there's nothing like jumping back in the writing game after two years with a massive story. this is part one of a crossover series with the mcu (primarily agent carter) and nikita. let's hope i can keep it up.


By early March, the cold wind of winter was already dying the day Peggy decides it was the perfect time to drag Steve outside to the retirement home's garden for a stroll.

He gives her a wary glance, "Don't you think it's a little too cold for a walk?"

Her mouth sets in a thin line. "I'm ninety-two, Steve, not dead," she says with a stern glare.

The numbers don't add up in his head. "Coulda sworn you were ninety-four," he says with a mischievous smile.

"That's no way to flatter an old woman, have you learned nothing?" She says with a twinkle in her eyes. "Now get on with it and get us outside, I've been going mad being cooped up in here all winter," she orders him, her voice just as strong with an authoritative insistence he's admired since the war.

And with that, he helps bundle her up in warm layers, and off they went out of the door. He leads her down the path of the garden, where they settle themselves under a grove of trees overlooking the grounds.

"Such a gentleman," she murmurs when he helps her transition from her wheelchair to a bench, a blanket draped across her lap, and chuckles at his blush when he settles next to her.

On rare occasions like this was when he got to enjoy her lucidity and the familiarity of their banter; the quiet smiles between familiar companions in war. He blinks, looking down at their joined hands. He sometimes has to remind himself that the war was over, that he was nearly seventy years overdue his own VE Day.

Her hands were already cold in the short time they spent outside, veiny and calloused, the lines in her palm deep with age and wear. A ball of emotion lodges itself in the back of his throat when he realizes he doesn't remember the last time he held them before they were scarred with age. He wraps his hands fuller around the one settled on his lap, allowing his own warmth to seep into her.

"You should see it during the fall," she says next to him, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, her breath misting in the air.

He looks up from their interconnected hands to watch her stare over the melting and bare grounds, exposed trees scattered around them, her face with a sort of reverence he's sure not many people are privy to.

"I've seen it," he says softly, watching the way her pale cheeks turn pink in the biting wind, disregarding the need to remind her he's already seen the trees of Washington be painted the colours of autumn during the past year.

When they had told him she had Alzheimer's the first time he felt brave enough to go see her face to face, he almost turned back around and left. He had stared down gun barrels and the white expanse of snow and ice while flying a plane headfirst into it, and yet facing an old woman whom he promised a dance to seemed to pull the air out of him.

There Steve was, standing tall and terrified, and very much alive, and there was Peggy, sitting in her den and waiting in the present, and more often than not these days, waiting in the past. In his mind, that was a more braver act than he could ever imagine doing.

With that clear in mind, he had straightened his back and turned back around inside the home to get his visitor's pass.

Sitting now next to her, worried any moment for any lapse in memory, his shoulders tense when out of the corner of his eyes, he spots her. A familiar ghost with long brown hair tucked under a beanie and bright blue eyes situated behind large glasses sitting on her nose, walking arm in arm down the path with an elderly man, another resident of the retirement home, and prattling away at him.

It isn't the first time he's seen her during the few times he's visited. He had at first assumed she was part of the nursing staff or some other employee, but dismissed those thoughts the more she floated in and out of periphery the more he visited.

With Peggy's thumb stroking the back of his hand, he discreetly watches the woman settle the elder man on a bench a few paces away from them. They weren't the only ones wandering the gardens. Other elderly residents, some with nurse escorts, slowly tread by on the path, paying them no attention and enjoying the briskly warm day.

He's pulled out of his mental meanderings when Peggy's gentle grasp in his hand suddenly tightens, her grip comforting in it's surprising strength.

"Penny for your thoughts?" She asks when he turns to her, a small smile playing on her lips.

He shifts on the bench, "It's probably nothing."

"Must be more than nothing if you missed me talking, and for a good full minute I might add." She pulls their hands into her lap when he sighs, "What is it?"

He ducks his head from her gaze, unsurprised at the way she still manages to pull things out of him, "It's been about two years now since everything happened, and sometimes it still feels like SHIELD doesn't trust me."

She's gentle when she asks, "And what gave you that idea?"

He looks to the grounds, the trees and flowerbeds barren, "You ever felt like you were being watched when you were working with them?"

Peggy turns silent, the sound between them filled with birds flying in from the south and the cold wind blowing gently. He glances back at her, her brow turned down into a frown and her eyes clouded.

Abruptly, his heartbeat is loud in his ears, a cold shiver going down his spine. He tilts his head at her, "Peg?"

She blinks, as if shuffling away a memory and looks away before speaking softly. "I think. I used to think," she says with a painful sort of uncertainty, and with a sudden sharp inhale, she clasps her other hand down onto the entwined pile in her lap. "But not by SHIELD, no. The days of the Cold War had us all paranoid, you can imagine the sort of behaviour and trouble we all managed to get ourselves into for a good six decades."

She gives him a rueful smile, knowing fully well the secrets of SHIELD were kept locked away from prying eyes. "I imagine, being thrust in this brave new world of ours must be fairly similar."

He gives her a conceding nod with a small smile, swallowing a lump of relief. "Not as much fun as the books and documentaries made it sound."

"Quite the opposite," she says softly.

When two elderly women on their second lap across the grounds pass them by, he glances at the corner of his eyes again. It was nothing out the ordinary; a young woman visiting her grandfather, completely ignoring his glassy eyes as she talked unintelligibly from this distance, her hands waving enthusiastically as she spoke. A comforting habit perhaps, for herself or for the man. Or something else entirely.

"Nearly five decades as Director, what was it like?" He asks.

