A/N: This was written for tumblr user sneaky-u as a part of the Steggy Secret Santa exchange!
Warnings for: mild discussion of canon-typical past violence.
Peggy enjoys away missions in a way that is probably a bit unhealthy, but a whole month is far too long for anyone to be away from home. It is with a solid amount of relief that she heads up to her office after her debrief to play catch-up.
Being the perceptive person that she is, she notices the stares from her fellow agents almost immediately. They've all seen plenty of injuries before, so it's definitely not because of the bandage on her left cheek and her slight limp. Something has changed in the month that she's been gone, and she isn't sure what, but she knows where to go to find out.
The walk down to Research and Development is a mercifully short one; Peggy's strained hamstring starts protesting if she does too much moving. She finds Howard in the lab, fiddling with a large machine that keeps pinging loudly.
"Howard," she says, and when he doesn't respond, she repeats, "Howard."
He glances up, and says, "Hey, Carter."
"We need to talk."
"Sure thing," Howard says distantly, as he reaches for a nearby wrench. Peggy clears her throat loudly, and that seems to get his attention a bit more fully, although he still won't meet her eyes. "Talk about what?"
"About the fact that all everyone seems to be able to do today is stare at me and whisper," Peggy says. She's a spy and a graduate of an all-girls secondary school; she knows when people are keeping secrets.
That piques Howard's interest. "Has anyone said anything to you directly?" he asks, as the machine on the table lets out a buzzing noise.
"No," Peggy replies, ignoring Howard's contraption. "That's why I came here. I'm counting on you to be direct."
Howard sighs and rises from his seated position, his expression far too serious for comfort. "It was supposed to be the colonel who told you," Howard says, "but he -,"
"Was called away on family business, yes, I know," Peggy interjects. "For Christ's sakes, Howard, spit it out."
"We found the Valkyrie while you were gone, Peggy," Howard says. "We found Steve."
It's been nearly two years, but Peggy's heart still feels like it's been dipped in liquid nitrogen at the mention of his name. She takes a breath, and then says, "Alright. Well, I don't appreciate all the fuss."
It's not like she hasn't been expecting this, after all. She's been waiting for this moment for far too long. The other shoe had to drop eventually, and now it has, simple as that.
"The thing is - he's alive, Peggy," Howard says. He makes a face then that suggests he's bracing for impact.
Peggy stares at him for a moment, stunned and then outraged. "This is some joke, Howard -,"
"It's not a joke, I swear," Howard blurts, grabbing Peggy loosely by the shoulders to keep her from storming away. "He was frozen solid - a goddamn ice block, I'm serious. And then he thawed, and he started breathing again, just like that."
Peggy gawks at him. Part of her wants to knock his block off just for telling her this cockamamie story - but still, she knows Howard, and for all his eccentricities, he would never joke about something like this.
Peggy finally swallows past the lump in her throat and says, "Take me to him, then."
On the way to the medical bay, Howard fills in as many gaps as he can. The plane, along with Steve's body, had been discovered two weeks after Peggy's departure for Europe. While being transported, Steve had begun to breathe again. After being thawed, he'd been sedated for a period of time to let his bodily functions readjust to a normal environment. Peggy had not received word of any of this to avoid "compromising" her mission.
She feigns annoyance when Howard tells her that, but really, she doesn't blame them for not calling with the news. Peggy's work is equal parts delicate subterfuge and violent confrontations; finding out about Steve could have destroyed her focus and put the entire operation in jeopardy. She's shaken up enough as it is.
Predictably, Steve is not in the main infirmary. He's in a private room that requires proof of identification and a password to even get close to; the code is "1776", which is actually less ham-handed than Peggy had expected. Howard leads her down a hallway and finally stops at a door marked Observation.
"Are you ready?" he asks, with uncharacteristic care, and Peggy nods as briskly as she can manage.
The observation room is small and dark, illuminated mostly by light coming in through the pane of glass on the opposite wall. Peggy doesn't have time to feel indignant on Steve's behalf at the idea of being watched like this; every thought in her head goes quiet at the sight of him. He's lying on his side on a cot that is nearly too small for him, his eyes closed and his brow furrowed. For a moment it seems as if he's asleep, but just like that his eyes open and he rolls over onto his back, his expression frustrated.
"He woke up yesterday," Howard says, his voice hushed and thick with emotion. Peggy empathizes. "Hasn't slept since then, according to the staff."
"I can't imagine why that is," Peggy says dryly, even as she reaches up to wipe tears from her cheeks.
She expects Howard to crack a joke - such is his way - but he just looks at her, his dark eyes serious. "He doesn't know, by the way," Howard says.
"Know what?"
"How long it's been since he went under," Howard replies. He at least has the decency to sound ashamed. "He doesn't remember anything, has no concept of how much time has passed. With you and the colonel gone, it was my decision to tell him, and I - I figured he'd take it best if he heard it from someone he really trusts. With Barnes gone, that's you, Peg."
