Chapter Text
The hangar’s busier than Steve’s used to.
It shouldn’t come as a surprise, really. He has spent over two years working in – and against - the higher echelons of the government, getting used to the odd attempt at a bribe in the form of a privately chartered plane. But not today. And not for the foreseeable future, unless this mission is a lot shorter than he’s been led to believe.
Truth be told, he’s actually looking forward to it. There’s a relief of sort, in the same kind of crowd he had lived in growing up, and had gotten used to again while on loan to army from SHIELD, the kind of barely restrained chaos the day just before starting a rotation.
He pushes his way through the masses, half dodging around carts laden with supplies and ground crew making last minute checks, around platoons of marching soldiers and greasy mechanics and inspectors with their faces buried in screens. There are so many people. He breathes in the scent of sweat, of oil and the traces of exhaust, and that bitter, sharp metallic tang that he’s come to associate with spacecraft. In all the hustle, this is his first glimpse of the Valkyrie: half formed, hidden by the billowing mist of the steam vents, edges and curves of shadowy grey metal with the dark gleam of tinted glass.
It’s beautiful.
Steve shoulders his pack and pushes forward.
Extract from the Foster Papers
Expedition 0616
Location: Jotunheim, 33.89° S, 151.19° E
Most of Jotunheim appears to be a barren wasteland of ice. If civilization ever did exist here – which radio signals currently travelling though the Orion arm of the galaxy do indicate – no observable native structures remain. Analysis of the ice reveals components similar to those found in modern explosives distributed consistently across the planet’s surface, along with evidence of a massive upheaval in the range of 10,000-15,000 years ago. A prevailing theory is that the indigenous civilization fell victim to a global attack from external sources.
The most conclusive evidence of this is the Asgardian.
The Asgardian stands at the location where geologists calculate to be the epicenter of Jotunheim’s cataclysm. The structure is 11 feet tall and discernibly humanoid. At a molecular level, the material of the statue seems to have been manipulated in order to make it impervious to erosion and other damage (refer to Section 5.8 for chemical analysis).
It appears to have a discernible head, two arms, and two legs. In addition, a disputed fifth appendage seems to emanate from the shoulders, though it lacks the solid definition afforded to the other limbs. The arms and upper legs are distinctly patterned with scales. It is difficult to discern if the figure is intended to be wearing clothing, if any, due to a lack of knowledge of the underlying physiology. However, the academic consensus is that the figure is intended to be wearing protective footwear.
The most striking feature of the Asgardian is widely recognized to be its face. With a physiology eerily similar to that of humans - barring the vein like structures emanating from the eyes - it appears to have a distinctly recognizable expression. Various critics have described it to be arrogant, imperious and scornful. It is uncertain how much of this is intentional versus a product the natural human tendency towards anthropomorphization.
A line of glyphs circle the slightly raised base the figure stands on. No translation for the text exists.
Tony meets him just as he’s about to board. He looks like a disheveled, exhausted mess, but knowing him that’s just normal. In this case, planning a half-crazed journey through space to visit known habitable planets just before their sanctioned terraformations might just do that to anyone.
Steve stops himself from smiling when he spots him, raising an eyebrow. “A welcoming party? That’s not like you.”
Tony grins, a flash of white in his oil-streaked face. “Nah, I was actually out to check on the engines. Not much time before we launch. But it’s good to see you, Cap – excited for another trip into the unknown?”
Steve grimaces. “Perhaps. I’d like it better without Central up my ass.”
“Wouldn’t we all,” Tony says, a slightly ironic twist to his mouth. “Say, while I’m here – do you want a tour, maybe a little meet n’ greet with the crew? The engines can wait. Plus, it wouldn’t hurt for the brass to think I’m making an attempt at the whole team player thing.”
Steve pulls his pack up from where it’s been slipping off his shoulders, amused almost despite himself. It’s good to see Tony again. “Lead the way.”
