Take a look around you. Sense the wonderful scent of adventures. Feel the dock breeze and experience the moment we all have now.
Glory? Maybe. Freedom? Totally.
The port was bustling this morning. However, spring has always been like this. The warm weather had frightened the lazy merchants. I'm watching the unloading of the ship, standing at the side. Sailors briskly ran back and forth, pulling off bales of goods and bags. The last raid turned out to be hugely successful. I don't remember whether it happened before.
The majestic brigantine densely settled in the muddy water of the harbour. I stroked the hollow left by a stray bullet with my finger and looked back at the fragments of the stairs.
Avenger needed rest. Also, good repair.
I grabbed a barrel and helped my team with the unloading. My team. My crew. My family. There was nothing that could tear us apart, not after all these escapades. The crew of the "Avenger" brigantine was simply a large, friendly, and noisy family. Even the loss of one person has left a big bruise on me. If I could go back in time and change one thing, I would murder my conscience for not choosing carefully the right person to save.
I pulled a cocked hat on my head and went to deal with some problems.
My team divided everything they had gotten right, and, in a couple of hours, the pirates had to leave "Avenger" and go on a few days holiday. At this time, the ship will have to be repaired and make some improvements for higher speed and manoeuvrability before the new voyage; The voyage that will eventually cost our own lives.
Finally, the sailors carried the last box of spices to the marina. The sailors gathered their belongings and disappeared into the mixed mass of people crowding in the port. Only three men remained on board to guard the ship until the ship transferred it to the docks.
"Make sure you don't let anyone in, eh?" I approached them boldly and shooked hands. "I have to see someone in the city. We probably leave in 5 days at dawn if everything goes smoothly."
"The map. Do you have it on you?" asked cautiously one of them. He looked at the strangers that were walking nearby. I swear Sam doesn't trust anyone nowadays. I see his concerns, though. He was the one who took, but this is a story for another time.
"No, I accidentally dropped into the endless sea when a shark had mistaken it for his lunch" I checked my pockets desperately. Next to the flawless sword in the leather casket, I have found the most precious treasure we could ever find. "Obviously, I have it with me; this is pure gold, my guy. It never leaves me."
"Just expressing my concerns, cap. No pun intended," Sam raised his hands in the air. We all laughed; I saluted them with an admiring glance at the brigantine and headed for the residential area, where I hoped to rent a room.
"People who say no pun intended are cowards. Intend your puns, weakling." said the other dark-haired comrade, still arguing with Sam.
"Oh, shiver me, timbers!" Soon I couldn't hear his quarrel with Bucky, so I continued my journey through the pirate capital.
It feels uncanny whenever I feel ground under my feet. The sensation I am not swinging never goes away. It is like me, and the ocean is one whole.
The housing search did not last long but still took a decent amount of time. I have noticed that on Transia - one of Asterion Island's many port towns - everything changed a lot while I was away. Some of the fanciest houses appeared on the horizon. By-passers became decent somehow. Some of them dared to look me up from down. What has happened with the ordinary shacks and the chaos? "What kind of pirate capital does not have pirates living in?" I thought, squinting at the next couple of aristocrats.
Those marched past, far ahead throwing out their canes with golden knobs. Their faces looked so sour that they could pickle cabbage right on their noses. I cleared my throat, hiding laughter, and continued my way.
Soon the streets began to change in the opposite direction. Mansions replaced simple buildings. Numerous beggars stretched their hands with empty hats. Among the passers-by flashed bare heels street boys.
"It's nice to know that some things still don't change," I grinned, entering the first tavern and glancing around looking around. The dimly lit room smelled of tobacco smoke and the salty smell of the sea. There were some shabby tables with long benches and a massive fireplace in the middle of the wall, in which the fire burned and roasted whole carcasses, and, of course, a motley crowd of rogues, pirates, travellers and locals.
As soon as I took a step away from the door, a stout woman came rushing at me from the kitchen side and squeezed at the door, clasping at my neck with her hands.
"You're alive!" The fact that I could recognise her voice even after two years of not seeing her amazes me.
"May, I cannot breathe!" I was barely able to squeeze through some words.
"You are alive!" May relaxed her grip. She smiled broadly, showing immaculately preserved teeth. "I was mortified, Peter! Do you know how it is to wait two years without single news from you?! What if bad people captured you?"
