A/N: So, that Steve and Peggy story that killed me last week will not get out of my head. I decided to continue make it a series. I have at least one more. They are posted here separately, at AO3 they are under the series "When the Wizard Gets to Me I'm Asking for a Smaller Heart." The first story was "How Can I Help You Say Goodbye?" It will be slightly helpful to read that first.

Just FYI. This is not a Steve and Maria ship. Just friendship. :) (However, if the Marvel movie makers are kind enough to rule in our little group's favor, that can change. ;D)

Please R&R.

Brussels Airport resembled a refugee camp more than an international travel hub. A strike by flight attendants had forced hundreds of flight delays and cancellations. Weary vacationers slouched in seats, if they could find one. Business travelers lay on the floors and used their carry-ons as pillows. Babies cried, children ran and screeched in the aisles, their parents tried to remain calm as their tired nerves were stretched to the breaking point. And a lone super-soldier stared in dismay at the flight departure board.

Steve had been distracted when he'd arrived in Belgium. He and Sam had a lead on a former Soviet doctor now living in Brussels who might have information on Bucky. The two had decided to split their resources, with Sam heading to Vienna for a few days to follow a different lead Maria had sent them. When he had spoken to Sam the previous evening his friend thought the lead would pan out better than the Soviet doctor had. Steve told him he'd meet him in a few days. He had some business to attend to in DC that couldn't wait.

He glared at the board now as if that alone could change the word 'DELAYED' next to his flight. Steve looked at his watch, then back to the board. A voice had been needling him in the back of his mind since the desk clerk at the hotel had told him about the strike when he checked out that morning. It was getting louder. He pulled out his phone and questioned the wisdom of calling Maria at 3 a.m. New York time.

The voice reminded him that if he'd contacted her to arrange his travel in the first place he wouldn't be in this predicament. Maria would have known the potential threat of the strike and made sure it didn't affect him. She was, without a doubt, the most competent person he knew. But she already did too much for him. She had a job, probably a private life. Every time he called her, Steve felt he was infringing on those. If he called her now, he'd certainly be interrupting her sleep.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, closed his eyes, and let out an exasperated sigh. He just didn't see that there was any choice. He couldn't be late, not now. The mere thought of not being in DC before the end of the day caused his chest to tighten. He'd been in the hospital the previous year and missed the day entirely. It was her last.

Steve pulled himself forcefully into the presence and dialed speed dial #2 on his phone. It didn't take very long to hear a voice at the other end of the line.

"Steve."

It was a statement, not a query. She sounded ready to do anything he needed. He needed a flight out of Belgium.

"Hold on," she said. "I'll see what I can do."

An extended silence followed and Steve waited patiently, knowing that if getting him on another flight was even a remote possibility, Maria would have no problem accomplishing it. She honestly amazed him sometimes.

"I got you a flight out," she stated with no preamble when she came back on the line. "It leaves in an hour. I'll text you the gate information."

Steve let out a long sigh before thanking her.

"You're welcome," she replied.

The text came a few minutes after their good-byes. Steve read the gate number and shoved the phone into his pocket. Shifting his pack to his other shoulder, he weaved through the masses of people, and headed for his destination relieved that there was a chance he'd make it on time.

Break

Steve stared through the door leading outside from customs at Dulles Airport unable to hide the surprise on his face at the sight of the woman holding the umbrella as she waited in the loading area in the rain.

When the Stark pilot had informed him an hour before landing that the rain that had been forecast for later that night had moved in earlier than expected and was going to create a snarl out of the evening commute, Steve's heart sank. Even an aggressive cabbie wouldn't be able to get him to the florist and the cemetery in time.

Steve stepped into the revolving door with a small group of travelers and followed them out the other side. Maria gave him a slight smile that in no way matched his own gregarious one and walked toward him.

"I thought you were in New York," he said as she lifted the umbrella over him.

"I was," she replied.

She guided him across the lane to a waiting black town car, then pushed a button on the fob and the trunk popped up. He lifted it and stowed his bag before walking around to settle himself into the front passenger seat. She offered no further explanation of her presence as she forced her way into the airport traffic.

"Did something happen?" Steve asked, unable to come up with a reason for her to pick him up at the airport.

Maria only shook her head.

"I just," she paused, briefly. "I just thought you might need a driver."

Steve turned to her, his brows furrowed in confusion.

"You flew to DC to drive me to my apartment," he said.

She shook her head again and Steve felt himself grow frustrated. He was emotionally drained from the past few days, and he just wanted to get to the cemetery before it closed. Instead he had to play Twenty Questions with Maria Hill. He took a deep breath then chastised himself internally. Maria never did anything without a reason. Why she wasn't forthcoming with her reason, Steve wasn't sure, but he did know there was no need for him to be angry with her.

"There isn't enough time to stop by your apartment," she said, her voice softer now.

