Steve's hands trembled as he reached for the doorbell, thoughts racing through his mind. All these years- almost 70, what if she had forgotten him? What if she had found someone else? What if he was walking straight into a family that she had established after she took him for dead? Did she even wait at The Stalk Club for him? He had come all this way, for her, but what if it was all for nothing?
But then he remembered the kiss, and the look in her eyes when she whispered "go get him." He remembered the sadness he heard in her voice when he told her his fate and his imagined image of the tears silently falling down her face.
And, slowly but surely, his hands pressed against the doorbell. Straining his ears for a sound, he heard a shuffle of footsteps towards the door. His heart raced as he saw the doorhandle turning, and as it opened, his jaw dropped.
The thought that she would age in the time he had been asleep had briefly occurred to her, but not like this. Instead of the rich brown hair that flowed elegantly to her shoulders like he remembered, it was grey strands that were pulled to a bun that revealed wrinkles that lined her face. But even from all the years, her body still stood tall and defiant, and her beautiful, deep brown eyes were still filled with mystery that still made Steve's heart sigh.
Her face was a mix of shock and disbelief as she realised that Steve, the Steve that made her heart leap when she saw him on T.V. in New York just a week ago, was standing at her doorstep with his unmistakable smile painted across his face.
And for minute there they just stood there, taking each other in. And in almost the exact same voice as when she joined him in November 1943- five miles from the front, her voice untainted by time, she said, with the greatest tint of happiness and joy, "Hello, Steve".