"May..." She did not let me finish.
"Two years, Peter! Those people could have grabbed you, threw into a dark, dark cell and brutally tortured you! And then they would hang you, and I would come to your grave..."
"May, I'm here," I said as gently as I could, freeing my neck from her firm grip. And I agree with her on this one. Having no one dear to you around can be exhausting sometimes, even if you're not used to company.
"I'm scared. Don't you ever do this to me, understand?" the tiny diamond droplets fell on the scarlet hinted checks. "Do no... don't leave me alone..."
At this point, every single customer from the bar looked at the scene before them. The pirates were usually partying at this time of the day, but now they were morbidly quiet. And it's not because a woman was crying. Not at all. They paid their respects in front of May Parker - the powerful woman who went through too many events by herself.
People who are having fun, laughing all the time, and making others happy with their presence will always have the most genuine smile on their faces. They still have a few jokes to make others happy. But dare to look in their eyes, and you're doomed. They might have experienced the most challenging times alone with themselves. The smile and jokes are just a shield which they use to protect their heart. Because if this person stops smiling, stops making others happy, he will die. Fate is not always forgetful. It claims the weakest among us.
Every day May would encourage people at the bar to hold on. That everything will be fine. She always told her customers to believe in themselves, to keep trying because it's too early to give up, that they have so much to live for. But at the end of the day, she was the one who felt a hole in her chest—a myriad of voices struggling to outline themselves and be worthy of her attention. The truth was - and will be - the saddest part of lying to yourself. It always comes up. She felt like a hypocrite because she could hardly fight her demons.
And the only weakness she had won't steady in the old town of pirates.
She eventually caught herself off guard and dragged me across the tavern. The middle-aged woman pointed out to a lonely cosy corner, where two sailors were scattered underneath with a bottle of rum for each spilt on the crooked wooden bench. The beverages probably had sleeping pills in them; who knows these sailors? They could define the real fun when asked. Well, most do.
Surprisingly, this did not bother the woman at all. She swept away every excess on the table with a natural movement: bottles, dishes, and the uneaten lunch. Then she carefully wiped the tabletop with a rag and gestured for me to sit down.
"I'll take care of the rest," she sang gently, then swam away to the kitchen. With a sigh, I stretched my legs while leaning back in my chair. I'm finally home.
* * *
An enormous garden towered ahead of the young doctor as he approached the central Asterion's gigantic skyscrapers. The wide road had fountains on both sides, hiding the malicious trees, the foliage of which had long fallen. The red roses did not bloom, leaving behind only dried bushes. It was too cold for them now, but after a long winter, they will bloom again. Steve would like to see this moment, watch them wake up as he did in his childhood. Watch them with her.
And even though the landscape seemed gloomy, but it was so familiar - so familiar that the young doctor's heart involuntarily sank from longing for this place.
"Lord Steven," the guards greeted him as Steve rushed through the palace's gates without asking any questions. He knew the protocol; He knew the journey to Asterion King's "chambers". At this point, he was more familiar with these corridors than most of these guards put all together. "Her Highness was requesting your attendance, Lor-"
Oh yes, Her Highness; The Duchess of Oliotopia lands, the eldest child of the Stark royal family, prepared leader and rightful successor to Asterion's throne. The royal blood that emerged Steve's life with colours; The royal blood that was an incomprehensible part of Steven's childhood.
The implausible rest words were muffled by the young doctor's loud steps, rushing through the castle and meeting a few more guards on the way.
Rogers was not listening to any of them. He was murmuring something incoherent while reaching out to his suitcase. "Eastern Wing, the last room on the corridor." he finally said out loud. The last room on the eastern wing was the room King Anthony has requested to move him because of his medical condition. He trotted into his chambers, like some distraught boy who always dreamed of something not quite normal everywhere.
He was madly worried about the king; about the fate, the Midgard lands will encounter once their beloved king passes away. He was wildly worried about Lieve, which life would be tormented once crowned the Queen of Asterion, let alone to rule next to the one and only future husband, Fogarty Maximon. The Knight of the Order of the Asterion Crown, Admiral of the Flotilla Casket, and just a noble in the higher society.
