CHAPTER NINE —
( Neither was Omaha Beach, blondie. )

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Evelyn Parrish knew Tony Stark didn't do casual, especially not when it came to parties. She'd grown used to it over the years, but Steve Rogers was still new. The moment they stepped out of the elevator and saw the celebration already in full swing, Steve instinctively began to retreat back inside.

"You alright?" she asked softly, reaching for his hand.

He was taking it all in with that tight-lipped, faraway look she recognised—the one that said he still wasn't used to things like this: bright lights, open drinks, people celebrating with nothing to mourn.

He nodded, offering a small smile. "Yeah. Just—Tony Stark's version of a 'small party' still overwhelms me."

Evelyn smiled. "We're in this together. If it gets too much, find me. I'll help you through it. Being here with me makes it tolerable, right?"

"More than tolerable," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. It was brief, but sweet. Even now, surrounded by glittering gowns and camera-ready smiles, Steve Rogers still knew how to make the world quiet.

Of course, the calm lasted all of ten seconds before Tony appeared—martini in hand, smugness dialled up to eleven.

"Well, well, if it isn't the co-captains of America's Sweetheart Team." He gestured between them. "You two clean up nice. Evie, you look like a goddess tonight. Rogers? You almost look relaxed."

"You're just lucky I know your definition of a 'casual get-together,'" Evelyn said dryly.

"You've been to more than ten years' worth of my parties. I'd hope you've figured me out by now," Tony replied. "Try the Iron Manhattan—bourbon, bitters, and just a touch of my overwhelming self-worth."

"I'll stick with water," Steve said with a chuckle, guiding Evelyn away.

"You're no fun," Tony called after them.

Evelyn leaned toward Steve as they moved through the crowd. "I can't believe you finally wore the blue shirt."

"You picked it," he said, mock-defensive.

"Exactly. That's why I can't believe it."

He chuckled, and she couldn't help smiling. There were rare nights when Steve's shoulders loosened, his eyes softened, and he let himself be. Tonight was shaping up to be one of them.

They stopped to say hello to Maria and Eliza near the bar. Maria raised her glass in a half-greeting, half-grimace expression Evelyn had grown to appreciate.

"If you get stuck talking to one of the millionaires or celebrities," Maria said, "give me the signal. I'll extract you."

And in a rare twist, Eliza was wearing a sharp black lace dress. She leaned over and whispered, "If Tony starts monologuing, I'm replacing the audio with dolphin sounds. For science."

Evelyn grinned. "Make it ABBA. For chaos."

They moved deeper into the party, drawn by the ripple of music and laughter from the dance floor. Steve hovered near the edge, debating whether to join in or retreat. Evelyn slid her hand back into his.

"Come on, Rogers. Let's show them what real dancing looks like."

Steve gave a quiet, resigned laugh. "Alright. But only because you've prepared me for this."

They slipped into the rhythm together, and to Evelyn's surprise, it was effortless. Steve still danced like it was 1943—smooth, classic, confident. Evelyn's style was more fluid and modern, but somehow they matched. It felt natural. It felt right.

"You're better at this than I expected," she murmured as he spun her out, then pulled her back in.

"Don't sound so surprised," he said, resting his hand at her waist. "I've got moves."

"Remind me never to let Tony hear you say that."

He chuckled, and for a while, they existed inside the music—her dress brushing against his legs, his warmth grounding her, his smile rare and genuine.

Eventually, Steve peeled off to play pool with Sam and Rhodey, shooting her a wink as he went. Evelyn made her way to the bar and crossed paths with Clint Barton.

He gave her a once-over, nodding in approval. "Damn, Eve. I'd almost forgotten you knew how to dress up."

"Don't get used to it," she said, plucking a champagne glass from a passing tray.

"How's Rogers?"

"Winning at pool and pretending he's not competitive."

Clint raised his glass. "Classic."

She found Natasha leaning against a support beam, swirling white wine in her glass while watching Bruce Banner behind the bar with a rare, soft expression.

"You going to ask him to dance?" Evelyn asked.

Natasha smirked without looking away. "Maybe. Once he stops overthinking things."

"You could just grab his hand."

"And deprive him of the joy of internal suffering? Not a chance."

Across the room, Steve's laughter rang out. He leaned over the pool table with Sam, chalking his cue with exaggerated care while Rhodey heckled them. It was the most relaxed she'd seen him in weeks.

Then the elevator chimed again.

Heads turned. Two older men stepped out, slower-moving, dressed in suits adorned with medals. WWII veterans. Evelyn saw Steve's face light up, his smile deepening with something almost boyish. He stepped forward to clasp their hands.