Peggy huffed softly, an amused smile teasing her mouth, "As well as you can imagine. It's only in old age that I can freely admit that I nearly lost it more than once back in the early days of SHIELD. When we were all running around headless and trying to find our footing at the same time. It's easy to have a bit of a laugh of it now, but back then," she pauses and sighs, "it was just as possible to have a trusted colleague stab you in the back as to have an enemy operative cross sides. It was a game we were all still learning how to play, but we made due."

He swallows heavily, regret pulling at his chest. It was nearly impossible to not play the 'If Only' game where Peggy was concerned. He would fly that plane into the ground again and again, but by God he'd find a way to drag himself out of that frozen wreckage of metal and snow, and walk across the tundra if he had another chance. If only to be at Peggy's side for when she was leading the fight against the shadows of a cold untrustworthy world, to pull her back into the warmth for when she got lost.

"How'd you manage?" He nearly chokes out.

She gives him a conspiratorial grin, "Never let it be said that the weight of saving the world stood on the shoulders of one person." Her sharp smile softens when he feels his face contort in confusion, "You find your people, ones you can trust and depend on, and you keep them. A lesson even I had to learn." She tilts her head then, as if a sudden thought occurred to her, "You have managed to make friends other than me in the past two years, haven't you?"

With a low exhale, he leans further back into the bench as a late winter flurry of snow begins to drift down in a slow dance. "Well, I think the librarian Mrs. Keller still suspects I'm Captain America, but I think we're getting there," he answers with a wry grin.

Peggy sighs with an exasperated but fond smile, "You bloody idiot. Mrs. Keller isn't going to understand why you keep showing up to coffee dates with a black eye and a concussion due to running into fists."

"I was thinking more of a museum date rather than coffee."

Just as Peggy's fond smile morphs into a serious frown, a sudden bout of coughing from the elderly man has him tensing.

Peggy eyes him with a curious glance, "What is it?"

Steve spares a glance at the pair, the young woman with her hand gently rubbing the man's trembling back, the coughing fit easing out.

Peggy's grip on his hands tighten, "Steve?"

He turns back to her and murmurs, "I think we're being watched."

She blinks at him for a moment, and with a quick glimpse over his shoulders, she leans back into the bench with a hum, "The young woman with the glasses, prattling away to Mr. Bishop as if he has any idea as to what she's saying?"

He can't contain his smile, not at all surprised Peggy - even in her old age - is still just as capable of espionage, "That's the one," he says.

Peggy only hums again and watches white flakes of snow drift around them. "She's been following us the moment you arrived. She's done it many times before."

He feels his mouth drop open, a little perturbed at the idea that someone can one-up him so often and that Peggy seems so unconcerned with the idea of someone spying on them for the past hour. He almost feels himself asking if Peggy knew she had been spying on the days Peggy couldn't remember him at all.

"I've seen people catch flies like that, you know," she quips, her face of perfect innocence.

His mouth shuts with a click. "The entire time?" He asks with a huff.

"Ever since the first day you visited."

He blinks and shifts, twisting his body his body to get a better vantage point of the woman.

"Oh would you relax, she's harmless, I can assure you."

He twists his mouth into a disbelieving curl, "Not pretty keen on being spied on Peg, harmless or not."

She smiles sympathetically at him. "I know, but it was more for my benefit than for yours. You can trust it wasn't my idea; it's not that she doesn't find you trustworthy, she's just rather...protective. I suppose I could be partially to blame, I may have rubbed off on her in the years I've known her."

"So she's your security then."

Peggy rolls her eyes, making her seem like a comically normal elderly woman, with snowflakes melting in her pepper grey hair, and half buried under a thick layer of sweaters and a blanket. "Well, when you put it like that, it sounds absolutely ridiculous," she mutters, her cheeks darkening.

"So - "

"So, she's harmless, if not utterly absurd to go as far as to spy on you of all people for an old retired woman."

His shoulders drop, "An old retired woman with more secrets than Congress put together?"

She chuckles, her hand gently rubbing his. "Yes," she sighs, her eyes clouding once again as she turns to look away. "I've...I've been meaning for the pair of you to meet actually."

For the first time, she sounds hesitant. "One of those dependables?"

She nods, and glances at him uncertainly, "I wasn't planning you meeting this way, but I suppose it was bound to happen one way or another." She exhales and straightens as if to steel herself, "Might as well get on with it."

Before he can even respond, she leans forward to peer around him. "Darling, you can stop your lurking about now. Come on over and say hello," she calls out.

Feeling it was safe now, Steve turns fully to look at the woman to see her tense, her back facing them, still talking to her companion.

Peggy sighs with exasperation, "Honestly, you know Mr. Bishop can't hear a word you're saying, he's eighty-nine percent deaf, remember?"

The unintelligible chattering comes to a pause, the woman inclining her head slightly to nearly look over her shoulder. From his vantage point, Steve could see Mr. Bishop turn to the woman with a gentle smile, pat her on the arm and slowly take his leave.

The young woman was still unmoving as Mr. Bishop made his way down the path. "You know, Peggy, we could just do this ano-"

"Shush," she interrupted with a quick pat on his hand, and calls over again, "Don't make me get up and come over there. You don't want me breaking a hip too, now do you?"

No matter how empty the threat - he'd never let her fall in the first place - it seems to have done the trick. The woman's shoulders fall into a sigh and without more incentive, she pops up from her seat with a bounce of energy and makes her way over.

Once she stands in front of them with a hand on her hip, blue eyes staring sharply at Peggy, whom with satisfaction, beams up at the woman. "Y'know that ain't funny, Pegs."

"Oh, but it worked didn't it?" Peggy turns her bright grin to Steve, "A good threat of bodily harm never fails to work, remember that."