Peggy wants to lay into Howard about being so cowardly, but perhaps now is not the time. "I'll tell him," she decides. "But I would appreciate some privacy."
Howard nods, and beckons towards the one other person in the room - an agent, garbed as a nurse, who's been discreetly eavesdropping for the past five minutes. They step out into the hallway, and then Peggy sucks in a deep breath and enters Steve's room alone.
Steve doesn't glance at her at first, no doubt expecting her to be a doctor or nurse. When she doesn't announce herself, however, he looks over at her with a raised eyebrow. Their eyes meet, and Peggy isn't sure whether to laugh or cry, so she does both.
After a second of stunned silence, Steve cracks a smile and sits upright, looking awfully healthy for someone only recently defrosted. "Peggy," he says, and it's him, it's really him. Peggy had imagined before walking in that she'd be very calm and professional about this, but instead she finds herself at his bedside in a matter of seconds, her face pressed against warm cotton as she clutches at him.
He's saying something, but she can't hear him over the sound of her own sniffles. She feels like an absolute mess but, well, she's always been a fool for Steve Rogers.
Never one for an excess of theatrics, Peggy gets a grip on herself shortly and pulls away, her eyes fixed on Steve's face, drinking in the sight of him. Nearly two years, Peggy muses, and it feels like an eternity and a moment all at once.
Steve's brow furrows slightly. "What happened to your face?" he asks, reaching out as if to touch her cheek before hesitating. Their moment of closeness has passed; for Steve, of course, their only kiss must feel days old, a change in their relationship that is still fresh and new for him. He had always been the shy one, after all. As for Peggy, she is acutely aware that someone might step back into the observation room at any given moment.
"Occupational hazard," Peggy says, and is pleased to note how steady her voice sounds. "A gentleman knocked me into a window frame."
That's putting it lightly - she'd been slammed up against a wall by a man nearly twice her size and, as she'd struggled to free herself, had hit the window frame, scraping her cheek. Steve doesn't need to know the grisly details. Not yet, at least.
"Oh," Steve says, nodding. Steve has always been one of the few men in the world that views her as more than a porcelain doll, ready to crack in two at the first good hit. "And the limp?"
He's far more perceptive that anyone gives him credit for - including Peggy, sometimes. "I pulled a muscle running after said gentleman," Peggy says. She hadn't been wearing the best shoes for a chase, unfortunately, but duty calls no matter the footwear. "But I'm alright, really. How are you feeling?"
"Fine," Steve replies. Peggy suspects that he could have been bleeding to death right in front of her and he'd still say that.
There's a lull in the conversation - Peggy can't stop staring at him for long enough to talk - until Steve inquires randomly, "Did you change your lipstick?"
Of all the things that have changed about her in the past two years, Steve goes for that first. Peggy doesn't have the heart to tell him that the shade she'd favored during the war has since been discontinued. "Your hair's longer, too," Steve adds, when Peggy doesn't comment. He's looking at her rather expectantly.
Realization dawns on Peggy. "You already know, don't you?"
Steve gives her a wry smile. "Despite my recent situation, I'm not a complete blockhead."
"It's just that Howard said -,"
"Howard's here?" Steve says, clueless.
Peggy sighs. She'll deal with Howard later. "Never mind him," she says. "How did you find out?"
Steve shifts slightly, reaching for something on the table next to his bed. When he holds it up, Peggy can see that it's a dogeared newspaper. "I asked for this," he says. "The nurse forgot to dust it off before she brought it to me. So I know everyone's been lying to me about how long I was out for."
"Next March makes it two years," Peggy says quietly. No matter what anyone else thinks, it's best to just get this part out of the way.
Steve ruminates on that for a moment, looking slightly stunned. In the meantime, Peggy helps herself to a seat in the chair next to his bed, feeling altogether more collected now that she's not hovering over Steve. "What's the date?" Steve asks in a low voice.
"December 20th, 1946."
Steve nods. "Well," he says finally, "what did I miss?"
Despite herself, and despite her roiling emotions, Peggy smiles. That's the Steve she'd lost. In the most dire or confusing situations, he may need a bit of a hand, but he always soldiers on. It's one of the many reasons she loves him. Indeed, her feelings for Steve are one of the few things that haven't yet moved into the past tense.
"That conversation may take awhile, dear," she says. "Besides, I've got work to do - namely, seeing when you'll be free to go."
Steve smiles wryly. "That'd be swell. I hate hospitals. And I know I'm being studied."
Of course he does. "Perhaps I can have you sorted by Christmas," Peggy continues briskly. "Although I won't expect a gift, don't worry."
After all, despite the lack of paper and bows, she's already gotten the best present of all.