Author's notes: I know this isn't how Peggy died in Civil War, but I wrote the story before watching the movie, because the future Steve couldn't have with Peggy always breaks my heart. I apologise for any discrepancies and do leave a review if you've enjoyed it!
As Captain America, Steve Rogers has fought countless battles and suffered countless injuries. But this, this pain, that twists and stabs at his gut, is almost too much for him to handle.
"You came back!"
"… Of course, I couldn't leave my best girl behind, could I?"
"Where ya going, Cap?"
Steve stiffens when he hears Tony's obnoxious voice behind him. It's ten in the morning, the rest of the Avengers are busy, and his original intention is to visit Peggy without anyone noticing. He's tired of the anxious pity in their eyes (Save Nat, who always has that cryptic look in her eyes that makes him think she's trying to set him up with someone else again) when he announces he'll be going out for a while, because everyone knows 'out' means a visit to an old flame who can barely remember his existence for more than a day.
"Out."
"Again?" Tony has never been one to mince his words, and the skeptic tone in his voice makes Steve feel unusually defensive.
"Yes." He stalks out of the tower, ready to abandon the conversation. But he hears more footsteps and he whirls around to see the self-proclaimed philanthropist (and playboy) following after him.
They walk in silence for a while, Steve tugging his blue cap down a little more when he notices stares starting to linger on them. Tony is being uncharacteristically quiet, and Steve knows that he's thinking of Pepper instead – Pepper lying in the stiff white bed, her hair silvery-grey, her face lined with wrinkles, her eyes calm and old and filled with experiences and memories that she's built and spent without him–
He walks faster and hopes his thoughts can't keep up with him.
"How many times has she first met you?" Tony mumbles, trying to phrase his words sensitively. Steve stays quiet, and Tony thinks he's never going to answer, until he whispers "thirty-three."
Both of them don't discuss why Steve is keeping count, and how it's thirty-three even though he's only met Peggy fifteen times.
Today, it seems a little better. They talk about the old days, even though Peggy can't quite remember most of the details, and they laugh only a little bit sadly as they discuss the Howling Commandos.
"Dugan always gave me a hard time," Peggy says, with wist in her voice that reminds Steve of days spent fighting Hydra with the Howling Commandos instead of the Avengers, "Forgetting secret passwords, coming up with silly nicknames, being late for meetings – but he was a good man, still," her smile softens in that gentle manner that always tugs his heartstrings.
"All of them were good men," Steve agrees, and as he thinks of his past comrades – some fallen in battle after the war, some from old age – some part of him thinks of Bucky.
"You're doing that again," Peggy murmurs, her words laced with the unmistakable croak of old age. "Thinking of the past,"
Steve laughs to cover up the brittle smile he is sure Peggy will see through. "I can't help it. I miss it."
"I miss it too," Peggy is saying, "But we've all led good lives. It's your turn to do so. Don't be trapped by the past, Steve, you have a second chance now – to live a life you couldn't lead because of Hydra."
Steve smiles, even if it is bittersweet. He thinks of how Peggy is probably the only person in the world who can coax a genuine smile from him so effortlessly and is about to say as much when Peggy breaks into a coughing fit.
"Peggy–" He starts to say, reaching out to grab a glass of water for her. He's about to place it into her trembling hands when she stops moving. Steve looks up, looks at Peggy, and she's staring at him with wide-eyed surprise.
"S– Steve?" She whispers, like she's talking to stranger, and as recognition sets in slowly for the fortieth time, all Steve can think of is when he'll be numb to all this.
"Steve, what are you doing?" Peggy's staring in confusion when Steve brings out a wheelchair, gripping an old radio in his right arm.
"Bringing you out," he grins boyishly, and Peggy rolls her eyes. "C'mon, I even got permission from the nurses."
After a little stumbling – she stoutly refuses to be carried even though they both know Steve is strong enough to hoist her up – and a great deal of laughing, Peggy is settled comfortably on the wheelchair and Steve brings her to the quiet garden behind the building
"Can you stand?" He asks, lips quirking like he's issuing a challenge. Peggy grins at him with a shake of her head, answering that she'll try. She avoids walking now now that her legs tire so easily; but she still manages to stand slowly –her legs trembling under the frail weight of her body. Steve grips her shoulders gently before she falls.
"What's the plan, Captain?" Peggy asks jokingly, and Steve laughs even though it makes him think of how she could have said the same words under very different circumstances years ago.
"Now, we dance."
"You can't give me orders," Peggy snarks. But that doesn't stop her from extending her hand slowly. Steve smiles.
"The hell I can't. I'm a Captain."
They sway slowly against the beat of music that's considered ancient now, but which Steve recalls like comforting lullabies. He closes his eyes and pretends it's seventy years ago, that the war has ended, and that he has a future with Peggy to look forward to.
(Of course, even with Peggy in his arms, old music playing and his eyes closed, he can't make himself believe it.)
They're in the middle of their conversation when Peggy starts coughing. Steve braces himself instinctively
"Steve?" Her voice is filled with wonder, and even after so many times, the sheer relief and happiness on her face always manages to offset him. "You came b– back…"
Then Peggy stops talking, and Steve knows something is wrong because she never nods off at this part, and alarm bells are ringing in his head and he's shaking her gently to get her to wake but her body is so, so cold. Then he's shouting – softly at first, in case she's sleeping – then louder and louder, shouting for help.
The nurses and caretakers pour in with the complicated sterile equipment that Steve can never make sense of. And every one of them looks horrified and tired and there's more shouting and he wants so, so badly to help but he doesn't understand anything that they're saying–
Then one doctor with a clipboard clapped in his pasty white knuckles shakes her head, and one by one, they all stop moving. And all Steve can think of is that now is when the numbness sets in.
He goes to the funeral, and half of S.H.I..E.L.D is there, sending respects to their founder, who passed away at ninety-five. It lasts for hours and hours and when it's his time to make a speech, his mind is blank and he doesn't know what he's supposed to say even though he's practiced his lines at least twenty times. He's never made it to the end, of course, because by then the pressure building behind his eyelids becomes a little bit too much to handle.
"I knew Peggy Carter when I first enrolled in the United States Army," Steve pauses, trying to decide what to say next, and finally amends, "Or maybe it was my sixteenth enrollment." The audience laughs, like they're supposed to, but it dies out soon enough and they fall into an awkward silence.
"Peggy Carter was brave."
He can remember her dark hair dancing in the wind as she fought enemy after enemy, unyielding and fierce even as bullets whispered in her ears.
"She was strong,"
He can remember how he cracked a delighted smile when she punched Gilmore Hodge straight in the face without breaking a sweat.
"She was…" So many things, he thinks. Beautiful. Loyal. Grounded. Dignified. The words blur together and burns his throat.
"She was my best girl." And now she's gone. And the pressure pricking his eyelids becomes stronger and stronger until it claws at his throat and robs Steve of his breath.
"And today is the day I finally say goodbye to her."