So, I had a rather silly little idea which then grew… and grew… and then grew some more. I hope you enjoy!

Summary: One night was all it took for Captain Steven Rogers to fall hopelessly and irrevocably in love with Agent Peggy Carter. Not that he knew that at the time, of course. Steve/Peggy. Set during CA:TFA.

It Happened One Night

London, 1943

The red-brick, square building with its gothic faade overlaying the sixth and sevenths floors was, to put it mildly, an eyesore. Affordable, somewhat comfortable and within walking distance of the War Office and Churchill's bunker (not that many people knew that little secret, of course), Miss Agatha's Boarding House for Ladies had been commandeered by the British government for the use of their female staff. A lobby and dining hall covered the ground floor whilst the first and second floor held dorms for twenty to thirty women. Women of higher ranks (or who were able to sweet-talk a man with authority) slept in smaller bedrooms on floors three to seven, with one other boarding mate and a shared bathroom on each stretch of corridor.

Agent Peggy Carter of the SSR drew her hand across the foggy mirror of the fourth-floor bathroom. She looked critically at the face staring back at her. Purple bruises marred the delicate skin beneath both eyes and she was fairly certain she had gained a wrinkle or two since being on the front.

It had been an exhausting few days. London was, as ever, a soothing balm compared to the dreary battlefields of Europe but it also had its flaws. Within Colonel Phillips' unit, there was always a certain level of respect (even if grudgingly afforded from some of the gentlemen) whereas in London she often found herself side-lined by those who didn't know her well. To them, she was just another feminine face ready to pour tea and file reports.

Just yesterday, she, Colonel Phillips and Captain Rogers had been personally introduced to Deputy Prime Minister Clement Atlee by Howard Stark – a personal friend, if you'd believe it – only for the Deputy PM's eyes to literally slide over her even as Howard said her name. A brief 'mm-hmm' had passed Atlee's lips before he positively gushed over Phillips and Rogers. All right, perhaps gushed was an overstatement but it certainly was more than she had bloody got.

Still, there were some perks…

Peggy turned away from the mirror and de-robed, letting the satin puddle to the floor as she moved towards the deeply-filled, claw-footed bath tub. Stepping in, she sank into its watery depths with a groan of satisfaction. Peggy tipped her head backwards and closed her eyes, allowing the steamy water to slowly un-bunch her aching muscles.

She would never take being truly clean for granted again. She, like her other soldiers, had returned to London with a lovely coating of grime that had come from travelling the length and breadth of Europe. Something that not even her signature red lipstick could distract from. Therefore, every night this week she had indulged in enjoying a luxuriating bath, knowing that these moments were running on borrowed time before they were shipped out again.

Knock, knock.

"Peg, y'in there?" came the soft, Birmingham burr of her boarding mate, Kitty.

"Yes, I'm here."

"I'm off out dancing. Er…" she lowered her voice but Peggy could hear the grin in it. "Don't wait up, if y'catch m'drift."

Peggy let out a huff of a laugh, rolled her eyes good-naturedly and sank back down into the water. "I won't, don't worry."

"Oh, by the way, y'had a call a minute ago. Miss Agatha said some fella was downstairs asking for you. She didn't seem best pleased."

"Well she wouldn't be, would she? I don't think she can stand the sight of a man, let alone bear one stepping into her establishment." Kitty chuckled appreciatively from the other side of the door. Peggy sighed. "Did he leave a message?"

"Nowt that she let on."

"All right; I'm sure if it was anything important then they'll catch up with me later."

"See ya, Peg."

"Goodnight, Kitty. Enjoy yourself."

"Oh, I will," she replied cheekily.

Peggy laughed again, hearing Kitty's heels clicking as she retreated down the corridor. Her laugh became a sigh; she would likely get an earful from Miss Agatha when their paths next crossed. The aged owner of the Boarding House had a strict no men policy to "protect the sacred virtue of the ladies in my care" – although Peggy had heard rumours that Miss Agatha had lost her virtue at the expense of her heart many moons ago, resulting in an almost feral dislike of men.

Although… Peggy couldn't wholeheartedly say that Miss Agatha was missing the point about men. One man in particular.