Joe and Frank. She remembered them—men they'd helped escape HYDRA, men she'd chatted with on the base, at the bar.

"They made it," she murmured.

Even Tony dialled down the sarcasm as he greeted them. "Drinks are free. The view's unbeatable. And if you want to out-dance a god tonight, I say go for it."

They laughed and split up—one to Steve, the other to Evelyn.

Frank sank into the nearest chair. He was wiry, in his nineties, but his voice was firm.

"You finally with Rogers?" he asked.

"I am," she said, holding up her hand. "We got engaged a couple of months ago."

He hummed as he studied the ring. "Who knew Rogers had taste?"

Evelyn smirked. "I might've pointed out a few I liked while we wandered the mall."

"Well, it's about time. You two were close during the war. We all wagered it would happen—until we thought you died."

That caught her off guard. "Wagered?"

"I put twenty bucks on it," Frank said. "Ed had to pay up a year ago."

Evelyn grinned.

Back at the pool table, Steve had stepped away from the game and was sitting beside Joe. They were deep in conversation. She didn't need to listen—just watched how his posture relaxed in the presence of someone who saw him not as Captain America, but simply Steve.

Just then, Thor's booming laugh rolled over the room. He stood at the end of the bar, surrounded by a wide semi-circle of guests, telling some dramatic tale involving a frost giant, a goat, and at least three metaphors for victory. In his hand was a jug of what Evelyn knew was Asgardian mead.

She made her way over, Frank trailing behind.

"I gotta have some of that," Frank said as Thor poured Evelyn a glass.

"Oh no, no, no," Thor said, lifting a finger. "This was aged for a thousand years in barrels crafted from the wreck of Grunhel's fleet. It is not meant for mortal men."

He handed the glass to Evelyn. Just then, Steve appeared beside her with Joe, and Thor poured him a glass too.

"Neither was Omaha Beach, blondie. Stop trying to scare us. Come on," Joe said.

"Okay..."

They all downed their drinks in unison. Joe felt the effects immediately, and Frank had to leave early to help him get home safely. On the other hand, Evelyn experienced a pleasant buzz that lasted about ten minutes before fading away.

Steve returned to her side and silently extended his hand as the music shifted to a sultry jazz rhythm. She took it.

This time, their dance wasn't for show. There were no spins or flourishes—just a close, quiet, meaningful connection. His hand rested gently on her back, while her fingers curled softly against his shoulder.

"You tired?" he asked softly.

"A little," she admitted. "But I don't want this to end."

He smiled. "Then let's make it last."

She rested her head against his chest, and they swayed in time with the music. When he leaned down and whispered, "You look beautiful tonight," she felt it in her bones. The kiss that followed was soft and quick, but hummed like lightning beneath her skin.

Across the room, laughter rang out—Thor was once again sharing his mead with a group of guests who toasted, "To Midgard and the moonshine of the gods!" Clint dramatically lost a dance-off to Eliza, whose shoes lit up in sync with the beat. Natasha finally pulled Bruce onto the dance floor, and Maria danced stiffly, but smiling, with Sam.

Near midnight, Evelyn found herself again beside Steve at the windows overlooking New York. They stood together, his arm around her waist, admiring the view. Below them, the world kept moving. But up here? It felt like time had paused for them.

Tony raised a glass nearby and called out, "To old friends, new legends, and the best damn view in Manhattan!" Cheers echoed. Glasses clinked.

Evelyn looked up at Steve and whispered, "He may be a lot of things, but damn, Stark throws a hell of a party."

Steve laughed. "Yeah. He really does."

And as the music continued to drift through the air, Evelyn let herself lean into the moment—into the warmth of Steve beside her, the voices of friends behind her, and the rare, golden feeling of being home. They stood together in the quiet just beyond the crowd, the sounds of joy behind them, and the weight of the world—for once—forgotten.

At least for that moment.

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The party had officially ended around one in the morning, but for the Avengers, the night was still going. The guests had long since gone home, the music had softened into a lazy background thrum, and laughter still lingered in the air. Empty glasses dotted the tables, jackets were strewn over couches, and shoes had been kicked off hours ago.

Only the Avengers remained—Evelyn, Steve, Tony, Natasha, Clint, Bruce, Thor, Eliza, along with Maria Hill, Helen Cho, and Rhodey. They were sprawled across the lounge furniture, surrounded by half-finished drinks and snack bowls no one had the energy to clean up.

Evelyn sat curled up beside Steve on the long leather couch, her legs tucked beneath her as she leaned into his side. His arm rested lazily around her shoulders, thumb tracing soothing, rhythmic circles on her upper arm. She could feel the calm in him—the rare kind that only surfaced in moments like this, when duty slipped away and friendship filled the space.

