Chapter Twenty-eight
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11:23 AM EDT, Boston, