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"Oh, fuck you."

Maybe it was how Tony said it; the effervescent anger, the way he spat the fuck out across the room. Steve had to giggle.

"Yeah, laugh it up! I died. I think I have a right to be forgotten."

"It's good to see you, too."

"No." Tony shook his head. He was wearing, Steve noticed, a sweaty tank-top and a pair of boxers with a suspicious hole. "I died so you could be with Bucky. So go... buck it up."

"You died for everyone."

"Screw everyone." His voice shook. His eyes pleaded.

"Can I start with you?"

"So," Loki said, as they fell behind the rest, "what's the goal, here?"

"You know," Thor muttered, "Escape. Devil's Anus."

"Yes, quite. And, tell me if I misremember, revenge?"

Thor gave him something between a shrug and a nod.

"And what an exemplary team you have assembled for it."

"What's your angle?"

"Angle?"

"You always have an angle."

"No angle. Just..." Ah, here it was. "You're a prince of Asgard. This is who you consort with?"

"Loki..."

"You're worth more."

Thor glanced at him. There was a... spark. A moment. Then;

"Ah, well." Loki smiled, sadly. And they walked on.

It is like watching herself until it isn't - there comes a point where Wanda melts into Wanda, and the past is the present, and they are all there again. Pietro. Her mother. Her father. The future is an echo; a dream she just woke up from. This is real. Pietro's fist on her arm as he pretends to punch her, her father's laugh. The dull glow of the television.

She knows what comes next.

But for now, this is the world. The four of them, this half-remembered home, her favorite shows. This is all of it. A few moments more.

"And you can look up anything you like." Steve exhaled. "But yeah, it's mainly a phone." He looked around the hut. "What else?"

"Steve..." Bucky smiled carefully, as he always did these days.

"The fridge is pretty much the same as what we're used to. Uh..." He picked up an e-reader and held it up, enthusiastically. "Oh, you'll like this - remember how I used to whine about running out of books?"

"It contains every book in the world?"

Steve froze.

"You're very sweet, but-"

"You've been here a while." Steve sighed, but Bucky walked closer, grinning.

"Tell me more, anyway."

Some words were good, and some were not. That was easy; there was an infinite number of combinations in which you could arrange them. This word good, this word bad; fine. Loki could use that to his advantage.

But he had never quite gotten the hang of lying.

He'd said as much to Thor once, when they were children, and his brother had laughed. Why? Like words, were so many of them; calling someone's hair golden, a bedtime story, his father hiding the truth of his origins. Where was the difference?

Loki had no idea. So he used them all.

"Don't even ask," Varric grunted, pulling his papers closer to his chest. What was Bull doing in here, anyway? Shouldn't he be working out or getting beat up? That was probably how he worked out.

"I wasn't about to. Working on a story?"

"And yet you just did."

"Only because you got so defensive!"

With a sigh, Varric pushed the papers back out onto the table. They were all blank, anyway. Bull looked at them, then nodded.

"Writer's block?"

"Worst I've had."

Bull shrugged. "The Inquisition is wrapping up. People are moving on."

"Yeah." He would have to, too. Eventually.

"Do you consider yourself an optimist?"

Bucky laughed, but his therapist kept looking at him. "Is that a joke?"

"Do I look like I'm joking?"

"I spent most of my life in suspended animation, with nothing but nightmares to occupy my mind."

She smiled, humorlessly. "That's not an answer."

"What does it matter? I'm here, I'm alive. That's all that matters." She said nothing, and he shifted, nervously.

"You keep checking your phone."

"So?"

"I know you don't have any friends. So whose text are you waiting for?"

"I'm..."

"He came back before."

Bucky glared at her, and walked out.

"So you've known him a long time, then?" Yaz sat down next to her on the stairs that lead deeper into the TARDIS.

"Who?" The Doctor looked at her, sideways. "Oh. Him."

"The Master? Why's he called that, anyway?"

"Long story. And to answer your question, yeah. Very long time."

"And..." This was a good time to ask, and Yaz was dying to. "Is he like you? You said he was a woman, before..."

The Doctor frowned. "Did I? I suppose I did." Yaz looked at her, encouragingly.

"It's not quite like that."

Yaz took her hand. "Care to explain?"

Tony followed him down the path, making sure to keep in the shade. This was helping the headache he couldn't seem to get rid of. "Tell me again why we need this?"

"Well, the whole ecosystem has had a bit of a shake-up," Bruce said, cheerfully.

"That's what I thought you said."

"We're basically trying to prevent overpopulation and extinction at the same time."

"Uhuh." Tony nodded. It wasn't enough to save the world; you had to rebuild it. "So this is what I come back from the dead for? Helping research squirrel-"

"Squirrel contraceptives." That damn green, grinning face.

"Only one day. Barely that; just a few hours. That's all I got."

"What are you talking about?" Lister looked up from his knitting. The cats had left a lot of yarn behind, and he realized he hadn't done this in ages.

"That's how long I got to be a hero."

"What?" Lister put his needles down. "The Twinkling Twonk?"

"That's not his name," Rimmer snapped. "Show some respect. He's the one chance I had at being a hero."

"You were Ace Rimmer! For a subjective century, you said!"

"That doesn't count!"

Lister picked up his knitting. "Twonk," he muttered.

"I know I'm not the same person." John flashed a smile at the camera, but the reporter hurried to protest.

"By definition, you are Captain America. It is a role, not an individual."

Bucky felt the handle of his cup start to give. He should let go of it; it would break. He didn't. On the bar's television screen, the interview kept running, both John and the reporter laughing.

"Sir?" He didn't notice the waitress until she was next to him. "I'm sorry, that's decaf. Let me get you another."

Bucky shrugged. "Coffee is coffe." He stared at her. "Right?"

Just as they crested the hill, Rimmer threw a hand up. "Stop!"

Lister, bringing up the rear, slammed into Kryten, who, in turn, nearly dropped a large number of precariously balancing crates.

"Careful," Rimmer snarled. "Those are fragile!"

"If you hadn't told me to stop-"

"Honestly, Ktyten; this is the twilight of sumpters."

"The what of what?" Lister frowned.

"Sumpters! Beasts of burden; pack animals. Or in this case; droid."

Lister rolled his eyes. "He's a cleaning droid."

"Also, sir, we have an auto-lift. If you would read the instructions..."

"Twilight," Rimmer yelled, waving them on.

"Sumpt yours," Lister muttered.

"Oh no." Tony tried to sit up, but immediately winced and fell back down. Steve hurried over to help. Tony slapped his hand away.

"Nice to see you, too."

"You're not supposed to be here." Tony grunted. He was still weak from the numerous surgeries, but what mattered to Steve was that he was alive.

"Says who?"

"Cut the crap, Steve. I told you to go home."

"And as you're my commanding officer..."

Tony snorted. "From what I heard, you were always terrible at taking orders."

"Tony." Steve sat down on the bed and took his hand. "I am home."

Aziraphale tutted, hurrying past Crowley, where he was curled up in the window, hissing at what appeared to be random passers by.

"It wasn't supposed to be this way!" Crowley flung out an arm, gesturing at something outside.

"What wasn't supposed to be how?"

"They've made it trendy." Crowley's tongue slithered out between his lips. "It was supposed to make people look ridiculous and only thinking they looked cool."

"Yes, well," said Aziraphale, having no idea who they were.

Crowley locked eyes with a young man across the street, hair long at the back and short in front, and snarled.

"A few weeks, you said."

Aziraphale coughed. "Well-"

"Months, at most."

"It's only April."

"April the next year," Crowley spat. He was looking rather more demonic than usual these days. Aziraphale almost wished he had not let himself be persuaded into forcing his ancient computer to run Zoom.

"You can't blame my side," Aziraphale bristled, "it'd be over by now if your side-."

"What; stopped being demons?"

"I see your point." It was harder on Crowley, who seemed to take every virus-related death personally. A man of action, trapped in inaction. "At least..."

"What?"

"We have one another."

Crowley grunted.

"I wish you wouldn't let him walk all over you, sir!" Kryten hobbled down the corridor, following in Lister's footsteps.

"Look who's talking!" Lister snorted, cracking open his can of lager. "You do whatever Rimmer says. After everything I've taught ya!"

"That's different!" Kryten huffed. "I'm compelled to obey him, and he's so good at giving orders. But you, sir! You're human!"

Lister sighed, leaning against the doorway to his quarters. "Krytes... Rimmer may be a smeghead, but that's his nature. He does the best he can with it. He tries, man."

"That's not enough!"

Lister smiled. "It will be."

"Y'know," Aziraphale slurred, his glass dangling precariously from his hand, "We're the last of them. The last of the last."

"The... the what?" Crowley narrowed his eyes. His glasses had gone... somewhere. It didn't matter. Usually, it did, but not now. That was important, for reasons unclear to him at the moment.

"Last," Aziraphale elaborated. "Of the... you know."

"Last," Crowley added. "Yeah. You said."

Aziraphale nodded heavily. "Exactly. We're... what do they say?"

"Who?"

"People! About things?"

"Dunno. Lots."

"Old school. We're the last angels left on Earth. And..."

"We'll be the last to leave."

Aziraphale smiled, sadly. "Yes."

"Pound for pound, that's a bargain. Have you seen the size of this guy?"

Tony slapped Steve's side so hard he flinched. Steve said nothing, adjusting his tuxedo. He could deal with Tony later.

"Walk," Tony whispered in Steve's ear, or rather, slightly below it.

Obediently, he took a few steps down the runway. It wasn't the first time he'd been paraded around on stage for a good cause. When Tony gestured, he did a turn. For whatever reason, the crowd gasped.

"Like I said, bidding starts at 500K."

Charity, Steve told himself. Behind him, Tony kept outbidding the audience.

"Surely you could tell me some stories." Aziraphale beamed in the low light of the pub. He wished he wasn't so transparent. How he'd longed to talk to Crowley again!

"Oh," Crowley said, airily, waving his elegant fingers, "you know."

"I don't. That's the thing. Don't have much to do with the underworld." He settled on the edge of his seat.

"Ah. Yes. Underworld."

Aziraphale brightened.

"Of course, I mingle with the worst of them. Worst of the worst." His tongue flicked out. Don't stare.

"Go on." Crowley did. Aziraphale stared at his lips. He didn't hear a single word.

It was a wonderful ceremony. Probably. Spock moved among the wedding party, nodding politely in lieu of a smile. McCoy was standing by the bar, grinning from ear to ear. All, then, presumably, was well. Spock sidled up to him.

"Nothing like Southern hospitality." The doctor raised his glass. "Though I don't suppose you'd know, would you?"

"It is highly agreeable."

"Agreeable! Why, I'm as happy as a pig in mud!"

Spock raised an eyebrow. "An idiom, presumably."

"You presume damn right. Now, if you'll excuse me." McCoy moved to the dance floor.

Pigs. Dancing. Earth would forever elude him.

"Name?" The woman behind the counter looked at him, not unkindly.

"Uh, James Buchanan Barnes." Bucky coughed.

"And what is your previous employment history?"

"Beg pardon?"

"Well, we're going to need an idea of your background and skills." She adjusted her glasses. "It says here that you're college educated?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Oh, you were in the military. But then..." She frowned. "There's a gap here."

"Uh, yeah." Dammit, this was the sort of thing Steve was good at.

"Of about..." she looked closer, "seventy years?"

"Yeah." He tried to smile.

"What... exactly did you do?"

"Work of all kinds, ma'am."

"Take that off." Steve looked up as Tony entered, laying down the novel he was reading.

"Oh, hey Amber Waves." Tony let his suit recede, settling into the cuffs on his wrist. "Didn't think you'd still be up."

"Thought you might need help."

"Nah." Tony slumped down on the couch - the opposite end, not next to him. "Nothing I couldn't handle."

Steve nodded. "So, take it off."

"'Scuse me?"

"The suit." He waved at his face. "The mask."

"I'm not wearing..."

"Yeah, you are. You're still Tony Stark."

Tony frowned. Then, slowly, he took it off.

"That's better." Steve smiled.

"Hey, Captain America here." Steve faced the camera. "You know, it's a difficult time for everyone. Self isolation can be hard, even if you're lucky enough to be cooped up with a partner." He looked down at his script.

"But just because you rarely leave the house, doesn't mean you shouldn't care about safe sex. Many, uh, sexually transmitted diseases have an incubation time of six weeks or-"

Tony grinned at the screen. Over his shoulder, Happy frowned. "Didn't they tell you to write a PSA about birth rate support measures?"

"We don't need more people. We need healthy people."

"So let me get this straight; the world's about to end, so you're going to an opera about the world ending." Crowley lingered in the doorway, arms crossed. While Aziraphale changed back to what he couldn't help but think of as his true form the moment he was by himself, Crowley tended to linger as Nanny Ashtoreth.

"The world isn't about to end, we're seeing to that."

"I mean, Götterdämmerung? It's literally about gods dying."

"I like the music." He adjusted his bow tie.

Hesitating, Crowley shifted his clothes into an evening gown. "Mind if I join you," he muttered.

"So it's a bridge."

Thor waved a hand, blinking up at the clear sky. "It's..." he frowned. "You wouldn't understand.

Tony chewed the blade of grass in his teeth. "Try me."

"How much do you know about the mathematics of curved-space structures?"

"Enough."

"It's all about the... manifolds of nontrivial topology."

Tony sighed. Thor was drunk out of his mind, but he had centuries of knowledge locked in that mind.

"...so then... the regions contains a quasi... permanent intrathingy. Universe."

"And that looks like a rainbow."

"Stripes," Thor agreed.

"The Bifrost is magic stripes." Tony sighed.

"That's what I said."

"You know..." Bones raised his cup towards the sky. For a moment just it hung there, swaying slightly. "They say... they say, on Vulcan, that the shape of your ears determine your soulmate."

Jim glanced up at him. How much of the bourboun had ended up in his coffee? There was a fair amount in Jim's cup, too. "What?"

"S'true!"

"How would you know?"

Bones pointed to his head. "Had him in here." His eyes widened. "I remember stuff. Honest truth."

Jim snorted, taking a drink. "I'm not Spock"

"Just saying," Bones looked up. "You and him got good ears."

Aziraphale approached the door with anticipation, then took a step back. Then another. He adjusted his waistcoat, and leaned back against the desk. No - far too nonchalant. He walked around it and sat down.

No. Too authoritarian.

He slouched back, one arm dangling. No, no; too nonchalant.

Muttering under his breath, he walked back to the front, having just had time to place himself with one hand on the desktop when the door dinged open, catching him off guard so he fell.

Crowley paused in the doorway, snorting. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing." He'd manage to seduce him. One day.

"It's an emotion detector." McCoy studied them both closely.

Kirk reached out to touch the smooth archway, half expecting McCoy to protest. He did not.

"See, the natives here had developed robots that looked close enough to a living person that couldn't tell the difference. Except for one thing."

"Emotion?" Spock raised an eyebrow.

"Exactly. That's mostly a glandular thing. Only someone capable of emotion can pass through those gates."

Kirk's lips twitched as he walked through. McCoy followed.

Spock remained, staring.

McCoy laughed, waving a hand. "I'm joking. It's just a doorway."

Spock remained. Eventually, turning, he walked away.

Lister hurried down the corridor, trying not to look at anything, or listen to anything, which was proving difficult while hurrying down a corridor. At least they were heading out of the worst of the Echoes, or so Holly had-

"Well we've passed the test, Rimmer. You can let us out."

It was his own voice. He peered around the corner. There was Rimmer, dressed in... smegging hell!

"Why not?"

"Because the King of the Potato People won't let me."

Lister breathed a sigh of relief. It was good to know that even in the future, Rimmer was still himself.

"Listen Bones, just between you and me..." Jim set his glass down and turned to his friend. It was late, the bottle was nearly empty, and the evening was pleasant.

"Yes, Jim?" Bones smiled up at him with the same inscrutable sardonic smile as always.

"Back on the five year mission... why all the fuss about my diet? All the food was perfectly balanced in nutrition anyway. And those workouts you made me do. A shot could have done the same thing."

"Oh, Jim..." He smiled, taking a deep sip. "What's to say I didn't like to see you sweat?"

"Garak. No."

"But think of the advantages."

"Please explain the advantages to me."

"Well, for one," Garak sipped his tea thoughtfully, "it would be quite cheap to fill the entire station. And quick!"

"Yes," Julian said through clenched teeth, "that's the point."

"You must admit they are much less messy than those other creatures - what did you call them?"

"Bunnies. And they are traditional."

Garak clicked his tongue. "Traditional. Honestly, it's an enlightened century. Besides, from what I've read, they reproduce rather quickly, too."

"Garak," Julian exploded, turning heads around their table, "we are NOT using tribbles as Easter decorations!"

She was running towards him, hair and certain other bits flapping in the pleasant breeze of the garden. Ah, Crawley thought, here we go...

"Serpent!" Eve clasped her arms around herself, gasping for breath. "I am naked!"

"Yesss," words formed awkardly from snake lips. "Sssso?"

"What do I do about it!" She looked around in panic. "Adam, too; he told me, after we ate the apple."

"Jussssst put something on!"

"How? What?"

"Clothes." He looked around, eyes falling on Aziraphale, by the gates. "Like the angel there."

"Oh," she said, "but underneath, he is still naked!"

Crawley blinked in terror.

"I don't get it." Rimmer leaned closer to the screen, his face contorting.

"It's a musical, Rimmer. What's to get?"

"But why are they singing?"