The Valkyrie is undoubtedly impressive. Steve knows that the intended crew size is supposed to be eight people, but it could comfortably house three times that. It’s a sleek, streamlined vessel, every piece gleaming, top-notch Stark technology with three livable levels and cutting edge hyperengines. He can almost smell the new paint on the hull.
Tony leads him through the loading bay to the ground vessels and escape pods, and then to the stores, where Steve sees a hulking blond figure in the shadowed distance heaving boxes from a trolley onto the shelves.
“That’s our maintenance guy,” Tony says, sparing him a distracted glance. “You can meet him later; he’s not much one for talking.”
“Alright,” Steve replies, and they move up to the next level, much more designed for human habitation. Steve has to squeeze his pack tighter to his chest so that it can fit into the ladder chute, Tony not bothering to pause with his usual incomprehensible science talk. He leads him past the entrance to the engines, to a sliding grass screen labeled CREW QUARTERS. The screen leads to a hallway with a series of closed doors at regular intervals along the left. On the right, an open door leads into a large room where Steve sees a screen up on a wall, a large circular table fixed to the floor with launch chairs to match, and what seems to be – in line with what Steve’s used to of Tony’s style – bean bags strewn around the rest of the room.
“Aren’t those a safety hazard?” Steve asks.
“Eh, live a little.” Tony replies. “I’m not sure who’s bunking with whom actually - The labs, medical suite and gym are further along this level, everyone else is probably busy there – except for, yes, how could I forget, the bridge.”
Steve follows along as Tony leads the way to the next level. “So Dr. Foster’s already here?”
For the first time, Tony stops, almost causing Steve to bump into him halfway up the next ladder. “Oh yes she’s here,” he says, sounding as smug as Steve’s ever heard him. “Thank all the stars and planets. You’re actually the last to reach apart from the linguist, there was some trouble with the paperwork for that one. Tell me, did you see how much of a fuss Central made when the news that Foster was joining this little expedition leaked?”
Steve sighs. “Couldn’t miss it if I tried.”
Jane Foster was the world’s leading expert on xenoarchaeology and astrophysics. She was also the first – and only – civilian recipient of the telomere technology that allowed the government to lengthen the lives of those it saw fit. She had been working on tracking alien civilizations for over thirty years, and still didn’t look older than the day she had received the serum.
It had all happened during the time Steve was in the army, but he had had enough time to get intimately acquainted with the details while he was fighting against the unfair restrictions of the process –among the many other injustices that Central allowed - alongside Peggy in the last two years. To be fair, the serum technology had been more Peggy’s department, but he had pulled enough all-nighters beside her to have a fair idea of what had been going on.
Steve knows that he shouldn’t have believed that they both could keep one-upping the system without being caught forever, but the loss still stings. They had managed to make so much progress. They had made a good team. They had made a good –everything.
Thinking about Peggy still hurts, in the dull, constant way of a bruise that has only just started to heal. He thinks of the last time he saw her – she was having lunch with someone else, and he had come to the same restaurant that they used to by sheer force of habit, and the moment he had seen her perfectly done hair, his heart had dropped a beat. But the real last time he had seen her – their apartment in New Brooklyn, his clothes strewn on the floor, the slight click of her lipstick as she opened it , the soft sadness in what both of them knew would be their last kiss.
Thinking about that hurt a lot.
Tony pulls Steve out of his funk by letting go of the ladder to pump his fist and nearly falling onto him. It’s enough of a distraction that by the time they reach the bridge, Steve’s fully in the present again.
The bridge is smaller than the army-class carriers that Steve’s used to, and also probably a few decades ahead, no doubt courtesy of Stark. He’s not sure he could fly it himself, and his license is barely three years old. A couple of guys are playing cards at the holo-table. The one with his back to Steve and Tony doesn’t shift as they enter, but the other player looks up and breaks into a grin.