He looked hard at her now, finally noting the stress lines on her face. They were rare, especially if she knew she was under observation. The last time he'd seen them was the night before they brought down SHIELD. These lines weren't as deep, but they did make him curious. He wondered if that was what she was thinking of now. Steve had never figured her for a person who kept anniversaries, either good or bad. But over the past month, Steve was starting to rethink what he'd previous thought about Maria Hill.

"I called the cemetery and asked them to let you in late," she finally said. "The guard will meet us at the gate."

Steve felt his mouth open in surprise. He wasn't sure how to respond.

"That's why you needed to be home, right?" she asked.

He almost thought she sounded unsure of herself, but that would be completely incongruous with her personality.

"Yes," he said. "But how did you know?"

Her smile was faint, and if he wasn't used to watching for it, he wouldn't have noticed.

"I remembered her birthday from the graveside service," Maria told him.

Steve stared at her for several moments before turning to stare silently out the windshield as Maria made her way through the clogged streets. He wasn't surprised forty-five minutes later when she pulled to a stop outside a florist three blocks from the cemetery.

"I'll drive around and pick you up," she told him.

Steve only gave her a silent nod as she handed him her umbrella. He threw open the door and stepped out into the downpour amidst the sound of the horns of angry motorists behind them, then he ran into the florist to find something beautiful and fitting. The florist directed him to an arrangement of deep crimson Falstaff. Steve inhaled the scent deeply as the man counted out the change then he stepped back out into the rain to look for Maria's car.

It took twenty minutes to get the three blocks. The road, usually three traffic lanes each direction, had been reduced to one in their direction due to an accident. Steve was grateful emergency vehicles had already arrived or he knew he'd feel compelled to offer his services. He hated to be selfish but he hoped to have some time with her before dark.

The guard was waiting for them as was promised and he slid the iron gate open for Maria to drive in, giving Steve a slight salute, which Steve returned, as they passed through. Then they followed the winding road to a spot near the grave.

Steve slogged through the wet grass to Peggy's grave (he could say her name here, though he wasn't sure why). He stared at the headstone, his back to Maria as she waited in the car. For several minutes he stood silently as he tried to regain control of his emotions.

It had been nearly a month since he'd stood in the same place and listened as the few remaining friends, and her family, had said their last goodbyes in a simple ceremony. Then they'd all passed by Sharon and himself, shaking hands and offering further condolences, assuring Steve that Peggy was in a better place, and this was for the best. Steve had set his jaw, just as he had so many decades earlier beside a stone marking the empty grave of James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes, Beloved son, brother, friend, comrade in arms.

This time it felt different, however. This time there was no HYDRA to blame, no Schmidt to take a fight to. It was the ravages of time that had taken Peggy from him, how could he sort out his grief against that? He could almost hear her, though, chastising him for not appreciating what they'd had, however brief their time together. But she was his best girl, his only girl. She was the only one Steve had ever wanted, the only one he'd ever loved, and her death left a gaping hole in his heart, one he couldn't begin to imagine anyone else filling.

At last he set the flowers with the others on her grave. Steve was glad so many had been kind enough to remember Peggy's birthday. He knew that as the years went by, that number would dwindle. But he understood, Peggy didn't mean the same to others as she did to him. With a final sigh, and a "Happy Birthday," Steve turned and traipsed back across the soggy grass to the waiting car.

Maria said nothing when he reentered the car. He expected her to put the car into gear and drive, but she didn't immediately. He waited a moment then turned to ask why.

"Are you ready?" she asked.

She looked at him the same as she had the night after Peggy's funeral, after they'd returned to New York and she found him in the common room at the tower. Her eyes held that same sympathy and understanding of which he had never previously associated with her. When he realized what she was asking and why, he turned away from her. After several more minutes, he nodded and she drove them away.

When they reached the road, Steve turned back to her.

"Let's go get a drink or something to eat," he said.

"I don't know," she started to reply but Steve interrupted her.

"It wasn't a question."

He smiled when she looked at him and he was pleasantly surprised when she offered him one in return.

"Where to?" she asked as she eased out into traffic.

"I know a great Italian place in Arlington," he told her. "Great food, better wine."

This garnered an even bigger smile.

break

The two swapped stories, some of battles, some of loss, and more than a few of Tony Stark, as they ate their fill, and drank enough wine that Steve took the keys and drove them to a local movie house that played classic films. They laughed their way through "His Girl Friday" and when Steve drove Maria to her hotel, he felt a little lighter.

"Thank you, again," he said, as they stood in the hall outside her room.

"You're welcome, again," she smiled.

She turned to slide the key-card but then faced him again.

"It really will get easier," she said. "I know that's cliché, but it's a true cliché. And maybe, when you find Bucky."

Maria didn't finish her thought. There was no need. Steve thought that when he found Bucky, maybe things really would get easier.