Can I Have This Dance?

"Tony, what's a Wii?" Steve Rogers stared at the small, white machine in wonder.

Tony Stark rolled his eyes and let out a breath of air. Sure, he felt a little bad for the kid, knowing it must be hard to wake up seventy years in the future, but did he really have to ask so many dumb questions? "Google it, Cap."

Steve looked up, his face a mask of confusion. He opened his mouth to say something, but Tony beat him to it. "Google is a . . . um . . ." How do I explain this in primitive man speech? "It's like a dictionary on the computer. But it stores more info than any dictionary. You type in anything, and Google will know what it is, where to find it, and whether or not it's illegal." Not that I pay much attention to that part, he added silently in his head.

Tony quickly guided the wide-eyed Captain to his computer next to the desk and showed him how the search engine worked.

Satisfied that the rest of his day would be question-free, Tony turned to walk away. And visibly winced when Steve said, "Tony?"

"What?" Tony asked, trying to keep cool and not blast his fellow Avenger's head off. Wouldn't want bad publicity and whatnot.

"Uh . . . can you look people up on Google, too?"

Tony nearly shouted for joy when he heard the simple question. "Yes." He then grabbed a drink from his personal bar and watched Steve surreptitiously. He couldn't help it - he was curious.

But he'd barely gotten comfortable in one of the stools when suddenly Steve bolted from the chair. He grabbed his tan jacket and practically flew through the front door.

Tony raised one eyebrow. What the heck? he thought as he abandoned his drink and walked toward the computer. He browsed through the History on it, raising his other eyebrow when he found the last thing typed into Google.

-This-is-a-line-

Steve stopped in front of the large double doors, his heart pounding in his chest. He'd been mentally preparing himself on the way here, but now that he actually was here he didn't know if he could do this.

You're Captain America, he told himself sternly. You can do this.

Slowly, he pushed the doors open.

The blindingly white walls were the first things he noticed when he stepped into the building. A few people sat in the hard chairs off to the side, but he ignored them and walked straight for the large desk with the brown-haired receptionist behind it.

Steve told the lady who he was here to see, and she gave him a quick, tight smile. "It's good you came now, sir. She's starting to fade, and no one visits her anymore."

Steve tried to not look too surprised. "What, no kids?"

The nurse shook her head. "She never married." Then she directed the Avenger to the patient's room, giving him a pat on the arm. "In case you didn't know," she said quietly, "she was quite sick several years before, and the fever nearly took her life. Luckily she lived through it, but she became blind because of it." She turned around and walked back toward her desk.

Steve took a hesitant step into the hospital room, unprepared for the sight that met his eyes. A small, frail woman easily in her nineties lay on a hospital bed, her sightless eyes staring up at the ceiling. Her white, curly hair was cropped to her ears, but Steve still recognized her. How could he not, when she filled his dreams every night?

As Steve stepped forward again, her head snapped toward the door, her blind eyes gazing straight at him. "Who is it?" she called out in a tired voice.

Steve's throat clogged. She sounded so . . . weary. Not at all like the way he remembered her. "Peggy," he managed to croak.

Peggy instantly stilled. "No one's called me that in . . . decades." Steve didn't say anything, content to just stare at her, to relish in the fact that she was alive.

Suddenly she started hacking and coughing, grating sounds that shouldn't have been coming from her delicate throat.

Steve was at her side in an instant, his hand gripping hers. "Well," she said once her fit was over. "Whoever you are, you came just in time. I think I'm almost gone."

A tear escaped Steve's eye and trickled onto his chin. "Actually, some people think I'm late." A tiny sob shook his body, but he ignored it. "Like always."

Peggy's grip on his hand tightened. A shaky smile adorned her face. "I . . . knew a man once. A long, long time ago. He was always late . . ." her smile vanished, replaced by tears and confusion in her eyes. "And I never got to show him something . . . I don't remember what it was . . . but it was important."

Steve could feel more tears sliding down his cheeks. "Maybe you can still show him." He leaned in close and whispered in her ear, "He found the right partner, Peggy, but he missed his chance."

Peggy smiled again. "You know, you remind me of someone," she whispered quietly. "Oh, dear, I can't quite recall his name . . . ."

The beeping of the machine next to her bed was growing fainter, and for some reason Steve knew that that was bad. "Peggy," he said in a thick voice. "Can you promise me something?" He didn't wait for a reply. "When we see each other again . . . will you teach me how to dance?"

Peggy had closed her eyes. "Fine," she said after a moment of silence. The beeping noise had almost dwindled to nothing by now. Then, with a faint smile, she said, "But you better not be late, Captain." The pale hand in his went limp, and her head rolled to the side, still smiling.

Steve rested his elbows on the bed, holding onto her hand like it was a lifeline as sobs racked his body. "I won't be, Peggy," he vowed to the unmoving body. "I won't be."