The majestic candlesticks were barely visible in the corridor, but they were still slightly illuminating the space despite it. One-click of the rhythmic pendulum, and Steven has passed the chapel. Beat after beat, and the clock seemed to be closer to him than before.
The King's room greeted him with silence and the smell of spring lilacs. Such a light, discreet scent, which could intoxicate one's consciousness while relaxing the body and making it find peace. And once again, Steven felt the deja vu overshadowing his mind. He knew the smell. He loved the scent. He quickly entered the royal premises of the king, looking out for other individuals already gathered here. The Queen stood next to His bed uncontrollably, forcing him to eat. The fact that His Majesty became weaker every day Steven visited him for regular checks concerned him.
"I'm begging you, Tony, you better not complain about the soup taste when you have no taste at all." Queen Virginia passed the dish to the nearest servant, carefully placing it on the tray brought next to her. "Save your strength for when you need something."
The king looked at his beloved half with tears for a moment. "That is why I love you, darling."
They did indeed love each other. The day Asterion celebrated Anthony and Virginia's wedding was the same day he became the king of these lands, and he was enough to have a wife beside him now. Her blond curls, which shimmered so wonderfully in hundreds of shades, sparkling like gold on her shoulders, always fascinated the king. And the wonderful scent of jasmine intoxicated him, taking it further and further into the world of dreams, where it melted his hands. Wild and rebellious Virginia Potts opened like a flower for him alone, giving all of herself without a trace. It is said that once you tie the knot, you can't untie it back; you cannot reverse your feelings for someone you share the most exciting memories with.
"I'm healthier than eve-" another cough; another wet towel dropped from his forehead; another container that Steven passed quickly to the king. He was not in the right state, and after a few reports given by Harold, the royal advisor who makes sure everything functions the same with or without the king's approvement, Steven started to believe in his gloomy predictions. "Good to see you, Steve. Don't know why you came; I'm wonderful," his Majesty recovered slowly and sprang up on the bed.
"Father, you threw up three times in the last... what was it again, Harold?" inquired a young lady while closing the door after the servant left. She usually never speaks up in public when there are other promising individuals of the higher society in the same room as her father.
She would most likely hate the boldness she provoked, and she knows entirely how Virginia would comment on such absurd behaviour. However, Lieve had hardly managed to implement anything while her sick father was spending his last days on the lands he ruled for about twenty-six years. Does she feel useless in such moments? Absolutely. Can she do anything about it? No.
"Last six hours and forty-five minutes, Your Highness."
"In the last seven hours," admitted the girl, pointing out to the ancient massive clock on the other side of the room, which ricocheted its clinks over the entire Eastern Wing.
"Your Majesty, your complexion, is scaring me. Would you please lay back down for me? Thank you," said Steven, while reaching out to his suitcase.
The king shut his eyes and relaxed into his comforting conditions. To be settled is not something he would typically say, but he tries to drown away once in a while. Far from everything, it's keeping him on the surface.
"His Majesty needs his well-deserved rest. Can we escort the Queen and Her Highness to their rooms, Your Majesty?"
"Harold, I need you here-" Stark whispered the last part of the sentence, slowly opening his eyes again. "Lieve..." he reached out to his daughter, which rushed towards her father massive wooden bed.
"Yes, father?"
"You take this," the trembling hands took over, and the king was struggling with his movements. It was like he had no power in lifting, twisting or grabbing anything. Everything had control over him. Even in his darkest times, he managed to rule the kingdom with such wise words no one could ever disobey. But the King understood the power of his own words. He drew these swords for a battle he wouldn't win. The King then slowly reached out for the jewellery on his wrenched fingers. A gleaming stone wrapped around with emeralds in intense, vibrant hues all over. The ring itself was not too impressive, but Lieve felt shivers all over once she glanced at the stone itself.
A purple tint of mysteries. An excellent source of imaginable power.
"Happy Birthday, dear." she took her father's hands in hers. She gently circled the wretched hands of her father with her thumbs. The hands that fought hundreds of wars; The hands that held the magnificent crown for the first time twenty-six years ago; The same hands that held little Lieve steady when learning to walk. A genuine smile appeared on the princes' face, cherishing the moments that worth more than anything.
