Thanks AAA for first introducing me to MCU (or not, it's become an obsession.)
Disclaimer: The marvel-lous Marvel Cinematic Universe. Thanks AAA for introducing me (or not, it's become an obsession.)
It was unreasonable, she knew. She shouldn't, couldn't, expect him to be there. Oh, she had no doubt if he could (and he would have moved Heaven and Earth) he would be, but he couldn't.
Not even Captain America could have survived (and to her, he was just Steve – raw, real, not just the hyped-up hero they used to inspire the masses.) She could still see, in her minds-eye, the boy that had curled his body around the grenade, yelling at everyone to get away. She could still see the small grin as, having knocked down the flag that had stood for 17 years, he climbed into the vehicle amidst shocked silence.
She could still see him.
And she would do her damnedest to make sure they knew his story. Every last man and woman. He deserved that, the acknowledgement. He had sacrificed himself, for millions of people who wouldn't understand (would never understand, this pain she felt now, the unanswered question of what might have been.)
But though she keeps reminding herself it's impossible, she can't help but dream. She can't stamp it out, that tiny irrational kernel of hope, that belief in a final miracle (in him) that he'll turn up, somehow, and save her the telling.
It is because of this hope she can't quite quash that she heads to the club anyway, in a dress of charcoal black (because she knows, deep down she knows) and sits herself down.
A hand taps her shoulder precisely as the clock strikes 8 and she turns around, wide-eyed in disbelief, the hope surging inside her to fever-pitch, and she berates herself, crestfallen, the instant she sees the waiter's friendly face.
She only leaves at midnight (once the club closes) and in the darkness of her room, she finally breaks down and weeps.
A/N: Currently a one-shot, will be continued with various scenes from Peggy's life later on.