A/N: The result of me watching Endgame, enjoying it thoroughly, and then having a terrible time at work over the following two days. So I'm indulging in a little bit of fanfic writing now. Does not, I think, contain obvious spoilers for Endgame.
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Howard Stark had told her not to go.
"You're just hurting yourself, Peggy. You don't have to go."
But she'd merely smiled sadly at him and shook her head.
Now she carefully pinned a stray curl back and glanced at the clock. A quarter to seven. Just enough time.
"Well, how do I look?" she asked her reflection.
Her reflection just smiled back at her – the same sad smile she'd given Howard.
It had been a week since she'd worn anything other than her uniform and black clothes. But tonight, Peggy wore red, with a brooch of silver stars pinned to the collar. She didn't have anything resembling a shield, so the stars would have to do.
She walked slowly. The Stork Club wasn't that far away. Just one bus ride and about five minutes' walk.
Peggy glanced down at her shoes as she walked. Funny how things as ordinary as her shoes now gave her a feeling of reality and unreality at the same time. The result of grief, they said. Yes, she knew it was grief. Grief, sorrow, pain.
On the bus, Peggy watched as buildings and cars and people went by. Every illustrated poster sent a pang into her heart. Steve could draw. Could probably draw better pictures than the ones in some of those posters. But the world would never know he could draw, would it? It would never have that chance. Steve would never have the chance to show the world his skill. The war took it away from him, and the war took him away from the world. Away from her.
A couple of tears formed. She dabbed them away with a handkerchief before they could ruin her makeup.
The bus reached her stop, and she got off. The lights of the city were flickering on.
She rehearsed the scene in her head. She would ask for a table for two, hand her hat and coat to the lady at the coat check. She would make her way to the table and sit there alone. Order a drink. Wait. Eventually, she would order some food. Perhaps the waiter would ask if she was still expecting someone. She would shake her head and say, "No, I don't think he's coming after all."
It would take all her self-control not to cry then, but she would not cry. She would hold it in until she got home.
Howard's "You don't have to go" came back to her.
But she had to go. To remember him.
And then there it was – the Stork Club. A group of well-dressed people were just walking in, laughing and chattering away.
She felt a moment of bitterness.
Yes, you're all happy. And you can be happy because he took the fall for you – for me – for all of us. You can be happy because he's not here anymore.
Peggy took a deep breath, willed the bitterness away, and prepared to go in after them.
Then she heard her name.
She looked around, frowning slightly. She had heard – or thought she had heard – him calling her name before this. In her dreams. Had she progressed to the point where she was hearing voices in real life too?
"Peggy."
She noticed a figure standing just out of range of the bright lights of the Stork Club's signage. The figure wore a hat low over the face.
Before she said anything, the figure tipped the hat up just enough so she could see the face under it. Familiar blue eyes, and a familiar sheepish smile appeared from under the shadow of the hat.
"I'm not late, am I?"
Peggy almost fainted. For several moments, it felt like time – and her heart – stopped completely.
"Excuse me!" Another patron of the Stork Club pushed past her.
"Sorry," she muttered, but her gaze was fixed on the figure in the dim light and growing shadows.
The figure, who looked like Steve but couldn't possibly be Steve, said, "Peggy, it's me."
"Steve?" Her voice sounded strange, high-pitched and choked. Involuntarily, she took a step towards the man.
He came a little closer to the bright lights, closer to her. "Yeah, it's Steve."
That sheepish smile again. Peggy's heart rose to her throat.
"How?"
"It's a really long story." He jerked his head back towards the more dimly-lit area. "Can we talk? I –"
Peggy launched herself at him, throwing her arms around his neck so suddenly that he staggered back a few steps. Then his arms wrapped around her and she knew it was real.
She drew back, grasping his hands in hers, and gasped, "You're alive. You're alive."
He nodded.
Were those tears she saw in his eyes? Or was she just imagining it? She certainly felt like crying herself.
"Peggy." He sounded as breathless as she felt. He lifted her hands and pressed his lips to them. It made her feel weak at the knees. "Before – just in case – something else crazy happens… I love you."
She wanted to do everything at once. Burst into tears, kiss him, laugh, talk, get a drink, cry some more. But she couldn't do it all at once. So, for starters, she kissed him.
Steve Rogers made a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a groan and leaned into the kiss. He cupped her face with his hands – hands that were warm, trembling, real.
Some distant part of her mind said that this would be better in the privacy of a room with a closed door, but right at that moment she didn't care. She had lost Steve Rogers, but somehow, she had him back now. Captain America, Steve Rogers, was very much alive, and moving his lips over hers with a determination that was almost desperate.
She pushed his hat off his head so she could run her fingers through his hair. He pulled her closer to him, and she wondered if he could feel her pounding heartbeat through all the layers of their clothing.
And when the kisses ceased, they just stood there a while in silence. Peggy laid her head on his chest, hands gripping the front of his coat. Steve buried his nose in her hair (for her hat had also come off by then), and seemed to want to keep his arms around her forever.
Finally, he spoke up. "You didn't answer my question."
"What question?" she asked.
"I'm not late, am I?"
Peggy laughed and said, "No, I don't think so."
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THE END