"I love you, dad." Lieve approached her sick father and hugged him like it was the last time she would ever see him. She counted every second spent in her dad's embrace. It was the feeling every child with busy parents wishes to experience. The embrace was the only thing that she could lose herself into; she becomes weak for a moment. She couldn't imagine Morgan, her little sister, living in a world without her father, the hero of the four lands of Midgard. Her hero.
Lieve felt her pulse beating in her temples, her energy was in full swing, and she smiled broadly for her father. Guided by something so pure and sincere, she got the ring squeezed in her fist and got up, slowly walked to her mom. B
"Steven?" asked the king when his wife and daughter left. "Can you spare me five minutes of your time?" Soon enough, the maids were lost, too, preparing everything for dinner. "Please?"
"Of course, Your Majesty, anything. Do you want to discuss the treatment? I got the reports so far from our sessions-" but he was cut short by Stark.
"Everything is losing its meaning, Steven." the young doctor was taken aback by the king's words. Suddenly he tensed and put his book on the wooden stool with a semi-lit candle on it.
"I am not sure I follow, Your Majesty."
"I'm no longer the time borrower." it was hard to breathe, and the king squeezed his words in a sentence he couldn't pronounce naturally. "I'm sick of controlling something I have no power over."
"Your Majesty-" Steven was puzzled.
"Tell Lieve to hide it, bury it if needs. Don't let Maximon get the rin-" another severe cough, and Steven quickly helped him stand up. He had a sonder realisation the king was delirious. "Harold, recall the troops that are away. A storm is coming."
The King's Hand suddenly tensed even more than the young doctor but didn't stay in one place. "All Hail the King." was the last words the advisor has said before kneeling and rushing out of the room.
"Protect her, Steven," And these words slew sharper than Eitri's cruellest and sharpest weapons.
The skies opened over the massive island. A terrible storm came from nowhere, trying to sweep away everything in its path. There was something unnatural about it, something frightening, but at the same time, something mesmerising. Citizens were hiding in their homes, looked out the windows to observe the raging elements and at the same time not to suffer from its ardent disposition. Bright flashes of lightning and loud peals of thunder, strong gusts of wind that can lift an adult into the air, and a wall of rain through which nothingness could see nothing - it looked as if the inhabitants of a small town had angered God. Now they are contemplating what he is capable of in your righteous anger. It looked as He was witnessing a murder of the first order. And not a usual murder. Midgard's life was at stake due to King's Asterion death.
"Death time, 21:39." pointed out Steve and fell to his one knee for the last time in front of the King. "All Hail the King."
The Scarlet Moon reddened the sea from within massive clouds.
The young doctor sobbed silently and eventually sprang to his feet.
He was lying beside a wide bed, slightly curtained with a heavy canopy embroidered with golden patterns—the King's room, which now was well lit by the glow of the mysterious moon.
The confusion then awoke him completely, as if he was enchanted by something incurably powerful. Illusions that illusions cannot explain and experience never actually lived. All he could see was how he was in a lifeless room, without anyone in it. Alone.
The exact deja vu was emerging from behind the corner, where the entrance to this same room was initially. Three armed guards busted the space open, therefore leaving no place for silence anymore.
"Hands up, where I can see them!"
"Wait, what-"
"Freedom of speech is prosecuted. You have the right to remain silent," the soldier started to tie up the doctor's hands. He didn't repent that he could have done something wrong, nor he accepted the immediate change in the setting. The lacquered door at the end of the room slid open, revealing a dark silhouette. Steve shivered over the fact that he heard his name just a few minutes ago.
Maximon Fogarty. Sharp cheekbones covered with neat bristles, a small chiselled nose and his eyes... Too damn beautiful to be discovered by the world.
"Steven Rogers, you're accused of the first rank of kidnapping the King of Asterion, Anthony Edward Stark the First."
***
Hazel eyes looked around the room with some contempt, or perhaps indifference - it was difficult to understand. Peter sat down in a corner, took off his hat, and ran his fingers through his brown hair, giving a cheerful wink to a pretty maid who brought a bottle of rum, a glass and exuded a great smell of stew. The captain poured himself a drink and raised it like a toast.
"For you, Pietro," he whispered, draining the glass. A few lads were devouring their food over the next table, laughing hysterically at something. This clattering sound of cups tapped together, which sounded more aggressive each time they ordered a new round of drinks.