Peggy had lost countless hours of sleep over the last few nights, unable to switch off as her mind replayed the moment she had stumbled across Captain Rogers locked in a rather steamy embrace with Lorraine, Colonel Phillips' secretary. A few scathing remarks had helped ease her bruised ego, shooting at him had helped even more, but this satisfaction had quickly faded. Steve had left her feeling things she hadn't quite expected.

Vulnerable.

Hurt.

And, oh all right, yes, just a tad jealous.

What woman, or man even, wouldn't be feeling these things when they found the person they had come to develop feelings for wrapped around, what can only be described as, a blonde bombshell?

Despite the steam that continued to rise steadily from the water, Peggy found she had suddenly gone cold. She shifted, trying to relax but found that she couldn't close her eyes without seeing Steve's hand on Lorraine's waist.

"So much for my lovely bath," she muttered bitterly to herself.

Peggy picked up the sliver of hard soap and swiftly used it to wash herself as thoroughly as possible, scrubbing perhaps a little excessively in her frustration. When her skin was pink and tingling, she hauled herself out of the bath with much less grace than she had had when sinking into it.

Peggy grabbed her towel from the hook on the back of the door and wrapped it around herself, roughly patting her body dry before stepping back into her black nightgown and matching peignoir with the pink trim. She quickly finger-combed her hair and, mind too preoccupied to even attempt to roll it into curls, deftly plaited the dark locks before tying off the end with a small length of ribbon.

Towel draped over her arm, Peggy released the plug in the bath and padded, barefoot back to her room.

The room was dark except for the moonlight spilling through the still-open curtains, the leaves of the elm outside patterning the carpet in shadow. Peggy didn't dare reach for the light switch yet – the last thing she needed was a visit from an ARP warden berating her for turning the lights on during the blackout. Peggy and Kitty's room, like all the others on the third to seventh floors, consisted of two cast-iron, single beds and wooden wardrobes that stood opposite each other, pressed against the walls; a bedside table and lamp each and, in the top drawer of the bedside table, a wholesome Christian bible with scraps of paper sticking out from the pages that advocated female virtuosity. The room would have been soulless had the two women not made it their own with personal belongings and small luxuries. There did, however, appear to be a definitive line down the middle which separated their spaces as though they were two sisters forced into sharing a room with each other. Peggy's side was neat as a pin, with everything in its place and all corners of the bed tucked in. She had added a pink blanket to the bed for comfort and a photograph of her family stood proudly on the bedside table. Kitty, who had spent much longer in London than Peggy and would continue to be here after Peggy returned to Europe, was endearingly chaotic and her side of the room showed this well. Her bed was mussed up, the top drawer of her bedside table open and spilling out her undergarments; clothes and shoes littered the floor from where they had been kicked off and abandoned at the end of a long day.

The only thing they shared was a dressing table and stool which stood beneath the sash window. Speaking of which…

Peggy gave a gasp of alarm as she realised a pale face was staring at her through the window. She reached for her gun in its holster, ready to take aim and fire, before remembering that she was currently wearing her nightclothes and both gun and holster were carefully locked away in a box in her wardrobe. A good thing too, she supposed, for, next moment, a pale hand rose out of the darkness and waved vigorously at her.

She gave a rather unladylike grunt of exasperation, throwing her towel on the hook behind the door, before marching to the window and hurling it upwards, having to reach over the dressing table to do so.

"Steve!" she hissed, "What the bloody hell do you think you are doing?!"

Steve Rogers, Captain Steven Rogers, Captain bloody America was perched half-way up the elm tree which grew out of the pavement five stories below, giving her what could only be described as a sheepish, albeit hoping-to-be-well-received, grin.

"I did try 'n' call."

"I was in the bath."

"Oh." His grin faltered at her clipped tones. "I thought maybe you was tryin' to avoid me."

"And why would I do that?" she asked archly.

"Aw, c'mon, Peg; you've been avoidin' me for the last three days."

"So that warrants you scaling a tree outside of my residence and nearly scaring me half to death, does it? Honestly, what would anyone think if they were to see you right now?"

Even in the gloom of the London night, she could see that the tips of his ears were starting to stain red. "Huh, yeah, I… er… hadn't really thought about that…"

"Well you had better start thinking, Soldier. Goodnight!" She started to yank the window back down when his voice, his desperate little voice, caught her.

"No, wait, Peggy, please!"

She halted in her effort. With a sigh, Peggy asked tiredly, "What do you want, Steve?"