Steve blinks at the pair of them, at their easy friendliness and banter. It was far more than he envisioned in the ten seconds given to him to comprehend.

He scratches the back of his neck, the distant sensation of being the odd man out creeping up on him until a nudge to his ribs has him blinking back to the present, "What did I tell you about the flies, darling."

His face falls into an unamused stare. When she winks back at him, he breaks into a smile, unable to contain the lightness in his chest at seeing the happy glint in her eyes, if only for a moment.

When he looks back up at the woman, it's to find her peering at them with a curious stare. It's only then does he finds his manners. Clearing his throat, he jumps from the bench and helps Peggy to her feet, and holds out a hand to the woman, the other holding Peggy steady around her waist. "Steve," he says with a small nod. "Steve Rogers."

The woman's face breaks out into a bright smile, and grasps his hand in a surprisingly strong grip. "Oh, I know who are," she says, enthusiastically pumping his hand up and down. "I'm a big fan."

Next to him, Peggy fondly rolls her eyes. "Steve, this is -"

"Annie," the woman - Annie - interrupts, releasing his hand with a wide grin. "Annie Martin."

Peggy tsks with an exasperated stare, "Really?"

Annie shrugs with an unconcerned air, "Just testin' it out."

"Aren't those ridiculous glasses enough"" Annie, or not-Annie as Steve surmises with a wary stare, just gives another shrug as Peggy rolls her eyes again. "Let's try this again, with no interruptions," she says with a sharp stare to not-Annie. "Steve, this is Angie Martinelli. Angie, Steve."

Not-Annie, now Angie, once again reaches out to briefly grab and shake his hand, "It's great to finally meet you. I'm a huge fan at the way you punch aliens and piss off Republicans."

A faint blush makes its way up his neck and to his already reddened cheeks at the sudden memory of his last TV interview. His debate between the anchor regarding the current issue of public health care caused quite a stir. "Just doing my job, ma'am."

With a burst of laughter, Angie shakes her head. "Ma'am? You sure knew how to pick 'em, English," she gives Peggy a conspiratory wink. "Listen, you don't gotta call me ma'am, alright? Makes me sound like an old lady like this one here, Angie is just fine."

She grins at him in such a way that he almost feels bad for borderline accusing her of spying on him just five minutes prior, despite the fact that that's exactly what she was doing. It threw him for a loop.

Peggy grins shyly up at him, an unusual thing for him to witness. "She's rather a handful at first, but you get used to it after a while."

"Speak for yourself," Angie shoots back, "You think everyone likes sittin' out in the cold for hours on end?"

"It was no more than twenty minutes, and you of all people shouldn't complain knowing very well that none of that absurd lurking was necessary," Peggy answers with a scowl that was more fond than stern.

Angie's face twists into a sheepish grin and turns to Steve, "Sorry about that by the way. It's sort of a habit."

Steve nods, congenial and hard pressed to believe that he wouldn't have done the same. "Personal security? He ribs.

Peggy tsks again with another nudge to his ribs as Angie chuckles, answering, "Personal assistant."

Promptly, a beeping noise cuts into their conversation. "Speak of the devil," Angie mutters, digging around in her jacket pockets and pulling out her phone, sweeping her thumb over the screen to stop the incessant noise. "And that's lunch."

A frown shadows Peggy's face. Angie, noticing, gives her a sympathetic smile, "Sorry hon, shoulda warned you earlier, but it's already hitting one."

Steve already finds himself missing Peggy's company, worry tugging at him that the next time he visits she won't be as lucid.

"But, y'know Cap," Angie turns back to him, considering him for a moment with a brief hesitance, "you're welcome to stay longer and join us?"

He nearly jumps to say yes in response, but the warm frail body next to him has him pausing. "Unless you don't have anywhere to be, that is," Peggy adds with a grateful smile at Angie that turns shy when she turns to him.

As if almost on cue, his stomach growls. He smiles, "I would love to."

Peggy's smile brightens, dodging between Steve and Angie, as if she couldn't believe her two favourite people were to join her for a simple lunch. He doesn't remember seeing Peggy this happy.

Steve and Angie help her back into her wheelchair, and only when Angie begins fretting over tucking the blanket more firmly around Peggy and Steve double checking the wheel locks does she snap playfully at them. "Oh, bloody Nora, sod off and stop babying me, would you? I already feel useless half the time."

They share a sheepish smile. "Alright, lead the cavalry then, " Angie says as Peggy takes off on her own, muttering how her arms need some exercise. "What are you trainin' for? The Olympics?" Angie teasingly calls out, following after her.

"Going for the gold," Peggy shoots back immediately, in tune with their practiced banter.

Steve smiles at the pair of them, following not far behind, his nerves feeling slightly more abated with each passing second; more than a little amused, more than a little envious at the easiness between them.

Falling into step with the pair, he quickly and silently berates himself. A world torn apart by war had no time for the easiness between soldiers and friends alike. Not even a what-could-have-been. It had been a cruel time of sacrifices and isolation. But the times of the modern world - this brave new world - it's both a blessing and a curse.

Peering at Angie through the corner of his eyes, he watches the way she carefully monitors Peggy, smiling gently over her. He feels both grateful that Peggy found her person while late in life, and regret he couldn't have been one those dependables when the world celebrated the end of the war.

Abruptly, he spies Angie's smile fall into a frown just as Peggy slows down her trek, pausing in the middle of the path. His heart finds its way back into his throat.

He and Angie share a worried glance and carefully move in front of Peggy to see bunching up her brows, her eyes darting around the area with discomforting unfamiliarity.

"What's wrong?" He asks, his voice tight in his throat, cursing in his head.

Angie barely spares him a glimpse when she kneels on a thin layer of fresh snow in front of Peggy, her hand slowly coming to rest on one of Peggy's knees, "English?"