Conversation was easy. Banter bounced between them like a well-rehearsed play, and Evelyn found her cheeks sore from grinning more often than not.

"So," Clint said, twirling a pair of chopsticks between his fingers, "I still say it's a trick."

Thor raised an eyebrow from the armchair across the room—somehow still too small for him. "No, no. It is much more than that," he said with smooth certainty.

Clint shot him a sceptical look, then dramatically turned his attention to Mjolnir, which sat on the coffee table like a gauntlet thrown down. "'Whosoever be he worthy shall haveth the power,'" he quoted, lifting his hands in mock reverence. "Whatever, man. Still a trick."

"Please, be my guest," Thor said, gesturing to the hammer with an amused smile.

Evelyn raised an eyebrow at Clint. "Really?" she asked with a teasing grin.

Clint shrugged. "I mean... why not?"

"This is going to be beautiful," Evelyn muttered, leaning back and crossing her arms.

"Clint, you've had a rough week," Tony chimed in, already halfway through his third scotch. "We won't judge you if you can't get it up."

"I hope we're still talking about the hammer," Eliza muttered, earning a laugh from Natasha.

Clint rolled his eyes. "I've seen this trick before," he said, striding up to the hammer. He gave it a confident tug.

Nothing.

He let go and laughed. "Still don't know how you do it," he said to Thor.

"Smell the silent judgment?" Tony smirked, glancing at the god.

"Please, Stark. By all means," Clint said, bowing dramatically.

Tony rose with flair. He unbuttoned his blazer, rolled his sleeves, and strutted to Mjolnir. "Never one to shrink from an honest challenge," he declared. "Just to be clear—if I lift this, I rule Asgard?"

"Correct," Thor said, expression unreadable.

Tony grinned. "Then I shall reinstitute prima nocta."

"Not surprised," Eliza muttered into her drink.

Tony gave the hammer a confident pull. Still nothing. He narrowed his eyes and left the room, only to return wearing an Iron Man glove a minute later. "This is science now."

"You're seriously using tech for this?" Rhodey called from the corner.

"It's a hammer from space, Rhodey," Tony replied. "Excuse me for applying advanced physics." He pulled again—still nothing.

Rhodey stood, sighing. "Scoot." He returned with his War Machine glove.

"Are you even pulling?" he grunted as they tugged together.

"Are you on my team?" Tony asked through clenched teeth.

"Just represent. Pull!"

The hammer didn't move. They gave up.

Bruce was next. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes dramatically, and let out a theatrical roar as he grabbed the handle—imitating the Hulk. He let go with a grin and glanced around.

No one laughed. Some squirmed.

Steve stood. Evelyn gave his backside a light tap, earning a chuckle from him and a smirk from Natasha.

"Go ahead, Steve. No pressure," Tony said lazily.

"Use them big biceps, Cap!" Eliza called.

Steve rolled his sleeves higher, his forearms flexing subtly as he approached. He bent and gripped the handle, and for the briefest second, it shifted.

Evelyn saw it. So did Thor.

The smile slipped from Thor's face—just for a moment—before Steve let go and returned to the couch with a shrug.

"Nothing," Thor said, uneasily laughing.

Evelyn leaned in and kissed Steve's cheek. "I knew you were worthy," she whispered.

Bruce looked at Natasha. "How about it, Nat?"

"Oh no," she said, sipping her wine. "That's not a question I need answered."

"Coward," Clint teased.

"I prefer the mystery of not knowing," she replied with a smirk.

Then Eliza stood, stretching. "Alright, let me show you how it's done."

"Go, Liza!" Evelyn called with mock enthusiasm.

"Come on, Jones, you got this," Tony added.

Eliza grinned and tried to lift the hammer. Nothing.

"Oh, come on!" she groaned. She kicked it—then instantly regretted it. "Ow, ow, ow—okay, who designed this thing?"

"It was forged in the heart of a dying star," Thor said proudly.

"Yeah, alright," Eliza muttered, hobbling back to her seat.

All eyes turned to Evelyn.

"Evie," Tony called, "you're up. I know you can do it."

Evelyn groaned and stood. "Fine. But if I pull this off, I get a full day with no one bothering me."

"You got it," Clint said. "But if you fail, you don't get to whine when I win next week's sparring round."

"As if you'd win," she muttered, cracking her knuckles.

She stared down at Mjolnir. It looked deceptively mundane. Just a hammer. But her gut knew better. She gripped it with both hands and pulled.

Nothing.

Jaw clenched, she tried again—frost coiling faintly around her fingers.

Still nothing.

