It's been sixteen years since Thanos came and tried to kill off half the universe, and fifteen since the Avengers and the magician people and these weird aliens from outer space came together to save the galaxy once and for all. And, you know, they did it. People died, as people do, but all in all everyone Steve loved from this century got through it. And thank God for that, because he's sick and tired of losing people he loves.
Ever since Thanos was vanquished, the level of crime has gone down significantly all around the world. Enough that Steve now finds himself wishing there were still villains to fight every week, that he and Natasha and Clint and everyone else got the call to Assemble and meet up, no questions asked, to save the day. He misses those two more than he'd ever care to admit - Natasha, who still likes to stay quite under the radar although he knows she lives in and out of Clint's. And Clint himself, who retired (again) directly after the war with Thanos and went straight into Laura Barton's arms. And he misses Bruce, who - from what he's heard - still lives in Stark Tower, and occasionally travels to India, and meets up with Natasha sometimes. And, well, he misses Thor too. Thor, who is the only one who understands what it is like to age slowly. Even Steve has gotten older, one more crease between his brows than there used to be, but Thor still looks the same with that ancient blue gaze set in a youthful face. Thor has no one, anymore, not even his weird sometimes-villainous brother or his people, and Steve wonders how he is. He doesn't think anyone knows how he is.
And, God, Tony. Steve misses Tony more than he missed Peggy going into the ice, and that's because he knew flying the plane down that he was making the right decision - a decision he would never take back, regardless of its consequences. But with Tony, all he can think about is how many things went wrong for them to end up this way, how many things he wishes he could've or should've done so that he wouldn't end up in a government-paid apartment in Upper Manhattan with no one but Bucky dropping by with pizza sometimes and Sam packing an extra sixteen years kissing Bucky on the cheek. Could things have been different? he wonders, or was he destined to love unreachable people all along? Maybe if he hadn't been so impulsive, if he just taken a single fucking step back and realized how much Tony could hurt - but seventy years missing. And Ultron. And Howard Stark. And the Accords, and Bucky. Because there's always a fucking but in nostalgia, in regret.
Tony's still on TV, of course he is, and he's still churning out these amazing wondrous inventions that never fail to make Steve's eyes widen and his jaw slip even if he doesn't understand a single bit of science lingo. They say Tony's saving the environment, with those plans for green energy and turning toxic waste into life-friendly fuel. They say...they say Tony is a father, of a brilliant child now ten years old named Peter Harley Stark. Tony Stark turns sixty-two tomorrow and his hair is very grey and his laugh lines quite pronounced, and Steve has never seen anybody who's aged so well in his life. Tony's beauty has always had a kind of timelessness, he thinks, with that deep dark gaze betraying none of the thoughts of a mind great and complicated. Steve himself is nearing thirty, and it is strange and sad to watch his friends and people he has come to know pass him by. It was awful, tragic to wake up in a new era, but he still doesn't think he was in any way prepared to look in the mirror one day and realize he looks like he did fifteen years ago.
Fifteen years ago, Tony's hair was dark brown instead of grey.
Steve still has Bucky, obviously - and obviously, he's grateful beyond words to have his best friend back. But nowadays Buck spends more time in Sam's home than here, and there is such a thing as feeling lonely amongst people who should complete you. Steve would know.
One time, he remembers - after the galaxy was saved and things were sorted out and everyone returned home - Bucky turned to Steve in the privacy of their new apartment and said, "Do you love Stark?"
"What?" Steve had said, aghast, almost dropping his Subway all over his lap. "Gosh, Buck, he's got Miss Potts. They're engaged."
"So?" Bucky replied, and looked at him for a drawn-out moment. "Why does that matter?"
"It doesn't," Steve muttered, and took a bite of his roast-beef-and-jack. "And I don't. Why would you ever - ?"
"It's the way you look at him," his best friend said simply. "And the way you talk to him, or about him. Even if he doesn't see it. You talk the way people do when they...when they miss someone, even when Stark is standing right in front of you."
Steve had shaken his head - in denial, maybe, or just amusement - and chuckled, and whispered lower, "I still miss Peggy."
And it's true; in all his life, he's only ever loved - crushed on, rather - Peggy Carter (and Jolie Bering from sixth grade, but that doesn't count). Tony Stark has never been a lover, a crush, or even someone he's lusted after, although he can admit the older man is attractive. But maybe Bucky's right about the way Steve looks at Tony and talks about him. Maybe that "tone", that "look", is the reason why Steve feels a brick wedge into his gut every time the man appears onscreen. People always talk about platonic love, romantic love, obsession. But there is nothing in the dictionary or on the Internet to explain what Steve feels when he thinks of Tony Stark. It feels otherworldly, ancient and profound, like maybe they could have ended up loving one another if Steve had made different decisions once upon a time.