When Peggy doesn't respond, he and Angie share another worried look. Angie turns back to Peggy and gently jostles her knee. "Hey, Peg. What's the matter?"

At the jostle, Peggy's clouded eyes snap back to Angie's with a frown, "I...I don't remember where I am."

That uncomfortably new sense of dread slowly treks it's way down Steve's spine, and he inhales a trembling breath.

He spies Angie doing the same, with more subtly. "That's alright, hon. You're at the retirement home, Inglewood. This is a safe place, remember? You chose it yourself."

Peggy slowly nods, her eyes in a daze, slowly drifting from one thing to another. Steve's hands clench into fists at his sides, fighting that ever present lump.

"I thought...we were going to lunch, weren't we? I don't remember…"

When her eyes dart around with increasing panic, Angie slowly brings her hands up to cradle Peggy's face, gently coaxing her gaze back to Angie, "Hey. Hey, c'mon, you remember me, don't you?"

Peggy inclines her head, the corners of her mouth curling into a barely noticeable smile, "Angie."

Angie smiles at that, and beckons her head in Steve's direction, "And you remember this big lump, don't you?"

Peggy turns her small smile to him, her glazed eyes blinking slowly. "Yes," she says softly, glancing between the two. His lungs slowly release the air he was unknowingly holding, with Angie smiling at Peggy and rising to her feet.

"You gotta stop scaring me like that, English. I'll be grey by the time it's your birthday," Angie says, deciding to commandeer the wheelchair and push Peggy the rest of the way with Steve quietly following.

"Nonsense, darling, you haven't aged a day for years," Peggy spoke softly, reclining further in her chair, as if the day's toll had taken all the energy out of her.

With Angie studiously leading them through the doors of the retirement home, her hands gripping the chair with white knuckles, Steve is once again hit with the loss of time. Watching the way Peggy seems to drown in her oversized sweatshirt, her hands lying limp and curled in her lap. He's suddenly aware of the terror seeping through him that Peggy may have not recognized him at all.

"I think," Peggy's voice suddenly cutting into the trio's silence once they reach the dining room, her voice weary. "I think I might go up for a nap."

Angie stops them in the middle of the hall, "Peggy, you gotta eat."

"I ate already."

Angie huffs, "Yeah, at nine for breakfast. You don't wanna starve by the time it's dinner, do you?"

"I've managed before in case you've forgotten," Peggy bites back with a scowl.

They both pause at the abrupt change in Peggy's demeanor. Angie's back tenses and Steve grits his teeth as a brooding shadow cascades across Peggy's features.

An orderly passing by pauses next to the trio, taking in the scene with a concerned frown, "Hey honey, everything going okay here?"

Angie exhales heavily, "It's fine Olivia, she's just tired. Doesn't wanna eat."

The orderly, Olivia, glances down at a silently brooding Peggy before placing a concerned hand on Angie's arm, "You can't keep doing this to yourself, honey. It's killing you."

Slowly crossing his arms, Steve watches as Angie's shoulders tremble with a sigh. "You go home for the day, honey. Take some time for yourself," Olivia says gently.

"I can't, I gotta -"

"You do enough, Angie. Everyday. Let your friend here take you to lunch," offers gently, sparing him a quick glance. "You go on ahead, I'll take care of her, alright?"

Angie's spine crumples in defeat, staring down at the back of Peggy's head and with an imperceptible nod, allows Olivia to take the wheelchair handles.

There's an ache in Steve's chest when he spies Peggy's face as Olivia turns her around, her eyes distant and pained. Before Olivia can take her away, she suddenly reaches out and grasps Angie's hand. Angie blinks and looks down at their hands. Steve suddenly finds himself looking in a mirror, watching Angie stare at the odd way their hands fit, old and new together.

When Angie finally looks up, a small crease between her brows, Peggy gives her a painful smile that Angie slowly returns, a silent conversation of apology and forgiveness passing between them.

Steve ducks his head, unable to look any longer, the familiarity taking his breath away.

He swallows heavily when a warm hand clasps his arm. Looking up through his eyelashes, he meets brown eyes that had once encaptured him with their youthful vigor, but now had age rings around their irises and laugh lines nearly indistinguishable in the crease of her eyes.

"You'll come back soon?" She asks him with such hesitancy, that has his chest aching.

"As soon as I can," he answers, his hand moving to grasps hers.

They grip each other's hand tight for a brief moment until she pulls away. Feeling the instant loss of contact deeply, he smiles reassuringly.

"Don't you kids worry," Olivia reassures them, smiling kindly. "I'll take good care of the old girl, bring up a tray of food for her in an hour or so."

"Thanks, Olivia," Angie murmurs watching with disquiet as Olivia pushes Peggy down the hall. "See you later."

"You better mean tomorrow, missy. If I see you here later, I will personally give you an earful," Olivia calls back with a chuckle.

Just as they turn the corner, Peggy looks back at them and sends a small wave. Steve raises his hand to return the gesture, but she disappears before she can even possibly see it. It's only when he glances out of the corner of his eye, does he see that Angie too has her hand floating awkwardly in the air. Their eyes meet for a brief moment before darting away with the clearing of throats.

An awkward silence fills between them, Steve with a lack of words to say to a woman who was clearly more caretaker than personal assistant to Peggy. Their eyes meet again, Steve gives her an awkward smile.

With a small exasperated sigh and a roll of blue eyes, Angie fully turns to him with her hands on her hips, "So how d'you fancy treating me to lunch, Soldier?"


