A/N: Recently, Hayley Atwell said that she thought Peggy and Steve's dance happened. I think they've met up in the 21st century, there's a huge age difference obviously but I think it happened. Also sadly towards the end of Peggy's life, because she's very old, because she's got Alzheimer's and dementia she forgets. So she forgets that they had their dance, so every time Steve sees her they've got to dance again. She's reliving that first dance every time she sees him."
Well, if that isn't feels I don't know what is. So here's a one-shot.
"Steve!" Hands out, eyes bright. She's delighted to see him. "You're alive!"
Afterwards, they dance.
This is the last time, he tells himself. The last time, and the first. It would be so much easier to forget, if he could. To live the moment with her, endlessly. If only the world had not turned too many times—
They dance. She's small, frail, but alive in his arms, and if he closes his eyes—
On and on the record player goes. "I promised I'd teach you," Peggy says. "I promised you, Steve."
"You did." He smiles. She smiles. It's another kind of dance, skirting around the questions he won't ask, for fear she won't be able to answer.
The song fades to silence. His heart-rate quickens, pounding in his ears.
"Oh, I have missed you," Peggy says, tissue-paper hands smoothing back her hair. "It's been so long, and it's so good, for you to be here…here for all of us…"
He doesn't breathe. He knows he shouldn't let himself hope, but he can't help it. This clarity, this earnest tone—it's so much like the Peggy he remembers.
But then there's a pause, a brief entr'acte of silence, and Peggy's eyes go dim before they brighten.
"Steve," she breathes, stretching out her hands. "You're alive!"
And his heart breaks all over again.