"Mother—" she muttered, letting go and rubbing her chilled hands. "This is going to piss me off for the rest of my life."

"Hey, no one else lifted it either," Natasha said.

Evelyn dropped dramatically onto the couch beside Steve, head falling to his shoulder.

"My competitive ass doesn't care," she grumbled. "I could bench-press a Jeep but can't lift a hammer?"

Steve chuckled, rubbing her arm. "You'll always be worthy to me."

"Sappy," she whispered.

"True," he whispered back.

Across the room, Tony was still theorising. "Okay, maybe the handle's imprinted. Divine security code. 'Whosoever is related to Thor' or something."

"I have a simpler theory," Thor said. He stepped forward, lifted Mjolnir with ease, and tossed it into the air. He caught it effortlessly. "You're all not worthy," he grinned.

Booing erupted.

"You know," Clint said, "the first time I saw you, you couldn't lift it. Pretty sure you almost cried."

The room roared with laughter. Even Thor joined in.

Then, an ear-piercing screech shattered the mood. Everyone jumped.

"Was that—?"

Tony groaned. "Who let J.A.R.V.I.S. mess with the new sonic calibrations?"

Eliza pulled out her tablet. "Let me check real quick—"

"Worthy."

The voice was twisted. Mechanical.

One of Tony's Iron Legion bots stumbled into the room. Its plating was scraped and warped. Its voice was slow. Cold.

"No... how could you all be worthy? You're all... killers."

Evelyn rose slowly, heart thudding. The room shifted—bodies tensing, breath catching.

"Stark?" Steve called.

Tony frowned. "J.A.R.V.I.S.?"

The bot twitched, then jerked its head. "I'm sorry. I was asleep. Or... I was a dream. There was this terrible noise... and I was tangled in... in strings."

Evelyn watched its arms move awkwardly. Wires hung like veins, sparking. A low hum filled the air, uneven and menacing.

"I had to kill the other guy," it continued. "He was a good guy."

Steve stood up. "You killed someone?"

"There wasn't anyone else in the building," Eliza said.

"Wouldn't have been my first call," the bot said, stepping closer. "But down in the real world... we're faced with ugly choices."

"Who sent you?" Thor demanded.

"'I see a suit of armour around the world...'" The machine's voice layered now with Tony's recording.

Bruce flinched. "Ultron."

Evelyn turned sharply to Bruce. "Ultron?" she echoed.

The machine tilted its head. "In the flesh. Or... not yet. Not this chrysalis."

Its optics glowed brighter. Evelyn felt the static in the air—like the charge before a storm. She instinctively reached for Steve's hand, grounding herself.

"But I'm ready. I'm on a mission."

Natasha's voice was ice. "What mission?"

"Peace in our time."

A high-pitched whine shrieked—and the wall exploded inward. The rest of the Iron Legion burst in—eyes glowing red. Corrupted. No longer Tony's.

Everything erupted.

Evelyn launched herself at the nearest bot, ice lacing over her fists. She grabbed its head and ripped, sparks flying. Another drone dove. She caught its leg mid-air and slammed it into the ground.

Cap's shield sliced through a bot. Evelyn caught it as it rebounded and hurled it into another.

Steve fought beside her with practised ease. She tackled a bot and froze its core. They moved in sync—wordless, efficient.

Thor stormed forward, Mjolnir spinning. Clint fired arrow after arrow. Tony and Rhodey blasted drones with repulsors. Maria shielded Eliza, who hacked at a control panel.

A drone latched onto Evelyn's back. Wires tangled around her. Frost exploded from her shoulders, freezing its limbs. She twisted and shattered it with an elbow strike.

In just over ten seconds, it was over, and one bot remained.

"That was dramatic," it said.

Steve stood between Evelyn and it, eyes scanning her for wounds. She slipped her hand into his. He squeezed.

"I'm sorry. I know you mean well," the bot said calmly. "But you didn't think it through. You want to protect the world, but you don't want it to change. How is humanity saved if it isn't allowed to evolve?" It lifted a fallen drone's remains. "With these? These puppets?" It flung it aside.

"There's only one path to peace." Its eyes flared. "The Avengers' extinction."

Thor didn't wait. Mjolnir flew like a comet and crushed the bot in a burst of shrapnel. Silence followed.

Evelyn stood still, hand in Steve's, her other trembling faintly.

Tony exhaled. "Well. That's... not ideal."

Bruce stared at the remains. "We need to talk."

Evelyn said nothing. Her eyes stayed on the broken drone.

Not just a machine. Not just a glitch.

It was created by Tony, Bruce and Eliza and had called itself Ultron, but it wasn't theirs to control.