The Soldier and His Girl. (Steve Rogers Love Story)

Chapter Forty-Seven: Pleads

Tony's house, a picture of serene domestic bliss, felt like a cruel contrast to the storm raging inside me. The log cabin, with its tranquil lake and child's play area, seemed to mock the chaos that had taken over my life. As Nat and I stepped out of the car, we exchanged glances, a silent acknowledgment of the confrontation we were about to face. Tony stood on his porch, holding his daughter in his arms, a mix of tenderness and profound sadness etched on his face.

Watching him set the girl down, her laughter echoing as she scampered inside, was like a knife twisting in my gut. The void left by Emily, James, and Sarah was an ever-present ache, made even sharper by the sight of a family that wasn't mine.

Scott, always the optimist, began outlining his plan while I leaned heavily against the porch railing. Nat stood beside me, her presence a small comfort amid my growing anxiety. Each second felt heavier, the weight of our loss pressing down on me.

"Now, we know what it sounds like..." Scott started, his voice betraying his own uncertainty.

I turned to Tony, my voice thick with desperation and barely contained anger. "Tony, after everything we've been through, is anything really impossible?"

Tony took a moment, his face a mask of frustration. "Quantum fluctuation messes with the Planck Scale, which then triggers the Deutsch Proposition," he said, his tone a mix of irritation and resignation. "Can we agree on that?"

Nat and Scott exchanged confused glances, while I felt a growing frustration. Tony's gaze met mine, a flicker of understanding and frustration reflected in his eyes.

Tony's expression softened briefly before the strain took over again. I could see the burden he carried, but it only intensified my own grief.

"In layman's terms," Tony said with a weary shrug, "it means you're not coming home."

Scott's face fell. "I did."

"No, you accidentally survived," Tony snapped. "It's a cosmic fluke, and now you want to pull off a... what did you call it?"

Scott puffed out his chest. "A time heist."

Tony scoffed, making air quotes. "A time heist. Of course. Why didn't we think of this before? Oh right, because it's laughable. It's a pipedream."

"The stones are in the past," Scott argued, his voice cold. "We can go back and get them."

Nat, her voice trembling with a flicker of hope, added, "We can snap our own fingers. We can bring everyone back."

Tony's skepticism was a palpable force. "Or screw it up worse than he already has, right?" His gaze turned to me, searching for understanding. "I don't believe we would."

Tony's frustration was almost palpable. "Sometimes I miss that giddy optimism," he muttered. "But high hopes won't help if there's no logical, tangible way to execute this time heist. The most likely outcome is our collective demise."

"Not if we strictly follow the rules of time travel," Scott argued, his voice rising in desperation. "No talking to our past selves, no betting on sporting events—"

Tony cut him off with a dismissive smile. "I'm gonna stop you right there, Scott. Are you seriously telling me that your plan to save the universe is based on Back to the Future?"

Scott hesitated, then replied, "No."

Tony nodded, shaking his head. "Good, because that would be ridiculous." He looked at me, his face a mixture of weariness and frustration. "That's not how quantum physics works—as I'm sure Nora told you."

A heavy silence settled over us, the weight of unspoken grief and frustration almost unbearable. Nat sighed, her voice filled with desperation. "Tony, we have to take a stand."