"I just want to talk. That's all. I don't want to come in or–"

"Well I should ruddy well think not!" she cut over him. There was a brief pause before she relaxed, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips which took the sting out of her words.

They settled into a brief silence. She eyed him curiously. "How did you even find my room?"

"Well first I tried askin' the lady downstairs but boy was she not happy to see me," Steve said, his eyes widening at the memory of Miss Agatha's flared nostrils and angry, red flush at seeing him. "Apparently," he put on an exaggeratedly shrill and well-spoken British accent, "'It is not permitted for a gentleman to call on a lady at this hour and no, you most certainly and absolutely cannot 'go up' to speak with Miss Carter! Good day!'"

"We do not speak like that!" Peggy disclaimed, laughingly.

Steve grinned at her cheekily. "You do."

Her eyes narrowed at him but the quirk at the corner of her mouth betrayed her true feelings.

"Anyway, when that didn't work, I hung around outside to see whether I could ask anyone living here to get a message to you. Finally, a lady came out and I asked her to pass on the message but she said she was your boarding mate and that if I wanted to see you then I just had to climb this tree."

Peggy tilted her head, eyeing Steve pityingly. She could only guess as to how Kitty knew the tree led to their bedroom window and, even more worryingly, what she presumed Steve was here for. Of course he would be naive enough to not see the implications that his actions had. She could bet that he'd thanked Kitty profusely, thinking she had done him a great service, before climbing the tree with a complete obliviousness to how he was potentially incriminating them both.

She shook her head at him in mute exasperation. "You truly are one-of-a-kind, Steven Rogers."

He shifted into a more comfortable position in the tree. Crouched on a branch that extended towards her bedroom window, he was holding onto the branch above his head to steady himself. Using his free hand, he gestured towards his enhanced body, wryly. With genuine modesty, he said, "Well, yeah…"

"Serum notwithstanding," she said softly. He grinned shyly at her. At risk of falling into another companionable silence, she broached the subject of his appearance, "So… what was so urgent that you had to climb a tree to speak with me?"

He took a deep breath. "Look, about Private Lorrai–"

"Oh Steve, honestly, it's none of my business. You can do whatever," she raised an eyebrow archly, "or indeed whomever you so choose."

He couldn't help the quirk of amusement that lifted one corner of his mouth. Steve wondered whether somewhat crude double-entendres had always been a part of her vocabulary or whether this was something she had picked up whilst working in Colonel Phillips' unit.

"I should explain," he finally said.

"Steve, you really needn't."

"No, I should."

"No, you shouldn't."

"But I feel as though I owe you an explanation."

"You don't owe me anything."

"I do, though," he said with sincerity. God, how could he possibly tell her how much he owed her? Project Rebirth; the part she played in rescuing the 107th; her faith in him alone was more than most had ever given him. Faith that he had possibly destroyed. "So I should tell you–"

"Steve."

"No, Peg, I–"

"Steve, really–"

"No, I need to ex–"

"Captain Rogers."

"–plain why I–"

"Captain."

"Peg–"

"Captain!"

"Peg!"

"Oh for Heaven's sake, just say it then!" she finally snapped.

Steve grinned in relief at her. "Thanks, I thought we'd end up going all night."

He slowly sobered up when she didn't crack a smile though, his brow furrowing in thoughtful contemplation. He had rehearsed different versions of what he would say to Peggy over the last few days, even whilst hovering in the tree outside her room, but now words seemed to fail him. And, worst of all, Peggy was looking at him expectantly.

"I was an idiot," he finally settled on. Nice one, Rogers. "I… I got caught up in a moment that never shoulda happened."

"Then why did it?" Peggy asked, her tone soft but her expression guarded.

"She was sayin' all this stuff about how I was a hero and how I should be thanked and then, next thing I know, she's kissin' me," he recalled. "I've never had a dame throw herself at me like that before and I guess… for one small moment… the guy who always got pushed aside by the girl, the guy who was never asked to dance so stopped trying, the guy who stood by and watched Bucky chat to the pretty ones… he wanted to know what it was like."

She watched him as he told his story, his eyes far away. He may have been Captain America now but he still held a lifetime of insecurities… of inadequacies.

She twirled the end of her braid around one finger, focusing on that as she asked with forced nonchalance, "And what was it like?"