And that's how he finds himself on the way to lunch with Angie. A borderline stranger, who not twenty minutes ago went from spying on his visit with Peggy to snapping a quick icebreaker, "Hey Soldier, do us both a favour and cut the formal crap, I may be a lady, but I ain't your Officer in Command," when he stiffly lead her to his car.

Following her orders and direction to a restaurant that she claimed to have "the best New York pizza outside of New York," the silence between them filled with the sound of the heat on blast and the radio on low, he clings to a familiar topic.

"So you're from New York?" He asks, sparing a glance at her to see her eyes catch light.

"Born and raised," Angie says, turning to him with a proud smile.

"Brooklyn?"

She smirks, "What gave it away? The classic Brooklyn charm?"

"That and other things," he quips, sliding easily into an odd sort of banter that surprises him, "You slip into the accent sometimes, the faster you talk."

Angie rolls her eyes good-naturedly, "Can't seem to get rid of it, it's stuck with me forever. Take a right here."

He follows her direction, and takes another glance at her, "Dyker Heights?"

She shakes her head, "Bensonhurst."

He nods, "Red Hook."

He catches her eye him curiously through the corner of his eyes. "What are you doing so far away from home?" She asks.

"Could ask you the same thing," he easily evades.

He can feel her stare, where for a moment the uneasiness between them stirs once again. "Closer to work," she finally replies and returns her gaze to the road. "Nice not to have to travel a coupla hours everyday."

He recalls the events just prior to them stepping in the car. "Peggy," he simply says.

"Peggy," she breathes with a tired sigh, and points to a small alcove squished between a pharmacy and a coffee shop. "There it is."

He easily pulls over next to the curb, near the small restaurant with a sign above it reading Vinnie's Pizza, and they silently make their way inside. Despite the small exterior, the inside expands into a comfy scattering of tables and cushioned booths, the walls paneled with wood and covered in black and white pictures, and the floor carpeted. The addition of music playing softly just below the chattering of other customers adds to the atmosphere.

Angie leads him to a booth next to the window. "They're not strictly Italian," she murmurs as they take their seats opposite each other and remove their jackets, "owner's more American than anything, but they make the meanest classic pepperoni pie that are to die for."

He picks up a menu to peruse to do something with his hands, "Don't let a New Yorker hear you talk like that, they'll gut you."

"Eh, they'll live," she waves a dismissive hand and flags a waiter who enthusiastically greets Angie by name in Italian.

She fluently responds with a broad smile and the pair suddenly dive into a rapid fire conversation in Italian. Steve blinks at them, catching only a few phrases and shifting in his seat when the waiter motions to him with teasing grin. Angie responds with a friendly smack on the waiters arm and more wild arm gestures with heated words.

It takes them a minute or two to get pleasantries out of the way to order their food, with Angie speaking for Steve, his only contribution a nod to confirm his order.

When they're finally left alone to wait for their food, he eyes Carlo making his way behind the counter and into the kitchen, loudly calling out the order to the cooks in plain English.

With a raised eyebrow, he turns to Angie. "Come here often?" He jokes, grinning when Angie answers by rolling her eyes.

"The place may not be fully Italian but Carlo is," she fills him in with a sardonic smile. "Claims they only hired him to fill the authenticity quota, and I'm inclined to believe him considerin' the owner's got as much Italian blood in his bones as I do."

Her dry tone makes him chuckle under his breath just as Carlo returns with their sodas. They both mutter a quick thank you and promptly open their cans, and as easy as that, quiet falls on them again.

He imagines it as a rollercoaster, the beat of their banter and strained lull of silence. Not for the first time since the pair sat in his car, he wonders just what the hell he was doing.

It wasn't hard to question, with everything they could possibly discuss leading right back to Peggy. It was more than just a sore subject between them, the way they practically ran from the retirement home in response to Peggy's sudden relapse of memory and manner. It was history and emotional attachments, slowly severing the more time went by.

Briefly, he wonders of the toll it had on Angie; if what Olivia said was true and Angie took it upon herself to travel to Inglewood everyday to care for Peggy and keep her company. He watches the way Angie rests on her chin on her hand with the other tapping out a nervous pattern on the table while looking out the window, and he imagines for a moment just how he would fare in her position.

He grits his teeth at the discomfort growing in his stomach, at the memories of the first time Peggy looked at him and forgot his name. He swallows heavily and slowly blinks it away, turning his attention instead to the music drifting from somewhere behind the cashier counter.

Like everything else after the ice, it took some time getting used to the music of the modern world. But between the times Fury called him in for briefings on missions, he found himself turning the radio dial from what the hosts called The Golden Oldies to the modern stations out of curiosity. It also didn't help that Natasha, on more than one occasion, reset all his favourite radio stations in his car to said modern stations.

"You like Fleetwood?"

Angie's voice breaks him out of his reverie, meeting her amused eyes. "Fleetwood?" He repeats.

She smiles patiently, "Fleetwood Mac. Your thumb was tapping out the beat of the song."

A flash of heat travels up his neck. "Oh," he says dumbly, glancing down at his offending hand.

"It's a good song," she says, her face brightening. "You listen to 'em before?"

He shakes his head, "Nope", and as was his custom, he reaches into his jeans pocket, pulling out a small notebook and pencil, and slides it over to Angie.

She picks it up and flips through it with a curious frown, "You carry this with you everywhere?"

He shrugs, "Everyone recommends something at some point."

She breathes out a small laugh. "That's adorable," she says and proceeds to quickly write on an empty line as the heat from his neck reaches his cheeks.

From upside down, he can make out the words Rumours - Fleetwood Mac. When she's done, she flips through the rest of the notebook with a small frown. "You've got a lot of catchin' up to do," she says and with unexpected burst of energy, she drops her hands to the table and leans forward with an excited glint. "For the record, I'm pretty much an expert on all things music and entertainment."