“Yo, Cap!” Sam Wilson says, and Steve feels the knot of tension in his chest slightly loosen, feels his mouth stretch into an answering smile. If Sam’s here, a long voyage trapped in a tin can just got a whole lot more bearable.
“Sam!” He grins. “I had no idea you’d be here.” He holds his hand out, and Sam answers with a solid handshake. “It’s good to see you.”
“On loan to the private sector actually”, Sam says. “Central needed a military guy to head this mission before they could sign off on it, and I volunteered.”
Steve raises his eyebrows, breaking that statement down for what it actually is. It’s not usually the norm for Central to be so thoroughly invested in a private venture to the extent of sending someone on it, even if this particular mission is sponsored by the same person who has come closest to ruining their monopoly on green energy.
But, Steve thinks, would they still be uninterested if said mission is then joined by the same man who had successfully blocked all their recent authoritarian moves? It may look like a conspiracy, he concedes. Never mind that they have zero power in the far reaches of space. Steve knows, intimately, what he and Tony can get up to together. The Sokovian world was enough evidence of that.
“So, what - head this mission? You’re the captain?”
Sam clicks his teeth together. “Yep. And this guy here is our pilot.” He motions towards the second player at the table, who still hasn’t really moved, except maybe to hunch over his cards even more. “James Barnes.”
Steve spares a glance for the guy. His face is mostly hidden by brown hair that is definitely against military regulation. In the short second of scrutiny, he tenses and gives a jerky nod without ever looking up.
Steve gives a distracted hum in response and focuses back on Sam and Tony. “Just so we’re on same page here. How closely is Central going to stay involved in this research expedition?”
Sam sucks in a breath, his expression going blank, and Tony lets out a short laugh.
“Let me put it this way,” Tony says. “They’re playing ball blindfolded. Capisce?”
Steve nods. He knows he and Tony are in eerily similar situations here. Both of them are running, in one way or another. And now Sam’s been sent by the people after them.
But that was their mistake. Sam volunteered, and Steve bets that no one in Central bothered to find out why. That’s their problem. They never account for free will – for human connection. And since Steve’s record is sealed by SHIELD, there’s no evidence of the time he and Sam spent serving together.
He has no doubt that Sam signed up for this to protect him.
“Well,” Tony says, into the tense silence. “I think that concludes my hostly duties.” He claps Steve on the back and jerks his head at Wilson. “Captain, permission to get back to working on the engines? Oh, and I don’t remember which bunks are empty, can you show Rogers?”
“Sure,” Wilson says, rolling his eyes slightly. “I’ll show Steve to his bunk.”
Tony gives a sarcastic half-salute and leaves while Sam ushers Steve to the passageway leading to the crew quarters.
“Sam – “ Steve starts.
“Don’t,” Sam says.
Steve’s able to stay quiet for a minute. “ Just – Thank you.”
Sam rolls his eyes. “Cap,” he says. “I got tired of being a dancing monkey for them, same as you. This was a way to get out.”
Steve holds back a smile. “Still,” he. says. “I’m not going to forget this.”
Sam huffs out a breath in return, giving up. He points towards the second last door running along the passage. “That one’s yours. You’ve got me, then Romanoff to your left, and Barnes to your right.”
Steve nods his thanks and pulls open the door. It’s a tiny room, barely a cubby hole with a twin bed and a double locker. There’s a table that folds down from the wall above the bed.
He likes it already.
Putting his pack down, he turns back to Sam. “Can I look around the rest of the ship before takeoff?”
“Sure, man. I’ll get back to the bridge. Barnes is a fucking cheat at cards.”
Steve laughs.
Takeoff is five hours later.
Sam’s voice comes from the bridge, telling all passengers to buckle down. In the interim, Steve’s met Wanda, an independent researcher from the European colonies with an expertise in nonhuman architecture, and briefly been introduced to Dr. Foster, though he’s not sure she even noticed him when Wanda brought him into the room. He didn’t take offence – Tony’s done much worse to him in the time they’ve known each other.
