This is a birthday story for my fantastic and unreasonably attractive friend Hummus and Peeta. I hope you had an excellent birthday.
Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with Marvel comics, the Captain America or Avengers franchises.
Save the Last Dance for Me
When the radio came to life, so did Peggy Carter.
"This is Captain Rogers, can you read me?"
Jim answered. "Captain Rogers what is your lo-"
She strode to the chair, put her hands on Jim Morita's shoulders and answered.
"Steve is that you are you alright?" She asked.
"Peggy!" He called. "Schmidt's dead!"
"What about the plane?" She asked.
For a while he didn't say anything. Was transmission getting worse? When his voice started it was clear that it wasn't technical difficulties but hesitation. His voice bled of it. "That's a little bit tougher to explain."
"Give me your coordinates I'll find a safe landing site," she said. This was an easy fix; yes, of course… Hydra had fallen, things would get easier. Life would be easier. Steve's job wouldn't be easier because that man would take on walking to the moon for his country if he thought it might help- but it'd be easier not to worry about him.
"It's not going to be a safe landing," he said.
"We'll get Howard on the line, he'll know what to do." She said.
"There's no time. This thing's moving too fast and it's heading for New York."
He didn't say anything for a bit. Colonel Phillips and Morita were eclipsing themselves. They were going to get Howard anyways, Steve wasn't a pilot, he didn't know what was happening. He couldn't know. Howard was a brilliant man, he would.
"I've got to put her down in the water."
Peggy's eyes widened.
"Please. Don't do this- we have time. We can work it out." She said trying to sound firm and confident and strict. She was professional. She couldn't just say Steve Rogers don't you dare. We're probably both heading to the same heaven or hell after this and I will beat you out of either one if you do.
"Right now I'm in the middle of nowhere. If I wait any longer a lot of people are going to die."
A lot of people: the one thing that Steve always thought of and would put before his own life.
She couldn't say anything to that. It made sense. It made too much sense, too much goddamned awful sense. She couldn't stop him, and she knew that for his sake she shouldn't try. She couldn't ask him to be selfish and think of one woman instead of a lot of people.
It was truly horrible to be in a job where she couldn't ask to be thought of. To be in a job where a small favour could change a war, change a battle, change a family and a man's life to the point to erase it. High stakes, much action- that was why she'd picked her job. And she loved it, she did. But she wanted to be selfish despite what her mind said.
"Peggy?" He called again. "This is my choice."
She swallowed. For a while there was nothing, but she could imagine the sound of engines firing up as the plane's nose tipped downwards and Steve drove himself to his death.
"Peggy," he said again. Except this time he was afraid. Oh God, the plane must be going down as they spoke then.
"I'm here."
"I'm going to need a rain check on that dance."
She either couldn't or didn't say anything for a while. She was a professional. She had worked hard to get to this point. She was strong. But she was also starting to cry, and she wondered how much that changed all those things.
"Alright," she said. "A week. Next Saturday at the Stark club."
"You got it," he replied.
"Eight o'clock on the dot. Don't you dare be late." She said. He wouldn't be late. He just wouldn't come. But for now she was still in a present in which there was the slimmest of possibilities that he would, and it was a present that she could seize. Carpe diem had never felt sweeter. "Understood?"
"You know, I still don't know how to dance."
That had to make her smile. It just had to.
"I'll show you how," she said. Really it was the least of their concerns. "Just be there."
"We'll have the band play something slow," he said. "I'd hate to step on your…"
And after that it was static, just static.
The static could've meant many things.
It could be that the plane had been shutting off its instruments through some sort of Hydra technology to try to limit the electrical damage once the plane crashed.
It could be that Steve had turned off the instruments to try and make it to an emergency exit.
Maybe Steve had stopped talking to let her off easy; to end it all in the midst of a make-believe game for a date they wouldn't go on.
Or the transmission had gone sour for some reason.
But really Peggy was kidding herself.
The static meant that Steve was gone.
She bit back tears and held on for a second more, to a tiny sliver of hope that tried to struggle out of her iron grip.
"Steve," she said into the radio. She knew it was hopeless and she shook her head. Her voice completely cracked. Sobs seeped through the cracks. "Steve…"
She took a quick breath and fiddled with the instruments. "Steve…"
Three was enough. She shut her eyes and stopped trying.
Howard sat down next to her.
"Pegs, you're going to have to perk up."
"I don't remember ever giving you the permission to call me that," she replied distastefully.
"Well, since you weren't perked up enough I was very terrified of approaching you and thus didn't know how to ask," Stark said.
"Well for the record I rather you not call me Pegs," she said bitterly.
"Alright then. Perk up in that case, because Dernier doesn't know that yet."
"He's in France," Peggy said. "The war's over."
"Is he? Is he really? Do you honestly know that? We're talking about Jacques here."
"Leave me alone, you got me out of my house that should be enough from me." She said.