His mouth easily slides into an amused smile, "Now why does that sound foreboding?"

"Because you'll be coming to me for suggestions and guidance," she says with a cheeky grin.

He shakes his head, "I'm stuck with you, aren't I?"

"You're damn right," she quips with another quick bounce forward, before returning to the notebook, adding more recommendations below her first. "I'm like super glue, can't get rid o' me. Now! There's one song on this one that just might make you a little homesick, but no one's recommended it yet which is a crime against humanity."

Just as he's making out the words Piano Man - Billy Joel (New York State of Mind!), the waiter returns with their food, interrupting Angie before she can finish her next addition, The Lion K.

Suddenly starving, the odd pair found themselves too busy eating to fill the empty air between them. Unable to help himself from peering at her from time to time, he watches as she pauses to pull off her beanie and what appeared to be entirely unnecessary glasses, tossing them on the cushion beside her, before bunching up her hair in a messy bun with the tie hanging from her wrist.

Seeing her so suddenly stripped away, and bubbling with hunger over a table piled with a ridiculous oversized pizza, Steve once again felt an understanding at Peggy's choice of caretaker and companion. Eager and excitable, everything that wasn't the British stoicism and valor Peggy seemed to always carry on her shoulders.

"You always inhale your food like that?"

Steve blinks, eyes meeting a smirking Angie. Playfully devious too. He responds by swallowing heavily and taking another large bite with a smirk of his own.

She laughs around her own bite of pizza, "You remind me of Peg when you eat like that."

At the mention of the link between them, their smiles somber and their hurried chewing slow.

"You know her for a long time?" He asks once he swallows and takes a sip of his Coke.

She nods, following suit and taking a sip from her own can. Briefly, he spies a tattoo placed on the inside of his wrist when an old gold watch hanging loose on her wrist slides down her arm, but quickly disappears when she drops the can.

"A long time," she says, looking at the foggy window, her half eaten slice hanging limp in her hand.

"She seems more," he starts and pauses when Angie's eyes flicker to his, "more relaxed around you."

Angie flashes him an impish smile that did well to hid the nerves behind her eyes and stiff spine. "Well, I have been told I bring out the best in people," she says and zealously takes another bite of her pizza.

He nods, finds his nerves oddly at ease, knowing he wasn't the only tense one in the booth.

"How'd you two meet?" He asks, dropping the rest of his crust on an empty space of the platter that's promptly plucked up by Angie.

"You don't eat crusts?" She stares at him in horror, waving the thin crust between them.

"Never been a fan."

"Y'know, that's pretty much blasphemy."

"I'll make sure to mention it in Confession at the next Mass."

With a mischievous grin, he reaches for another slice while Angie narrows her eyes at him and takes a hard bite of the crust, chewing with incredulous gusto.

"So," he continues after eating another bite. "How'd you meet her?"

Angie sighs, "Long story short, I pretty much work for her, obviously. But we met a long time ago at work, and it was sparks and sunshine ever since," she finishes with a roll of her eyes.

He gives her a sympathetic smile at the fatigue in her tone, "Worth it?"

She matches his smile, "Every damn day."

She finishes the crust and grabs another slice, speaking quickly, "I guess officially, you'd call me a personal assistant or somethin' like that. She doesn't really need one these days, but it's nice to be takin' care of her."

The fondness in her voice doesn't go past him, "Did you grow up around her?"

She snickers. He quirks an eyebrow at her, his mouth full of food. She shakes her head, "Sorry, no, it's just...the idea of growing up around Pegs. Woulda be great, amazing even, but...'

Angie pauses, seeming to consider her words and thoughts while staring hard at the table.

Steve frowns and tilts his head lower to catch her eyes. "But, what?" He asks softly.

Slowly, she returns his curious and seems to relent a little of her secrets with a small smile, "Life of a busy woman doesn't make for a stable household," she says cryptically.

"Work kept you both on your toes?"

"Every damn day," she repeats with exasperated fondness.

He huffs an understanding laugh, "Couldn't be an easy time, working as an agent under Peggy's thumb. Fellas in the Howling Commandos used to call her a Pit Bull."

"Agent?" she murmurs around a mouthful of food, a frown creasing her forehead.

A frown of his own makes it's way on his features, "You...do know what she did, right? Before she retired?"

"'Course. She was the big hotshot CEO," she says with a noncommittal shrug.

It suddenly occurs to him; Peggy's a woman who holds her secrets close to her chest, and the young woman in front of him may not be privy to those secrets. He swallows heavily.

"So you're not an agent?"

Her frown deepens at his steely tone, "Agent? You mean like one of those customer support folks? 'Cause I don't think I've heard of any kind of agents at any phone company, then again I never did pay attention to any of that stuff. Y'know, my cousin Bernardo used to work in customer service for one of those big internet and phone places. Got the job almost a year after getting a BA in computer science, and bam - " she lightly slams the table " - quits two months later. One of the most patient kids I know, and even he said he couldn't handle all the dumb questions."

He blinks at the random anecdote, taken aback at the sudden onslaught of fast words.

"So y'know really, customer service ain't for everybody," she continues with breakneck speed. "I've never done it myself, I'm not sure if even I can handle it myself. I mean, I consider myself a nice person, but if I hear one idiot yell at me for something I can't even fix, you better believe they're gonna get an earful that'll stay with 'em for the rest of their damn natural life."

He nods, relinquishing his crust that she quickly munches on, "Take no shit, huh?"

