just a child, Nick."
"I am aware of that. Rest assured, Miss Stark has offered us something that will help S.H.I.E.L.D be prepared for the next major threat that comes knocking on Earth's door," he said in a calm, even voice, nodding towards the observation room.
Natasha stepped up beside him and focused on what was in the other room.
Erika Stark was strapped to an upright observation table and was hooked up to various machines. A nurse was drawing a sample of her blood.
It didn't take long for Natasha to connect the dots.
"You want her magic."
"Loki was out of the question for observation, as were his eldest children. Miss Stark, however, has offered us whatever magical properties we can extract from her."
"So this is the price she paid for her brothers' freedom."
"Not too steep of a price, if you ask me."
Natasha didn't respond.
One of the perks of having a billionaire as a friend and teammate, Steve decided, was that said teammate didn't even bat an eye when Steve asked to use a Stark Industries jet to go to DC.
Upon further reflection on his and Erika's conversation, Steve had realized two things. The first thing was that the more he thought about it, the less ridiculous a relationship between him and Jormungand sounded.
The second thing he realized was it didn't matter if he was attracted to Jormungand—he was still holding on to someone else.
Someone who he, until recently, thought had passed away.
Peggy Carter was still alive, though, and she was in Washington, DC.
Before he could embrace the future, he had to let go of the past.
The frail elderly woman in the hospital bed looked nothing like the tough young woman Steve had met all those years ago, but her eyes still held the same fire.
"I wondered when I'd be seeing you," was the first thing she said to him when he followed a nurse into his room. "Took you long enough."
"I had a few things to take care of," said Steve, sitting down in a chair next to the bed. "How are you, Peggy?"
"Oh, besides the wrinkles, liver spots, and organ failure, I'm doing just peachy," Peggy replied dryly. Then, with a soft smile, she said, "You look good, Steve."
Steve smiled, but then the smile vanished.
Peggy frowned. "I know that look. What's wrong?"
Steve sighed. "Nothing gets by you, does it?"
"You haven't been able to hide anything from me since the day we met."
Steve nodded. "Fair enough." He took a deep breath. "I'm having a . . . an identity crisis, I guess you could call it. I met someone, and he's . . . ." he trailed off.
Peggy's eyebrows raised. "He? Goodness, I take it back—there is something you've been hiding," she said, amusement lacing her words.
Steve couldn't help but smile. "Believe me, I'm as surprised as you are. Here's the thing, though—it's not men. It's just him. I found out he's been flirting with me, and at first it was weird, but now . . ."
Peggy squeezed Steve's hand. "It's a new era, Steve. People have more freedom than they've ever had, including the freedom to love who they want."
Steve shook his head. "There's still a lot of hatred in the world. Did you know that only sixteen countries and seventeen US states have legalized gay marriage?"
"Well, that's more than what we had in 1945," said Peggy, still smiling. "The world is changing, for the better."
Steve nodded.
Peggy gripped his hand tighter. "There was another reason you came here."
Steve swallowed. "I think I might want to try moving forward, but before I can, I have to . . . ."
Peggy's gaze softened. "You have to let go."
He nodded again. "I'll still visit, if you like. Maybe if—when we get everything sorted, I can . . . bring him here. To meet you."
Peggy's smile lit up the whole room. "I'd like that very much."
Planning to ask someone out on a date and actually asking them, as it turned out, were two totally different things.
Steve needed professional help.
Maybe Tony stark wasn't the best person to go to.
"I'm sorry, am I hearing you right?" an incredulous Tony asked Steve, lifting his welding goggles and staring at Steve like he'd sprouted a second head.
Steve sighed. "Please don't make me repeat myself, Tony. Can you help me or not?"
"Can I help you get a date with the World Serpent—that is what you're asking, isn't it?"
Steve's jaw clenched. "Tony," he ground out.
Tony held up his hands. "Okay, jeez, don't get your spangled tights in a bunch. Yeesh." He sighed and rubbed his hands over his face, too late remembering that his hands were currently covered in grease, grime, and unidentified assorted goo. "Look, Cap, I don't know if you've noticed, but romantically speaking, my relationships—past and present—are kinda, well, down the drain right now. Loki's not even talking to me, and I'm on thin ice with Pepper. But, hey, y'know, if you're looking for a one-night stand, I'm totally your guy!" He paused. "Wait that came out wrong. I'm not your guy. Eh, you know what I mean."
Steve rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and middle finger.
Bruce was even less help than Tony.
"Sorry, Steve, I know I'm not much help," the doctor said gently.
"Not your fault," said Steve.
Maybe Clint could help.
Clint couldn't help. In fact, Steve was never asking dating advice from Clint ever again.
At the end of his rope and with an impressive migraine building (impressive due to the fact that he no longer suffered from migraines), Steve decided to just go for it, which ended up being him just blurting out something the next time he saw Jormungand.
"I beg your pardon?" Jormungand asked after a moment's hesitation.
Steve chewed on his lower lip. "Would you like to go to dinner? With me?"
Jormungand swallowed. "Captain Rogers, if this is your idea of a joke—"
"No," Steve said quickly. "No, it's not. I mean it. I'd like to have dinner with you. If you want. You don't have to. I'm just going to stop talking now."
Jormungand continued to stare at him. "And what in the nine realms, may I ask, brought this on? The last time we spoke, you made your feelings explicitly clear."
Steve rubbed the back of his neck. "That's the thing—I don't think I was sure how I felt. Now, I'm pretty sure. Mostly. There's still a little doubt. Okay, this time, I really am going to be quiet."
Jormungand couldn't help the small smile that curled at the corner of his mouth.
A/N: Is this kind of believable? Maybe?