Note: This is an AU where Steve is just a normal soldier and Peggy is his wife and it all takes place in the 1940's.
This idea came to me because of a poem I had to analyze for an English project (Not to Keep by Robert Frost) and I just thought of Steve and Peggy since I will ship them till the end of time and it's a beautiful poem. I wrote this whole thing out by hand, twice; and it is now 1:30 in the morning when I'm typing it out while listening to my shattered iPod and the weird music on it.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or the poem this story was based off of.
Not to Keep:
Three sturdy knocks on the front door echo throughout the nearly empty house. Rushing across the creaking, waxy, wooden floor, trying her best not to slip and fall because of her pantyhose; she approaches the door and cranes her neck up to the peephole to peek through. Her tiptoes help her, since she avoids wearing heels to keep the silence and not add the constant clicking that would come with every step.
On the other side of the door, she sees an older, unknown, man in a military uniform with his chest pocket decorated with badges and medals. She backs away from the door, suddenly with a heavy, swelling heart that struggles to beat in her chest.
Her husband, Steve Rogers, is currently a soldier in the army who originally left home to fight for his country with an admirable pride and honour for his nation. He's a highly respected captain who often thought of smart tactics for the battlefield. Being the wife of a soldier, she heard from other wives that if a soldier who wasn't your husband was knocking on your door, it wasn't to share good news. Just because she wasn't ignorant of the opposite which she dreaded, didn't mean she wasn't prepared to hear it.
She takes a deep breath before opening the door, holding it down to prevent squeaky hinges. She doesn't dare to take a step outside. The soldier standing on her welcome mat removes his hat and gives her a courteous bow. She finds it ironic how a man dressed in camouflage is all she can see since the fabric was designed for blending in.
"Ms. Peggy Carter?" The soldier questions, solely for politeness. He already knows who she is.
Peggy nods her head slowly, keeping her hands firm on the door. The soldier opens his jacket and pulls out an envelope for her to take. She accepts it as the soldier puts his hat back on and leaves. Once she closes the door again, she takes a few soft steps into the house with her eyes fixated on the letter. Her slender fingers trace the edges of the envelope and her husband's name which is written across the front and centre.
Peggy doesn't hesitate to open the letter, even if it wasn't addressed to her. As her eyes scan the paper from left to right and top to bottom, her hands start trembling from the sudden icy feeling taking over her body; her ruby lips begin quivering, and a single tear streaks down her porcelain face.
"What is it, dear?" A soft, groggy voice asks from the near distance.
Peggy's eyes slowly move from the letter to the couch in the next room, which happened to be the living room. There lies her husband, Steve, wrapped from the neck down in a series of blankets and quilts. His arm drapes over the edge, nearing the coffee table that has a series of medications, pain killers, and a single glass of water on it. Peggy doesn't respond to his question because she's too busy staring into his crystal eyes. She couldn't believe what she just read in the letter. The army sent Steve back to her, but this letter says the opposite - she can't have him anymore. Before she could make sure there were no lies within the formal lines, she takes a few steps closer to verify that Steve was there - which he definitely was.
And he is alive. Living. Blinking. Breathing.
Alive.
They - the army - gave him back to her alive, didn't they? Well, they don't send back the dead or the disfigured in a standard envelope. But she doesn't understand.
"What is it, dear?" Steve asks her again, his eyes still looking into hers.
"Enough, yet not enough," Peggy replies, passing Steve the letter.
Steve tries to shift his position on the couch to try to sit up. Peggy winces as he grunts softly in pain, him not wanting her to hear his suffering even though she does. She holds her hands out to him in caution, telling him not to do that, but he waves her off as he manages to sit straight. His covers slide off the upper-half of his body, revealing a fresh bandage wrapped around his chest. Steve takes a sharp breath, covering up the burning pain scorching through his veins as his eyes begin to read the letter.
"According to them, a bullet high in the breast is enough to send you home, but not keep you here," Peggy says, watching her husband's expression sadden the deeper he gets into the letter. "They think that nothing but good care, medicine, and myself for only a week can cure you to go again."
Steve puts the letter down on his lap and gently puts one hand over the bandages that cover his wound. His other hand rubs his eyes as he looks at Peggy's melancholic expression.
Both of them would have to relive the grim goodbye with a following hopeful hello only being a wish; if he were to return to the battlefield. War doesn't affect only the soldier fighting the battle, but his family back home as well. They will have to live only hoping that their loved one will come home. It felt as if it was just yesterday when he saw the bright smile and many tears of joy on her face when he came home to her. Injured, but alive. He hated the pain, but he loved her best when she was nursing him back to health. If anything, it improved their relationship.
And now, Steve was being ordered to return to war. Will he go through it? He's a proud soldier with many medals on the pocket flap of his uniform who will do anything for his country. It isn't like him to refuse or decline an order, but is he willing to go back out there with both an injury and a worried wife? Would he even make it back home the second time around?
They were both given back to each other, but not to keep.
Peggy looks at him and uses her eyes to ask him what his decision is. Steve looks back at her and with his eyes, he asks her not to ask.
I am proud of this one-shot. So proud. It's sad, but I'm still very proud of myself. I want to thank you all for reading it and let you know that I am up for story ideas. Check out my other stories if you are interested!
~ MysteryGal5