"You better believe it," she says as he slowly takes a bite of a new slice. "Can you imagine Peggy in customer service? She'd probably go as far as to find whatever idiot talkin' to her and knock 'em right out. Guess that makes all of us lucky she shot straight for CEO, can't imagine her as anything else," she finally pauses to take a drink. "A secret agent though! Now that would be interesting. We talkin' CIA or MI6 here?"

He freezes, nearly choking on his food, his bulging cheeks reddening. All of sudden, Angie sputters and bursts out in hearty laughter, throwing her back.

He manages to safely swallow with a sip of his drink and eyes Angie with a hard stare, who shakes her head at him, her laughter dying down.

"At ease, Soldier, I'm kidding," she snickers, briefly placing her hand on his arm. "Of course I know where she worked. Think she'd hire someone and risk their safety without letting 'em know what they were getting themselves into?"

His hard stare melts into a smile that she mirrors, both knowing the answer to that question.

"So you are an agent," he says, and tilts his head when Angie shakes her head, wiping her hands with a napkin before tossing it on the table.

"Well, I mean," she pauses and breathes in deeply, gripping the edge of the table and leans forward. "You seem like an honest fella, Cap. I mean, that's what Peggy told me. Truth and honor and all that jazz, so I'm gonna be honest with you, which is kinda a new thing for me."

She looks at him with such sincerity that he slowly puts down his pizza and gives her his full attention. "All ears."

With a slow blink, a small smile blooms on her face. "I wasn't spying on you for SHIELD," she simply says. "I don't work for 'em either, that ship sailed long ago. I was spying on you for Peggy. Because I work for her, and I wanted to make sure she would be okay. Safe."

He nods slowly, "Mercenary?"

She shakes her head, "More of a caretaker. I haven't done much of anything these days but to take care of Peggy."

He's silent for a brief moment, mulling over her confession in his head, his shoulders dropping in unexpected relief at her honesty. "Thank you for telling me."

She gives him a sheepish smile and a shrug, and Steve wonders just what else she was capable of. What else other than the optimistic and gentle aura, and the distinct talent for spying did Peggy see in her? He's not about to forget Angie testing out a persona during her introductions or her new delve into the territory of honesty, but if Peggy trusted her, then he's willing to give her the benefit of a doubt.

"Peggy was right, once again," Angie says with a grin, taking a drink of her soda.

"About what?"

"You really do bring out the truth in people," she answers with a wry glower.

He ducks his head and scratches the back of his neck, "Well…"

She chuckles, "You think she did this on purpose? Introducing us? She's always tellin' me I need more friends."

Steve's suddenly very aware of a glowing warmth in his chest, feeling it reach out to the unanticipated blossoming solidarity between he and Angie, and wrapping around his affection for Peggy.

"You know, she's been telling me the same thing."


Later, when they're back on the road with the addition of two takeout bundles of pizza, Angie fiddles with his Ipod.

"I can't believe you like The Cure, but not The Smiths," she scoffs, scrolling through his meager selection of modern songs.

"I didn't say I didn't like them, I said that they were kind of depressing," he defends himself.

"And The Cure ain't?"

"You know, if I recall correctly, I don't remember seeing them name one of their songs Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now."

"See, what you're just tellin' me here is that you're in denial," she smirks down at his Ipod when he sighs. "Who remembers the names of songs they don't like?"

He shoots her a glare when he slows down at a red stop light, and her shoulders shake with silent laughter in response. Appearing to settle on a song, The Very Thought of You by Billie Holiday fills the car as Angie places the Ipod back on the console between them with a grin, "Happy, grandpa?"

"Yes," he answers with feigned gruffness. "Does Peggy know how much of a pain in the ass you are?" He asks fondly.

Angie snorts and looks away with forced casualness, "don't know what you're talkin' about."

When the lights turn green, he continues his way down the street when it suddenly occurs to him, "Should I drop you back? At Inglewood?"

At the mention of Inglewood, Angie lifts up a shoulder in a shrug. "Olivia'll gut me if she see's me back today," she says, keeping up the casual pretense.

When they near a certain intersection where he knows a left turn would lead them down back to the retirement home, he slows the car and gently asks, "And Peggy?"

She's silent for a moment, frowning out the window. "Turn right," she finally says, her voice distant.

After a short pause, he swings the car down right. The rest of the ride is silent except for the occasional direction from Angie and the music playing from his Ipod.

In short time, she directs him down a residential road lined with trees and cobblestone sidewalks. "This is me," she says, pointing to a row house three stories tall with fading red bricks. He stops the car in front of the house and Angie turns to him with a smile, "Thanks for the ride, Soldier."

"Anytime," he replies, grinning at the nickname.

Angie doesn't move to leave the car, she instead turns down the volume of the music and looks at him with a deep inhale, as if steadying herself. "So, y'know Peggy's birthday is next month," she starts with a bite to her lips. "I was plannin' on doing something nice for her, and now that you're here, I was thinkin' you can help me do something even better."

Of course, Peggy's birthday. Their shared joke regarding her age suddenly has him feeling slightly ill. "What were you planning?" He asks.

As opposed to him, Angie's eyes light up with excitement, "Well, every other week I sing with a local band that plays at the bar I work part-time at, and I was thinkin' I could bring 'em over to Inglewood for a little dinner and a show. Surprise Peg and the oldtimers, and play a bunch of old tunes with dancin' and everything."

He quirks an eyebrow, "You can sing?"

A smug smile curls her lips, "Professionally trained and all. Was gonna be a big star on Broadway back in the day, came this close - " she holds up a hand, her thumb and forefinger centimeters apart "- to makin' it, but the floodlights that shoulda been heading my way never lit up."

His eyebrows turn down in a frown, some of his curiosities regarding personas and disguises answered, more bemused than surprised at the fate of Angie's theatre career. He can almost picture her performing with him during his time with the USO, the second choice of many other girls with similar fates who were repeatedly told no.