"My goal wasn't to get you out of the house, it was to rip you out of your social hibernation," Stark said. "Luckily I have known for a long time that you are a very difficult woman, and I have made necessary arrangements."
"What in blazes do you mean?" She asked.
The door opened and a man walked in. He saw Stark and his eyes brightened in recognition. He walked towards them, limping heavily.
"No," Peggy said.
Stark arched an eyebrow.
"Stark, why would you do that? I did not ever allow you…"
"We're not at war, Carter," he said. "You don't have to allow me to do anything. I can go lick a cow if I want to."
"There are much worst things I'd rather you do to a cow than arrange this," she muttered under her breath.
The man was finally at the table.
"Hey Jo," Stark said. "Peggy, this is Joe Walker. Jo, this is Agent Peggy Carter."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, miss." He said politely. His eyes were cornflower blue and his hair was brown and tousled.
"I know Joe from work," Stark said as if that made everything twelve times better. The egomaniacal bastard probably thought it did. "He's a good guy, Pegs."
"Don't you dare call me Pegs again," she said with gritted teeth.
"I'll go get us some drinks, get to know each other." Stark said before disappearing in the club.
Peggy took a deep breath. Joe was looking at her with confused and worried eyes. She smiled.
"So, you work with Stark. I pity you."
Joe laughed. "He must've been a real pain overseas. That's where he knew you from, right? You're a soldier?"
"An officer," Peggy nodded.
"Sorry for bringing it up, lots of folks don't like to talk about the war," Joe said rubbing his palms on his trousers. "Sometimes hanging around Stark too much makes you forget that some people have emotions."
Peggy laughed. He proved to be a rather pleasant man, and somewhat restoring her faith and loosening her anger on the Howard Stark front. With the rather talented band playing, Stark's usual sassiness, Joe's interesting tales, and maybe even the excitement and relief of being out and about for once- Peggy found herself to be… having a good time.
But then the band slowed down and everything went downhill.
"This song is fantastic," Joe said. "Care to dance, Miss Carter?"
Her mouth went dry.
She'd been asked before to dance. Of course she had. Lonely soldiers, boys who thought she was pretty, boys in middle school playing at being grown-ups- they all waited for the band to play something slow before pouncing on her. And that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. She liked dancing and she knew how to make them keep their distances. But all she could think of that second was the one man who wouldn't ask her to dance.
"No thank you Joe, I don't dance. I… I don't dance at all. I'm feeling unwell all of a sudden."
She turned towards Stark and gave him a look.
"Take me home, please," she said, "Right now."
She stood pretty and clapped as Sharon and Gerald took their first dance as newlyweds. It was the first wedding she attended since the war, and she couldn't say she'd been to many before, but it was nice. Although once she'd done her standing and clapping she retreated away from the dance floor. She decided that the safest place to be was at her table, sipping from a champagne flute.
After a few songs Sharon came to see her. She'd managed to dislodge herself from Gerald's arm after all.
She crossed her arms and gave Peggy a look.
"What?" Peggy said. "You're wasting daylight Sharon; you should be dancing and having fun."
"And what about you?" Sharon asked.
"Don't take it personally Sharie, I don't like dancing."
"You love dancing," Sharon said. "And I know because I'm your sister. And because I'm your sister I also know that if you're sitting down like that it's because of a boy."
"No it's not," Peggy said. "I'm very tired, but you're not. You're beautiful and radiant, and you should go have fun. I'm alright."
Sharon bit her lip and put a hand on her hip. This wasn't the end of it; Peggy was sure.
Someone crumbled on an empty chair soon after.
"I hate dancing," he said. She didn't know him very well –having been in Europe while Sharon and Gerald were courting- but she recognised him as the best man.
"I share the sentiment," she said with a small smile. At least she wasn't a complete killjoy.
"Doesn't appeal to me," he said.
Peggy nodded.
"Unless I'm dancing with a pretty girl," he said shooting her a look. He grinned slightly.
Peggy looked away.
"Well why don't you go find one," she said.
"I did didn't I?"
"Yes, but not one that would dance with you for all the gold in the world," Peggy said sharply.
Fifty years later
"We can put music on, Miss Carter, would you like that?"
Of course, Peggy couldn't answer. Comatose patients were like that. She wasn't sure if she even wanted music; it all depended. Music from the 1990's could be both wonderful and horrifying. There was no in-between as far as she was concerned. And anyways, she didn't think it would change anything. She was dying. Elderly women were like that.
The nurse went ahead –probably for the fun of using the new cassette players that the hospital had recently gotten. It was a very generous gift from Stark Industries. Tony, that little rascal…
The cassette she picked was –thankfully- excellent. It was music from when Peggy had been a young girl, an antiquity to most of the people in this hospital. She recognised all the songs up until Again, recorded by Doris Day.
"Again, this couldn't happen again
This is that once in a lifetime
This is the thrill divine"
Look, Steve, she thought. The band is playing something soft.