A/N: Writer's block, man. It's deadly. Anyway, thought I'd try my old OTP for once. I'm not giving up on you, Hamiltrash, but I'm exploring other fandoms. Sorry I like dead people fanfics. I keep writing them for some reason. Ask I don't know what the title is. It just seemed fitting, I guess? Steve and Peggy belong to Marvel.

"Steve?" Peggy's voice echoes off unseen walls as she's standing in a blank white space. She's at her prime: thick dark curls and her favorite red dress from 1944. Yet she could have sworn that she was an old and wrinkly hag just a few seconds ago. Though it had been years—decades, in fact, since she had seen Steve while she still looked like this, for a second she could have sworn that she heard her old lover's voice.

"God, I must be losing it," Peggy muttered, the very fact that she was talking to herself not helping her case. She was about to begin exploring this strange limbo when a warm hand was placed on her shoulder. Instinctively, she grabbed hold of said hand and twisted the intruder's wrist. More than 50 years of inactivity had not dulled her abilities in the slightest.

She heard a grunt of pain and a thud indicating a fall before Peggy spun around, hand starting to reach for her gun before remembering that she didn't have it anymore. Not since the '50s at the very least. Weaponless but not defenseless, she turned to face her opposition anyway, a veteran fist ready to deliver punishing blows, but her fighting stance immediately dropped when she saw who it was.

Steve Rogers was nursing his twisted wrist, wearing his old army uniform. Not his Captain America suit, mind you, but the lovely army green suit and matching gold tie that had only enhanced her appreciation for him.

He looked up at her, a tinge of surprise still evident in his eyes. He didn't know he would end up here as well.

"You still pack quite a punch, Carter," he grinned, accepting her hand as she helps him get back on his feet. Though his hand was nearly twice as large as her own, it was surprisingly soft—comforting.

"Where did you come from Steve?" She asked, ignoring his question and the game they used to play: they referred to each other by their surnames only to hide their true feelings for one another during the war, in a vain attempt at unfamiliarity.

"I should be long dead by now," Peggy continued, beginning to pace around the bulky man standing in her way. "It's not possible for both of us to be this young and alive. Together." She said the last word while nearly holding back a sob.

Most had assumed that Cap's best girl had gotten over his death quickly. In reality, she just learned to bottle up her emotions. Of course she continued to live her life. She had gotten married, had children, the whole damn thing. But seeing him again, like this. Seeing herself like this—it was heartbreaking.

Steve immediately furrowed his brow. He didn't enjoy seeing Peggy distressed, because she was "the calm one" so to speak in every situation. If she broke down, then he knew that things were definitely bleak.

"Hey," he said gently, cupping her face with his hands. She wasn't crying, and to most, would appear perfectly fine, but he knew her better than that. "It's okay. We'll get through this together." Like we always have, he nearly added, but held his tongue. He had abandoned her for nearly seventy years; he had no right.

Peggy looked up, her brown eyes wide with emotion. Exposed, Steve realized, trying to remember the last time he had seen her like this. When I visited her after emerging from the ice, he finally decided. She was helpless, like she is now.

"But Steve," she said, as if nothing had happened. "You don't even know where we are, do you?" Peggy had to admit she was currently quite frail emotionally, but that didn't mean she had to lose all her dignity.

Steve sighed, assessing the situation. "Honestly? My best guess is that we're dead. You died before me. Technically," he said, wincing all the same. "God or whoever or whatever is out there brought us together in this-this thing." He gestured around him.

Peggy perked up. "We're dead, are we?" She asked coquettishly, gravitating towards him. Steve began to pick up on what she was planning. He took her hand.

"Well then," she said, leaning her head against his chest and looking up at him. "Why don't we have that dance? You are about—oh, it's probably around a hundred years by now—late." She finished, raising her eyes teasingly at him.

Steve smiled back. "Absolutely. I can't leave my best girl waiting any longer. And besides," he stepped back and gestured at their clothes. "Fate seems to want us to." He brushed his lips against her hand. "May I?"

She rolled her eyes. "Ever the gentleman. Even in death, I suppose," she added as an afterthought.