"Aye Parker!" One of them knows how to talk. Impressive. "How is your hot aunt doing? I bet she did the whole town, ye bug brained!" And suddenly, the fork became a lethal sharp object, which Peter used to stab his stew. He heard worse insults over the years; it wasn't a pleasure of hearing them, though.
"How's your daughter doin'?" he took a bite of that stew without even bothering raising his eyes. Of course, he wouldn't know his family history—just a rough guess.
"You scumbag!" And the rough guess won, ladies and lads. The enraged pirate and stand up from his friend's company. "I will chop off your head!"
Too common. He heard that hundreds of times.
"I will invert your rib cage," Parker looks up and takes out his dagger. "Let's see who's being dramatic over a tiny cut." he steps out his corner, looking at the scum as if he has fought him thousands of times before their encounter. "You can do dirty my reputation, alright? But you are not touching my family. I'm too sober for this."
Chuckle.
The old pirate touched his leather holder, taking out a twenty-ish-inch sword with a metal gauntlet on his right hand. "Or else what?" A typical question requires a tactical response. At the exact time, Peter grabbed his dagger with his left hand.
Creak, and the wooden floor behind the young captain just made a sound by itself.
"Take another step towards him, and I can't be held responsible for my actions." said another deep voice from behind the captain. The way the older man looked behind Peter and took a step back was more weird than cowardly. If you want to start a quarrel, finish it.
"I didn't know he's with you, Thor."
"And never would have. Tell your friends scumbags to disappear before this tavern turns into an arena." the gold curls said in a threatening way, still staying behind Peter and waiting for him to turn around.
Instead of that, Peter grabbed the sword laid down on the chair, picked up the rest of his beer, and moved urgently towards the exit.
"Well, you aren't a hero. "May, I'm off to Phil!" he yelled when his aunt looked in his direction.
Parker felt shivers soon enough once he opened the rusty door. The cold sea breeze was soothing, but at the same time, the captain felt the urge to run away again. He felt like the sea was calling on him, summoning the most exciting moments that he is yet to experience. He felt the urge to escape once again. And he would have done that in this right second if someone was not tagging along, pretending like they don't want to join.
"Why are you following me?" snapped Peter without looking behind.
"Thought you could use some help... y'now since I saved you back the-"
"I hope you're aware that I didn't need any help. I could've held those rascals by myself. " Peter frowned, looking for something in his pockets. Small longitudinal wrinkles appeared on his forehead, thick eyebrows moved to the nose's bridge and plump lips compressed into a thin line.
"Right. Of course, you could have, Of course." insisted Thor and laughed insignificantly.
Peter kept on walking and puffed at the non-ironical remarks Thor was continually making.
"Where you headed to anyways?"
"I'm a captain," he said proudly, lifting his chin and looking up at the giant. "Do you know Avenger? My work. Avengers? My crew."
His pride. The only thing in this world Peter could call "his". He built a foundation and listened to no one while doing it. He followed the path he dreamed of, mastered the fighting skills he grew up accumulating, and had to lice the life few experienced at his age. And most importantly, not alone.
"Who?"
"Oh, come on!" The pirate puffed in displeasure.
"Avengers? What a bunch of A-holes. So what are you stealing, Avenger? Fabric? Oh! Don't tell me, doubloons from merchants?"
"Mostly food and jewels, but who are you exactly?" questioned Peter, slightly tilting his head, asking himself if he ever saw this guy before. His personality, his fighting skills and most importantly, his posture did not seem familiar at all.
"So can I join?"
"You want to...," started Peter, somewhat grinning at the possible idea of this six-feet giant joining the team on Avenger. Decisions, decisions and again decisions. His latest trip ended a few hours ago, and now he has to consider new members. Does he even need new people? Can he trust someone he met completely spontaneously in a tavern he wasn't even supposed to stay that long? Absolutely not. Is he going to accept him, though? "Meet us in two days at dawn. Port Transia. We go on a trip, Goldilocks." and he rushed to the same port he mentioned straight after.
"It's Thor Odinson!"
Dusk.
The day ends. Its colours are paler and paler. They blur altogether, and the day is melting. The sun tilts over the horizon and also gradually goes away. The sky is still light, but it won't be for long. The stars begin to appear slightly to the naked eye, like children peeping out from behind a wide curtain. Beyond the horizon, the sun is lost, drowning in the ocean. A storm is coming.