Steve is not gay or even bisexual, he knows this well, but maybe the universe will always make exceptions for Tony Stark.
Often he sits in his apartment on dreary cold days and remembers the earlier years when he only regretted crashing the plane, sometimes, and every face was a new one and all the people he missed were dying or dead. He can't believe he used to think you could only mourn over those who were gone, that the only missing of people you could do was at the grave. Steve knows better now. He is, after all, reminded every time the newspaper lands in his mailbox and Tony is there on the fourth page, kissing Pepper Potts-Stark with his son right beside them.
What's it like to have a kid? Steve wonders, and admits privately that he could never see Tony raising a child. Maybe it's just another misjudgment he tended to make when it came to Stark. Like how he once thought Tony would never lay on the wire to let another man crawl over, and then - almost like the universe was playing some sick cosmic joke - Tony proved Steve wrong again and again and again.
What would their kid look and be like, if they could ever have one? Maybe with Tony's nose and eyes and brain, and Steve's jaw and artist genes and perfect teeth. And perhaps with a double dose of stubbornness, because they never backed down from a fight, not even when it was stupid not to.
"You two bicker like an old married couple," Natasha used to say when they argued (back when they were actual friends). "If I didn't know better..."
Sometimes there is a knock on the door - like there is now - and Steve, for a second, imagines it is Tony standing behind it, soft grin on his face, beautiful dark eyes framed by long lashes looking up, saying "Hey, Cap. I've missed you." And Steve gets up every time, just as he does right now, and he opens the door and it is never, never who he wants it to be most. "Hi, Bucky. Hi Sam."
"How have you been doing, Steve?" Sam asks with a gentle smile, and with a sudden jolt Steve realizes that there is pity in that expression that he has never seen before on his friend's face. He watches the way Bucky's eyes flick up, scanning him, and sees in his mind's eye how Bucky must curl up in Sam's bed on warm nights and tell his lover about how Steve seems so damn lonely and how he worries. It leaves a bitter taste in Steve's mouth, because he's doing fine.
"I'm great."
"Stevie," Bucky says, and oh great, there's that soft hint of pity again that makes his hackles raise. "When's the last time you left the apartment?"
"This morning," Steve says, and takes a slice of cheese pizza from the proffered box.
His best friend gives him a look. "For somethin' other than running or buyin' groceries. When's the last time you talked to someone besides me or Sam? And people from government agencies don't count."
Steve frowns. "I talked to Wanda on the phone yesterday, you know. You don't have to... do this. Worry about me." (Wanda's not doing well either, from what he can discern. There's a Vision-shaped hole in her heart that never did get filled.)
Sam struggles to counter this, because Bucky can't. "You just seem... like how you were when I first met you, y'know?" Lost is what he doesn't say. "Maybe it's the beard, man. You shaved it all away."
I wish it was like back when I first met you, Steve thinks. He wasn't in such a great place, but there was nowhere to go but up. Now, though, he's discovering there are always new lows.
"You need to get out more," Bucky says frankly. "I worry about you, Steve. We all do." Who's all, Steve thinks. "You seem withdrawn lately. What's botherin' you? I want to help. You're still my best friend, Stevie."
"Nothing." Steve shakes his head and glances toward the TV, which is a huge mistake. The channel has just changed to the opening of another Stark-Industries-owned boarding school for orphans or kids with no home to go to, and there's Tony, signature goatee framing a wide smile and dark eyes bright. Bucky tracks his gaze to the pixelated figure onscreen and for a second, he looks at Steve like he's less Captain America and more Jack from Titanic. Like Steve's a trainwreck waiting to happen, except more quiet and slow and like falling asleep in frigid waters rather than exploding.
"Call us, or come talk to us, if you need anythin'," Bucky says seriously. "I mean, knock first though. Sam likes to have fun in the middle of the livin' room."
"You're the kinky one," Sam says with a raised eyebrow. "Bastard."
Steve chuckles, and it feels good to even if there's a little twinge in his heart at seeing them so comfortable, his first friend from this century and his best friend.
The rest of the afternoon passes nicely, and it's only when blue skies start to meld into evening that Bucky and Sam finally stand from their seats on the couch and bid Steve a good night. "Take care of yourself, man," Sam says kindly, "and remember, you're always welcome to stay at the apartment."
"Love ya, Stevie," Bucky says, wrapping Steve in a tight hug. "Don't you forget that."
"Bye, Buck. See you, Sam." In the doorway, they're already looking at each other, not even really seeing Steve; Bucky looks happier than ever and Sam's face is crinkled up with uncharacteristic softness. They wave at him, and grin, but their gazes keep darting back to one another every point three seconds and Steve finally takes pity - on them or himself, he isn't sure - and shuts the door.
Then turns and heads into the living room, because there are pizza crust crumbs stuffed between the cushions and there isn't exactly anyone else to clean the mess up.