"What happened?" He asks, feeling like he already knows the answer.

A corner of her mouth tilts in a somber smile and a offhand shrug, "Things just caught up to me."

Taking her evasion in stride, he nods sympathetically, "So where do I fit in with your show and dinner?"

Her smile turns soft and gentle, "You and Peggy get your dance."

Involuntarily, his spine turns stiff and a shadow crosses his face.

Catching his expression, Angie ducks her head. "I'm sorry, I...I know it probably seems like everything happened only yesterday, even after two years, and that maybe to you I shouldn't even know the last words you two said to each other but," she pauses and raises her eyes to meet his. "But it's been a damn long time for her, and I think she'd really appreciate it."

He grits his teeth, feeling slightly abashed at his unintentional ire, and turns his gaze forward to stare at the thin layer of snow already melting on the street.

He knows it was well-intentioned, he was being offered the opportunity of closure that he could never think of buying. Not with a million other chances hanging on the balance of a single promise, and instead of thanking Angie, he nearly bites her head off just because she knows more than he imagined Peggy admitting to anyone. Dependable indeed.

With a small sigh, he shoots a patiently waiting Angie a soft smile and answers, "Alright."

The smile that brightens her face could light up Times Square. "Great," she breathes with relief. "Gimme your phone."

Digging it out of his pocket, he drops it in her palm and watches as she adds her name and number to his contacts. "I'll send you details about it when it's all set up, plus updates on Peggy's good days," she says as she sends a message to her own number that prompts a chirping noise to come from one of her pockets. "And to also harass you for pizza and music recommendations."

She hands him the phone back with a plop and a contagious grin. "You're lucky I have unlimited texting," he grins.

"And you're lucky I care enough about your mental well-being to provide you the recommended daily dose of two hours of human contact," she quips back with a wink.

He rolls his eyes without ill-intent, "Get outta my car before I kick you out."

Angie huffs a laughs, "Your empty threats don't scare me, Soldier Boy." She promptly opens the door, letting a brisk breeze in the warm car. "Just one more thing though," she says before jumping out the car with her own bundle of pizza leftovers in hand and bends down to look at him, "Gimme one second."

With a perplexed grin, he watches her close the car door and bounce up the steps towards her front door, moments later disappearing within the threshold. He takes the short time he didn't have before to look at the house. Tall, thin, and red with black trimmings and an empty bed of soil lay barren next to the staircase, it looks just as expensive as he imagines it to be.

For a brief moment, as Angie makes her reappearance through the door and down the steps, he wonders just how she can afford it.

When Angie opens the car door and bounces back inside does he notice there's a pile of records in her arms. He quirks an eyebrow at her.

"I meant what I said that I'm gonna harass the hell out of you with music," she says, her breath visible in a small fog and holds out the records to him as if she were holding a priceless artifact. "Can I trust you to take care of these?"

A glances down at the pile, the sleeve of the record laying on top had the words Fleetwood Mac and Rumours on it along with a man and a woman wearing dated clothing. He smiles down at its perfect condition and looks up through his eyelashes at Angie, "I'll guard them with my life."

"Good," she says with a nod and a sigh, slowly handing them over to Steve. "They're all first editions, so if I hear a scratch on any of 'em you're dead meat, you got that Rogers?"

Steve laughs, and salutes, "Yes, ma'am."

Angie rolls her eyes, "Shoulda known you'd be a punk. See if I feed you any my famous manicotti on Good Friday."

"I'm sure I'll find a way to convince you."

His smile broadens when she narrows her eyes and pokes him hard in the chest, "I want detailed reports on what you think of each of 'em, capisce?"

"Yes, ma -"

"And stop callin' me ma'am, ya damn punk," she snaps with a quick whack on his arm, and with that, she's out on the street and slamming the car.

"Yes, ma'am," he calls out loud enough to hear through the door. He wears an innocent smile when she turns around to glare at him, and chuckles when she flashes him the middle finger.

A warm fondness lodges itself in his chest, watching her turn back around with mirthful laughter. He waits for her to safely make her way back into the house, waving at her once she's through the door. She returns the gesture with a grin and another eye roll.

The door closes and the fondness sits and settles, content to remain unmoving indefinitely.


Later, when he's listening to Rumours on his record player for the second time while eating the rest of the pizza, he sends Angie a text.

You were right, I do like Fleetwood Mac

Five minutes later, while he's looking up the lyrics on his laptop, his phone chirps with a new message.

told you! i'm never wrong :D

He snorts, even through text she came off as bubbly. A second later, another message pops up below.

but you're forgetting the big picture here soldier. detailed reports! gonna need more than that :) :) :)

He slowly sighs, briefly contemplating the openness of this newfound friendship he suddenly found himself in. Before he can come to any sort of conclusion, he mutters, "Quid pro quo," types out his reply and sends it before he can stop himself.

Like a heartbeat, drives you mad in the stillness of remembering what you had and what you lost...

Taking the leap off the edge of a proverbial cliff had never felt more nerve-wracking, and he had done his fair share of jumping off actual cliffs. He putters around while waiting for a reply, carefully shuffling through the other records Angie had lent him. It wasn't the first time he found the modern conventions of long distant communication abnormally trying, considering how before the slow pace of letters left one waiting for weeks at a time.

Three and a half minutes later, his phone chirps with Angie's response. He nearly grimaces at himself with the speed at which he picks up his phone. Nevertheless, the corner of his mouth lifts when he reads her response.

i changed my mind, you get as much manicotti as you want


thank you for reading! you can find me on tumblr as youngbloodbuzz, and check out the 'black widow au' tag for fun times.