"Nice," he admitted unhesitatingly, "for that one small moment." He came back to himself and looked at Peggy, a quiet desperation in his eyes. "But then I look up and see you and I realise… you were the girl who didn't push me aside, even before I was what I am now; who possibly would like to dance with me; who spoke to me, not Bucky, but me in the bar… pub… whatever you Brits call it." He took a steadying breath. "I'm sorry I hurt you, Peg."

"Oh, no, you didn't, I –" she cut herself off. Why was she lying when he had just been so openly honest with her? She changed tact, quietly saying, "I'm sorry I shot you."

He gave a one-armed shrug. "Shot at me; there's a difference."

They smiled, shyly at first until it grew in warmth as they revelled in their repaired friendship… relationship… whatever this was.

"Can you forgive me?" he asked.

"There's nothing to forgive," she told him sincerely.

CRACK.

The branch Steve was stood on finally gave way beneath his weight. With a strangled yell, Steve swung himself forwards before the branch that he clung to above his head could also break. He crashed into the wall of Miss Agatha's Boarding House for Ladies, his armpits clinging to Peggy's windowsill whilst his legs flailed in mid-air.

"Jesus H. Christ!" Peggy swore before hissing at him, "Are you trying to wake up the entire damned building?!"

Peggy grabbed him by the forearms and started to heave him into the room but Steve started to push against her.

"I can't go in there!" he gasped frantically.

"Well you bloody well can't stay dangling out here! Stop struggling before you pull us both over and we have to explain why Captain America had his brains dashed out at the bottom of a women's only Boarding House!"

Steve's feet found purchase on the outer wall and he kicked off from it, helping to push himself through the window whilst Peggy pulled. Both panting and groaning, they hauled him through the window, knocking the dressing table and all its contents to the floor in a great splintering of wood. Peggy fell backwards and Steve fell on top of her, both crashing loudly to the floor.

A flash of light showed that someone in the room below had pulled their curtain aside to see what was going on. A faint squeal of "No, the blackout!" could be heard through the open window before the light vanished.

They both remained where they were, panting for breath and bruised all over. Neither one's mind had caught up yet to realise the rather compromising position they were currently in.

"For the record," Steve finally panted, "if we both fell to our death's through the window then we wouldn't need to explain anythin'."

Peggy opened her mouth to retort back but hurrying feet outside her room proceeded a frantic thumping on the door.

"Good God," Peggy groaned, "if that's Miss Agatha then just shoot me down now and put us both out of our misery." Peggy scrambled out from underneath Steve and stumbled to the door. She looked back at him and hissed, "Hide!"

Steve jumped to his feet and hastily hurried to the door, ducking behind it as Peggy pulled it partially open, peering out. Jacqueline, a Missourian codebreaker with her hair in rollers and face aghast, stood in the corridor holding a large perfume bottle by the neck as a weapon.

"Peggy? What's going on? I heard God only knows what coming from in here! I thought someone was attacking you!"

"Oh, no, no! Sorry, I just, er…"

Jacqueline's eyes widened in surprise, taking in Peggy's dishevelled appearance, flushed face and laboured breathing. She suddenly grinned. "Hey, you haven't got a guy up here, have you?

"What?" Peggy choked. "Good Heavens, no! It's er… it's Kitty. Yes, Kitty. I, erm, I'm afraid to say she's rather overindulged herself this evening."

Well, she supposed that would serve Kitty right for what she had caused.

"Oh. Well, what else is new, right?" Jacqueline asked, rolling her eyes.

"Yes, quite. Um, would you mind not mentioning anything? I wouldn't want a fuss and I'm sure she'll be sufficiently mortified come morning."

"Hey, no problem, dollface. We've all been there – although some more than most, eh?"

Peggy felt a small twinge of regret. "Thank you. I do apologise for the noise. I promise we'll try to keep it down now," Peggy said, starting to turn away and close the door.

"Er, Peg…?"

"Yes?" Peggy turned back, smiling overly brightly.

"You, er, you've got wood in your hair."

Peggy reached up and pulled a large splinter of wood out of the hair at the back of her head. "Oh, ahhh, yes. That's what the noise was. Kitty's knocked over our dressing table and it's quite a mess," she said before hastily adding, "Nothing I can't fix myself though."

"O…kay, but listen, you give me a shout if you need anything, you hear?"

"Loud and clear. Thank you."