They all gather in the large room opposite their individual quarters and strap themselves down around the table. Romanoff – the linguist –who had arrived in the nick of time, introduces herself and buckles herself in with the same practiced ease that Steve does. It’s just the five of them – Tony, Romanoff, Foster, Wanda and Steve. Sam and Barnes are on the bridge coordinating with ground control. Steve looks around. “Where’s the other one – the maintenance guy you were talking about?”
“He’s using the launch seats in the loading bay,” Tony says absently. He fiddles with something on the table and a hologram pops up – a scale model of the Valkyrie. “So,” he says. “Ready to leave good old Earth, folks?”
Sam’s voice comes over the intercom, starting the countdown.
10…
Romanoff shrugs, a wry smile touching her lips, her eyes on the speakers lining the room. “I’m not sure I have much choice anymore at this point.”
5…
The faint rumbling of the engine becomes a steady, rattling roar, and Steve starts to laugh, his mouth opening to shape a response -
1..
Then the countdown hits zero and he’s suddenly thrown back into his seat , the G-forces pressing him down, crushing him. He feels his ears pop, and faintly makes out the sound of someone else in the room groaning as they’re jostled back and forth, the vibration shaking his teeth in his skull.
On the holoscreen, the altitude numbers flicker higher and higher, the acceleration stretching out for an eternity, the pressure almost crushing him, until final, finally they level out, the roar of the engines dimming slightly, taking on a unearthly pitch that Steve remembers all too well.
Sam’s voice cuts in on the intercom again, warmth suffusing his words. “That’s the hard part done, folks. We’re past the atmosphere. Preparing for jump.”
There’s a crackle, and Sam’s voice is replaced by another soft, scratchy one. Unthinkingly, Steve jerks towards it, held back by the X-shaped straps across his chest.
“Standby,” the voice says. “Hyperspace jump in three, two, one –“
There’s a violent lurch and a nauseous sense of being folded inside out. Steve feels like he’s being squeezed and stretched simultaneously, like he’s at the edge of a giant whirlpool being dragged inevitably further in. Then the rattling of the engines suddenly cuts out, replaced by a low hum as the ship evens out into a smooth glide. He looks at the display, and the altitude numbers have disappeared. They’re nowhere now.
They’ve made the jump.
They’re in hyperspace.
The way Steve remembers it, he joined SHIELD because he wanted to see justice done. But in the years after he realized that was a lie, in the days when he still used to have nightmares every other night, when he dragged himself to class because he had goddamn earned his scholarship if nothing else, something caught his eye.
It was a video in one of his classes, the soft spoken professor struggling to load it onto the holo-screen. A woman, alone on a planet, standing among the ruins of an alien temple. She walked through the crumbling structure, pointing out a carving that represented learning, the place where people gathered for prayer, the wall that had been torn down by an attack. At the time of its discovery the planet, called Hala, was hailed as conclusive proof that humans were not alone.
But there was no one left. Whoever had lived on Hala was long dead. And years later, Hala was followed by Sakaar, and then Jotunheim and then the Sokovian world. And still, they found no one.
All that was left were ruins. The empty spaces in which humanity could have found a friend.
When the government found out that no further utility could be gained from the planets, they decided to put in motion plans to convert them into new homes for the elites - an escape from the polluted dregs of earth – or mine them for minerals.
Steve had watched the video, and wondered.
On the Valkyrie, he flips through his sketchbook and sees his drawings of the Asgardian, of the ruins of the Temples at Sakaar, of the carvings from excavations at Hala.
Just 10,000 years away. Barely a second in galactic time. Barely an instant before humans were able to reach them, talk to them, before they were gone.
We just missed you.
He thinks of the Asgardian, the self-assured arrogance in its stance, the savage light in its eyes. The uninhabitable wasteland of the planet left behind.
Maybe its good that they did.
(excerpt from Tony Stark's preflight notes)