"That's what people do in musicals!"

"But they're in prison!"

Lister rolled his eyes. "Yeah, they're in prison. It's Chicago, it's a famous musical, don't you know anything?"

"But that makes no sense!"

Lister shut the video off, and swung his feet off the table. "It's a a bunch of women singing about how they murdered people who annoyed them; makes sense to me!"

Rimmer drew himself up. "Now, Listy..."

"I'm about to start singing!"

"It's been a while since I've seen Crawley," Aziraphale said, aiming for nonchalance. Michael turned and raised an eyebrow. Perfectly, of course.

"You can't possibly not have heard."

"Heard what?"

"For goodness' sake, have you been sleeping again? Why do you like that so much?"

"It's comfortable," Aziraphale shifted uncertainly. "Erm, you were saying?"

"You did hear about Lucifer?"

"Yes, of course! What does..." He looked at Michael's smug face. Oh, surely, surely not.

"No surprise there. He was always shifty."

Aziraphale looked past Michael, to the gaping hole that was being rebuilt into a staircase. And his face fell.

"Now listen carefully..."

"Of course, mum!" Arthur couldn't help but feel a little hurt. He always listened very carefully.

"Next time you're filming one of your little videos, make sure to mention OJS as often as possible."

Arthur frowned. "Are you sure?"

"Yes!" They were on the phone, but Arthur could see the annoyance on her face anyway.

"It's just, I can say it a lot."

"As often," she insisted, "as possible."

"Right. So, 'Welcome, OJS, to, OJS, the, OJS-"

"No, idiot child! Sensibly!"

"Oh, right! So, OJS, OJS, OJS, OJS-"

Five minutes later, mum said she'd changed her mind.

Crowley placed the pot at the very edge of his desk, as though daring it to fall off. It smelled. Its delicate fronds stretching toward him like the arms of an errant child.

"Bastard," he muttered.

As with so many things, it was Aziraphale's fault. The angel had brought him the wretched thing with a look of abject dejection, sighing oh, you're so good with plants! Which was true, but not for the reasons Aziraphale thought.

The pot of ASDA branded dill weed seemed to stare at him. Crowley glared back.

Dammit. He would have to be nice to it.

Martin's face shone in the middle of the drab room, though that was probably just the poor lighting in the granny flat.

"How are you?" Arthur wondered if he should sit down. Maybe he'd look silly on screen if he did.

"I'm fine, good, good, good."

"Three goods! That's-"

"Brilliant?"

"Very nearly! Listen, I'm terrible at giving advice."

"Oh! I wouldn't say..."

"No, but I am. But what I was thinking was, you must miss everyone, living in Liechtenstein."

"Yes?"

"In a castle. With a princess."

"So..."

"You could talk to me. If you wanted!" He shivered.

"That's..."

"Yes?"

"Brilliant."

Widely recognized as the most dangerous of the non-imaginary numbers, the number 3 is highly restricted in usage except on the most primitive worlds, where they have yet to discover complex mathematics beyond first level combat trignonometry.

The tertiary branch of mathematics corps (TBMC) monitor the usage of the number 3 in all media, including this entry, which has been marked "safe" as of galactic date 00224APPLE.

Applications to the TBMC for usage of the number 3, must provide evidence of careful tri-proofing of all materials used in the project, as well as any printouts or hard copies of calculations.

"Now," Carolyn adjusted her screen until she was perfectly centered, then sat back. How did she look so regal and commanding in a Zoom meeting?

"...you must be wondering why I've gathered you all here?"

"No murders yet, Douglas. But don't test me. Now, about Arthur-"

"His YouTube videos?" Herc leaned forward.

"You're not going to ask him to stop?"

"Why would I, Martin? I've been wondering how to keep OJS relevant, and here's hours of advertising!"

"Above all, free advertising," Douglas muttered.

"Yes, well." Carolyn shrugged. "So, keep him going. Understood?"

Martin nodded. Finally, an excuse to call him.

"I think it's quite cozy." Aziraphale arranged the little eggs and chickens just-so in the window display. It looked like a deranged nativity scene.

"Not exactly historically accurate." Crowley peered at it.

"Of course not. That wasn't very... nice, was it?"

Crowley barked a laugh. "It's not supposed to be nice! I was there! So were you!"

"At least," Aziraphale huffed, "you got a good view."

"You're never letting that go, are you? They let women stand at the front; is it my fault I had a female body?"

But Aziraphale was already angrily rearranging the Agatha Christie shelf.