Peggy placed her hands around his neck. He clasped his on her hips. They began to move, each picturing a different tune in their minds, yet somehow managing to stay perfectly in sync with the other. It was silent. There was no need for talking. Words couldn't convey what needed to be said. They felt it, instead, whether through the company they possessed, or the solidarity of knowing that the other was right beside them, so close after being apart for so long.

Peggy had closed her eyes, leaning against Steve's chest as they waltzed through nothingness. On the other hand, he had kept his eyes wide open, relishing in her perfect brown curls and her warmth. He was so absorbed by her that he didn't notice the scenery change.

Slowly yet steadily, the blank walls darkened, resembling a cheap patterned wallpaper. Captain America tour date posters appeared out of thin air. The floors melted into worn wood planks, stepped on by hundreds of dancers. The air lost its coolness, heat drifting through and cigarette smoke wafted into the ever more evident bar. Finally, the laughter poured in, intermingled with dozens of voices.

Steve lifted his head and gasped. "Peggy," he said urgently, gently pushing her away from him. "Look."

The dingy bar had people in it now too. Rows of seats were filled up with drunken soldiers, lamely attempting to buy drinks for the many flirtatious young woman wandering about. Standing among the crowd were a familiar gaggle of men.

"Cap!" Dum Dum Dugan called brightly, stumbling over to them. "'Bout time you showed up! And you managed to score lovely Miss Carter. Good one fella," he patted Steve on the back then disappeared back to the bar, where a charismatic young solider was passionately kissing a giggly blonde.

Still dazed, Steve managed to call, "Bucky?"

The sergeant pulled away, wiping lipstick from his lips as he spoke. Both arms were still whole, and he still had short brown hair. "Cap! I would be annoyed at you for interrupting this," he pointed at his companion, who giggled in reply, "but you have Carter hanging on your arm! Nice! I knew you could do it." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively at her. "She's a keeper, Stevie."

Steve turned towards Peggy. "How—Bucky's not the Winter Soldier? He-he's still Bucky," he managed to splutter. Then he stuck his pointer finger at Dugan. "And Dum Dum—look there's Dernier, and Morita, and Falsworth—how is this possible?" He demanded.

Peggy was just as she'll-shocked as he was. "I suppose we're all dead then. This is our afterlife."

Steve grabbed Bucky by the arm before he could return to his lady-friend. "Buck, are we dead? I mean, are we gone?"

Bucky's jubilant face dampened somewhat. "Yes. It's over. But on the bright side," he gestured to the rest of the bar. "We can laugh with the Commandos for the rest of eternity. Now if you'll excuse me, I have someone to do—I mean something to do," he added, continuing on his way.

Steve looked at Peggy. "This is it, huh?"

Though being dead now seemed far more appealing than living, what with his all his friends finally together again, he wasn't quite ready to let go of the life he had built.

"Apparently," Peggy smiled sadly. "But," she forged onwards. "What better way to start the rest of "eternity" as Sergeant Barnes called it, then do what we've been avoiding this whole time?"

Steve looked down at her, puzzled. "What do you mean? Have I been hiding something? I probably have, even though I can't remember what I did. You hate me, don't you?" He rambled, as his old self, the person Peggy had fallen in love with first, reappearing.

Peggy grabbed him by the collar, bringing him down to her height. She's going to kill me, I just know it, Steve thought, a trace of terror coursing through his veins. Before he could say anything in his defense though, Peggy firmly planted her lips against his own.

Steve widened his eyes in surprise, but didn't argue, immediately scrambling to return the action. Some time later, they pulled apart, Steve covered with red lipstick.

"Oh," Steve started, to break the silence. "That's what you meant."

"Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

"Yes ma'm."

He didn't need any further coaxing, and leaned towards Peggy again, eyes closed this time, as the bar around them erupted with sound, though they doubted it was because of them.

Across the room from the couple, Dum Dum sat next to Howard Stark, one sipping whiskey, another, scotch.

"Pay up," said Dum Dum, stretching an open palm across the table.

Howard sighed, then placed a twenty dollar bill in his hand. "Fine, you win. But I thought for sure Cap would be too shy to initiate anything."

"Please," Dum Dum said dismissively, shaking his head. "Even though he's terrified of Carter, as he should be, that boy always comes back for more."

A/N: Sorry Bucky got all sexual inneuendoy and began to sound like Howard. It's weird.