A blue infinity.
And so are Peter's thoughts. They drown sweetly in its infinity. His native quarters began to be forgotten, but he returns to them in his rare dreams. He begins to understand May and the reason why she never left these lands.
She finds hope here; She finds mercy and joy on these forgotten lands. At this point, the young lad is not even counting how many times she repeatedly refused his prayers in sailing on the ocean. She foolishly thinks that she will get a promising future here. No one blames her, though. May made it all clear when she said she is ready to let him explore the big world, although she feels linked to this island; this incredible town where she had found the first and the last love of her life; the place where she had built her career without any help; the origin of the most sacred memories and secrets.
Peter turned just around the corner to head onto the pier towards the shipowners' area. He had an ancient acquaintance he had to visit immediately before going on the sea again. The alley greeted him with a blacksmith's in his forge who was ready to extinguish the fire and was sorting out his raw materials and organising his tools. There was this woman who casually threw a bucket with garbage directly from the threshold. A boy ran out of the shop with a bundle in his hands, barefoot, but with a happy smile on his face. He sure stole food from the butcher as all the neighbourhood does.
Once passed by the last house, the curtain swayed. A hand wiped on a glass that had become soaked and flashed. There was a grey stoned chapel with a wooden roof darkened by the constant dampness. A woman, probably a singer in the chapel or a simple peasant, came out of it with a book in her hands, glanced briefly at the young captain, then quickly ran away. She hurried to get lost in the narrow streets of the port. He saw two smartly dressed men on this same alley, with immeasurably long swords on the side, held by some high-quality leather. Peter could sell half of his belongings to have one of those. Why only half? 'Cause he ain't selling aunt May for some two feet five-piece of carbon steel with buffalo horn as a handle, heat tempered and wrapped around with black Japanese cotton. That's foolish. Let it rust there in all its glory. It was undeniable that they belonged to the high society of the city. He squinted at them when they caught up and made a contemptuous grimace. The strangers passed by, paying no more attention to me than to the trash lying on the road. Who is the one feeling full of himself here, Peter or these two?
He finally reached the pier.
The neat buildings were lined up in a row, each with a sign hanging above the entrance. Each one of them had ominous emblems on them, which could frighten even the bravest within the city. He quickly found the right one; the familiar spider engraved majestically into a rotten wood stand. He cautiously knocked, but he had this bizarre feeling that no one was inside the building. Then it hit him. He had to bang with the top of his boot to hear some steps from behind the door finally. He remembered that, Phil.
But he wasn't greeted by him. The young sailor, who wasn't too younger than him, stepped out, trying to make the captain step back. He tried to create that said tension and intimidate me with the heavy and egocentric glare. Not today, Harley. The staring content was intense. Every malicious spark in his eyes would scream, "I ain't retreating," And why would he? This young soul has yet to prove his strength to people more severe and horrid than Parker. His stone facial expression transformed slowly into a smirk, and they both burst into laughter. The youngster jumped and gave him a brotherly hit on the captain's chest.
"Haven't seen you in ages, Peter." he suddenly hugged him and hit twice on his back before he would look at Parker again. As the good person that he is, he grinned with a friendly smile. "We thought you're dead..."
"Optimistic. Are you going to let me in, or we chit chat from the threshold?" asked the captain while taking out his hat.
Mr Coulson, a short, well-fed man with a bald head translucent through his wet hair, raised a surprising look at the newcomer, looking up from a pile of papers. "Peter?"
"Flesh and bones, as you can see. And," he cast a long look at Harley, who went from behind the counter of his father. "Still alive," he eventually smiles. "How are you?"
"Good," Coulson mumbled, wiping sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. "What fate brought you here?"
"Remember you said you would do something for me?" he asked seriously.
Coulson looked him up and sadly sighed. "Anything. I would do anything, Peter." The old sailor's eyes and thoughts fled from this room far into the newly raised memories.
Any other their meetings were crumpled. Parker was laconic, reserved and restless when they met in the city. Phill knew that this wasn't the sweet young boy he knew. He became cold towards everything and everyone. Their conversations were cut short, bogged down in endless phrases and questions interrupted in half. Coulson, like an old family friend, wanted to help as much as possible. Even if it would cost his own life, he once swore on his father's grave that he would support him afterwards. He eventually became family. Until Peter's uncle passed away, as well, after that, the sweet little boy everyone knew was lost.