Peggy finally got the door shut and spun around, leaning against it with a heaving sigh. Her eyes slid across to look at Steve but he was carefully averting his eyes, his ears having gone pink again. She frowned before looking down at herself; the fastenings of her peignoir had come undone, revealing the nightgown beneath and one sleeve had fallen down to show a pale shoulder. It was no wonder Jacqueline had thought she a) had been attacked or b) was courting a man.

"Sorry," she said.

"I'm not lookin'," he hurriedly assured her.

Peggy hastily pulled the sleeve back over her shoulder, closed the peignoir and re-knotted it, making sure it was extra tight. She touched the back of her hair self-consciously, suddenly very aware of her appearance. She wasn't wearing a stitch of makeup (something that hadn't even happened on the frontlines) and she was starting to regret throwing her hair into a girlish plait. Steve, on the other hand, had already committed her look to memory, touched that she could allow herself to look so vulnerable in front of him.

"Right," she said crisply to mask the moment. "Well, you can't very well go out the window now; goodness knows who is looking out after the commotion we just made."

"All right," Steve agreed, "That's what front doors were made for anyway."

"Oh no you don't!" she scolded.

"Why? What's wrong?"

"You'll be caught!"

He gave her the closest thing to a patronising look that he could muster but it still made her bristle. "Peg, I stormed an entire HYDRA stronghold and was only found out after allowing the inmates to escape."

Peggy poked him in the chest, hard. Pre-Serum Steve probably would have winced and bruised. "That may be the case, Captain," she said coolly with narrowed eyes, "but I can assure you that you have met your match here. Two floors below us are the dorms which are positively heaving with women who, quite frankly, will not be able to resist spreading the word that Captain America is loose in the building. A further two floors below that is the lobby where our charming Miss Agatha will be sat behind her desk, looking for trouble. If you think you are a better match than all of that then please," she gestured to the door, "be my guest. I am telling you now though that Miss Agatha can smell male blood."

"Then what would you suggest?" he asked.

"Stay here and wait it out until dawn. When things have settled down and the streets are a little quieter, you can leave the way you entered," she said matter-of-factly.

"I can't stay here!"

"Then I suggest that you brace yourself," she said, "because by morning I will be kicked out on my behind with nowhere to live and you will be the focus of a media frenzy: Captain America caught sneaking out of Women's Only facility."

"I can't stay here," he repeated staunchly, folding his arms across his chest. "What happens when your boarding mate returns?"

"Kitty? Oh, no, she won't return tonight. She's off with her G.I. She'll be out all night, if you catch my drift."

Steve's eyebrows rose at this news.

"Oh, come off it, Steve. Some people believe that they may as well live a little now, seeing as they very well could be blown to smithereens in the Blitz or shot by Jerries tomorrow on a battlefield."

"Do you believe that?" he asked.

She narrowed her eyes at him and asked in a deadly voice, "Are you trying to ask whether I have… fondue'd with anyone?"

He shifted uncomfortably, mumbling, "Not you, personally. But do you believe that some people might as well live a little?"

She contemplated the question before slowly answering, "I think people should do whatever it takes to get them through this war. If that means some people choose to throw caution to the wind then that's their decision. Other people may choose to take each new day as a blessing whilst others may keep hope alive by making plans for after the war, such as going dancing."

Wordlessly, she walked over to the window and closed it before shutting the curtains. "You'll need to leave by first light."

"Yes, ma'am," he said resignedly.

She bent to start picking up the pieces of the shattered dressing table and Steve stooped down to help. They worked in tandem, seamlessly moving around each other in a way that came from experience of working together and a great awareness of the other person as they picked up a mixture of splintered wood and personal belongings. For a brief moment, Steve considered accidentally resting his hand on Peggy's, like he'd seen in countless movies, but knew she'd see a move like that coming from a mile away. Instead, they collected up all the pieces before righting what was left of the dressing table and stool.

"That will take some explaining," Peggy commented, more to herself than him. She dropped the pieces of wood into the bin and returned the other things like photographs, perfume bottles and make up to what was left of the dressing table. Finally, she turned back to the room at large. "Right, probably best if you take my bed and I'll take Kitty's."

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Would you rather Kitty wonder why her bed suddenly smells like Captain America?" Peggy asked politely and pointedly.

