I look up at the clock: he should be here any minute. I look down at my dress, smoothing the burgundy fabric over my lap and, taking a sip of my wine. I try to sit like the lady my mother always wanted me to be. It didn't take as much thought to do so tonight. I was so nervous and wanted everything to be perfect. After setting my glass back down on the table in front of me, I check the clock for the tenth time since I arrived at the Stork Club.
It was 8 o'clock on the dot.
I look around expectantly for only a moment, watching for when he walks through the door. Then I look down at my glass and take another sip, trying to be patient. After all, he did have a tendency to be late.
Less than a minute has passed and I raise my head to look up at the clock on the wall again. Instead I am greeted by the handsome face of Steve Rogers, his smile and stance still slightly awkward. He was dressed in his formal uniform with his hair kempt and shoes well shined. Our eyes meet, his smile grows and I feel a smile just as big sneak its way onto my face.
"Steve, you came." I say, rising from my chair. I walk around to the other side of the table I had been sitting at and take a couple of steps towards him.
"I know you said 8 o'clock on the dot, but in my defense I walked in the door at 8. It just took me a minute to find you." He says closing the gap between us. He pulls me in for a hug and, upon my release, I kiss him. After a moment of surprise, he slowly moves his hands to my hips and I move mine to around his neck, enjoying the sensation. He is a surprisingly sensational kisser considering he has little to no experience in the matter.
"Are you ready for our dance?" I ask quietly.
"You know I still don't know how." He says sheepishly.
"Like I said when I asked you here: I'll show you how."
I lead him towards the dance floor where couples were dancing to a fairly slow song that I believe should be good to start with. I guide his hand to my waist and hold the other in mine. Once I place my other hand on his shoulder, I begin to slowly move side to side in time with the music.
"Let's just start by taking some small steps to the beat of the song." I say softly. He begins to move his feet with mine and immediately starts to look down at them to be sure not to step on my toes. At that moment I didn't see Captain America, I saw Steven Rogers: the scrawny asthmatic that joined the army and had the courage to throw himself around a grenade and the brains to tip over the flag pole to retrieve the flag itself...the man I fell in love with. I take my hand off of his shoulder momentarily and use it to lift his chin, smiling sweetly when our eyes meet. "Look at me, not your feet. Don't worry about stepping on my toes."
He smiles and we continue dancing. We dance for a few hours doing waltzes, swing, and just the original swaying that we had started with. Once he got the basics, he did surprisingly well! In the end, he only stepped on my toes twice and that was when I had started to try to teach him swing and he was still nervous.
After all of the dancing, we sat down at a small booth in a corner for a rest. He looked at me with the same goofy grin on his face that he did when I kissed him for the first time. "I'm glad I waited to dance with you. You were definitely the right partner." He says. I grin and lean in to kiss him again.
I sit up in bed, gasping, my eyes wide open and I see the clock on my bedside table: 4:27am.
That's when the realization hit and my moment of joyful bliss was ruined. It was all a dream. We never went dancing…we couldn't have. Steve is dead. He crashed Schmidt's plane in the middle of nowhere. He's not coming back.
How could this have happened? He was supposed to be able to withstand almost anything. He was smart, fast, agile, strong, and was constantly in a state of healing. He couldn't even get drunk! He took down HYDRA's bases one by one and barely even broke a sweat doing it. How could he have just…
Why did he have to do that? Why couldn't he have let me help? There had to be another solution. If he had told me where he was, I could have found him a safe place to land. I could have sent Howard to look for him, at least. As it is, Howard has no idea where to look for Steve.
How could God have let this happen? Why did Steve have to die? I loved him. He was the first man I had loved since my fiancé died. What was the point in letting me fall in love with him if He was just going to take him away from me?
Maybe I'm just not meant to love anyone. Every man I have loved has ended up dead: my brother Michael, my fiancé Fred, and now Steve. This war has taken everything from me. How can I even keep going with my life if things like this are going to happen? I may as well go to the front lines myself and hope I get shot.
But that's not what Steve would have wanted me to do, is it? He would have told me-he did tell me-it was his choice. He would have wanted me to keep going…for him. Make sure that we won the war and the big bullies of the world were taken down. That is, after all, what he wanted to do when he first joined the army.
Memories of his actions, his voice - anything and everything - start to run through my mind.
"Is this a test?"
"You have no idea how to talk to a woman, do you?" "I think this is the longest conversation I've had with one. Women aren't exactly lining up to dance with a guy they might step on."
"What are you waiting for?" "The right partner."
"You told me you thought I was meant for more than this. Did you mean that?" "Every word."
"You're late."
Tears begin to stream down my cheeks as pieces of our last conversation begin to play in my mind for probably the thousandth time:
"I've gotta put her in the water."
"Please don't do this. We have time. We can work it out."
"Peggy this is my choice." "I'm gonna need a rain check on that dance."
"Alright. A week, next Saturday at the Stork Club. 8 o'clock on the dot. Don't you dare be late."
"You know I still don't know how to dance."
"I'll show you how. Just be there."
"Well, have the band play something slow. I'd hate to step on your-"
I put my face in my hands and sob, wishing the dream that I've had multiple times since that day, had been real. Through sobs, I whisper "He would have been the perfect partner."
A/N: This was an idea that came to mind that I know is a sensitive subject. I lost my father almost a year ago and so I used that to try to get into Peggy's head after Steve crashed the plane. I know this was a cruel one shot, but I hope you liked it and please send me a review. I'd love to hear what you thought.