The pirate pulled out a piece of paper, "I found an amusing thing. Thought that you would be interested in."
"Well, well, well," Coulson brightened at the sight of the map. He snatched it from the hands of the interlocutor and went to the window to get a better look. "Where did you get such a rare thing? Did you steal it?"
"You are really hurting my feelings, mate. I honestly took it from one guy..."
Yes, Peter stole it.
The guy, the map owner, was about eighty years old; he was drunk in the trash and danced all night on the table in one of the smelly taverns. Simultaneously, the tireless older man boasted to his right and left about the treasure he found.
The Infinity Stones. All six Infinity Stones.
And as soon as the older man fell down a warrior's dream, Peter did not disdain to rummage in his pockets, from where he fished out a folded piece of leather. About the glorifying deed knew only certain people from the crew, Sam, Bucky, and Pietro. Well, only Sam and Bucky now.
"Ha, don't be ridiculous! I know you well, little scoundrel..."
"Don't sweat it; I paid him with barrels..."
"Firstly, I don't sweat; I glisten."
Peter showed him his tongue, using the fact that he had turned away. And tried to change the topic. "Well?"
"Four, five... weren't they six? You sure this is the right one?" Peter was even more puzzled now. Well, I guess we go without one. He quickly shrugged without paying attention to the map.
"What? the map must properly study it. I can not say anything concrete." Peter shook his head, displeased. "But Peter," the old acquaintance suddenly spoke, "If this is what I'm assuming. Why would you need them anyway?"
"I gotta try, Phil." the young pirate looked at him hopelessly. "Can you imagine what I've been through these two years? The agony. The emotional torture. It eats you inside, Phil."
"Two years, exactly! You searched for something that could have been at the bottom of the sea. Ask yourself, Is it worth it, Peter?"
"What?"
"The stones. The search might be malicious. Have you ever heard what creatures are under the ocean?"
"These are worthless myths, Coulson. I'm hunting for something more realistic - a happy future."
"Are they worth it? To leave May? The only person you have left?"
Silence. He knew exactly that this was his weakness. Many have tried before to intimidate him. Many have failed. No one knows reality as it is. As a captain, he hides it too well. Like his uncle used to say, 'Great power comes with great responsibility. The enemy will not think twice before hitting you on the weak spot. Peter raised his glare at the man who used to be best friends with his uncle. At some time, Peter even sees him in front of him while talking. That's the majestic power of friendship. Peter whispered a quick response. So meaningless. So childish, yet true. So hurtful, yet promising: "I don't have a choice,"
Phil sighed, and his last words were simply, "It's time to forgive yourself for people who walked away." His face was stern, but he hid anxiety behind this sternness. It was betrayed by the drooping corners of the lips and the wrinkle above the eyebrow. The man sighed sadly, looking at the ancient and glorious map he had in his hands.
The young captain was processing the meaning of these words. Yes, he had to. He had to let go of everything that might stop his dreams come true. It's that feeling when your thoughts are disarmed and numb. When you cannot find answers to so many easy, fundamental questions. People rely on their frame of understanding and seek justification. People remain dismayed, revolted and amazed by so much hatred. They hate themselves for not having the power to outrage their mind.
"Okay, do what you want. 'Avenger' needs to be repaired," he said as a goodbye, leaving Coulson alone with the map. He did not seem to notice his departure.
Hours went by, and Peter lost track of time. The first day back home, yet he felt like going back on the sea. Eventually, he came by the pier and looked up. He had less time spent by himself without anyone interfering lately. Milky stars lit up in the sky, like grains of pearls that whirl in a beautiful dance around the red moon, waltzing amid this madness. Not a single tiny cloud was visible. The night is quiet and silent, and no sounds are heard, except for the soft whistle of the wind that blows from the northwest and brings with it a small salty spray, almost indistinguishable, and the fresh scent of endless oceanic space. Somewhere in the distance, barely audible, a lonely seagull cries, and its desperate cry is permeated with sadness and the vague memory of loved ones.
Some moments are just lovely. When you are lonely is even nicer. Some are even worth writing about. Take your time, Peter. You won't have that many moments soon. And watch out for today's storm.
It is about to get scary.