"I don't think she's ever smelt be before," he quipped, changing tactic when he saw Peggy's querulous look. "But you make an excellent point."

Steve made his way to Peggy's bed and sat on the very edge of it, bouncing slightly, as though he didn't want to touch anything. Peggy turned away to hide an amused smirk.

"It won't bite you, Steve. Lie down, get comfortable and rest until dawn. Do you think you can manage that?"

He sighed, eyeing the bed wearily as though this was the most intimidating mission he had ever faced. She wouldn't have been surprised to see him gulp cartoonishly. "I think so."

He unlaced his boots, still looking unsure of himself and kicked them off before visibly thinking twice about that move and lining them neatly on the floor at the foot of the bed. Peggy bit back a growing grin as he climbed on top of the covers and laid back, stiff and awkward. She climbed into Kitty's bed and made herself comfortable with a flourish. When the rustle of Kitty's bedsheets settled, they lay in the silent darkness.

Steve tried to regulate his breathing to bring about sleep but every inhale of breath only brought him the scent of Peggy. Something fresh and flowery. He cleared his throat uncomfortably.

When the silence became too much, he finally asked, "So… how did you get those gunshot wounds?"

There was a creak of bedsprings as Peggy turned on her side to look at him. Indignation laced her tone, "I thought you said you didn't look!"

"I didn't! I wasn't! I… may have caught a glance – but it was real quick!"

There was a pregnant pause and for a moment Steve thought Peggy may kick him out, Miss Agatha be damned.

Finally, she said, "I acquired them during the extraction of Dr. Erskine from Schmidt's imprisonment."

Forgetting his discomfort, Steve turned to face Peggy also, eyes wide with curiosity. "You were there?"

"There? Steve, I was the one extracting him." She paused before curling her shoulder inwards. Through the gloom, he could just make out the puckered flesh of the two scars on back of her right shoulder. "These two beauties," she said ironically, "are courtesy of Herr Schmidt himself."

Steve spluttered before asking, "Wh… what happened?"

Peggy hesitated. "It's rather a long story. How about this…? Colonel Phillips says you and the Howling Commandos will be returning to Europe within a few days to take down the HYDRA bases that you identified on the map. We, on the other hand, will be remaining here for a while yet to follow your progress and train up new recruits. When we meet up again, I'll tell you everything."

It seemed as though their lives would be filled with promises for the future. But, as Peggy had said earlier, perhaps that was what they needed to get them through this war – something to look forward to, something to keep fighting for, something to come home to.

"I'll hold you to that," Steve promised.

"I wouldn't expect anything less."

They fell into another companionable silence. Steve had relaxed enough to be comfortable on Peggy's bed but, still, sleep wouldn't come. He thought back to earlier when he and Peggy had been clearing debris from the destroyed dressing table, how easy it would have been to take her hand. Instead, he had discreetly swiped a photograph of Peggy in her dress uniform out from a stack that had fallen to the floor. It currently burned a hole in his pocket. He didn't know what he would do with it but he knew he wouldn't give it back and he sure as Hell knew he wouldn't tell her he had it. There was something soothing about having it on him, knowing he could take it with him back to Europe as a reminder of all the promises they were building between themselves.

"So… when all this is over… do you think you'll still fancy that dance?"

He kept his eyes trained carefully on the ceiling, feeling his ears burning. The seconds dragged by and he feared that she may be asleep already or, worse yet, feigning sleep so that she wouldn't have to answer.

"I'm sure I could fit you in," she replied with teasing warmth, her voice heavy with impending sleep. "Providing, of course, you don't fall out of the tree in the morning and break your neck."

He hesitated. "It would have been worth it."

The warmth of her chuckle in the darkness lit up his insides. "Goodnight, Captain Rogers."

"G'night, Agent Carter."

So, there we have it. What started off as me wanting Steve to be all cute and stuttery and apologetic about kissing Private Lorraine turned into this.

I ended up cutting Peggy's story of Dr. Erskine's rescue because that in itself was taking on a life of it's own. However, there's definite scope there for another one-shot that'll potentially turn this story into an arc. There's also a couple more ideas rattling around that I'm yet to flesh out.

Anyway, I've had a blast writing this and I hope you've enjoyed my first crack at Marvel/Captain America/Steve + Peggy. Any mistakes are entirely my own. I don't own anything, etc. etc.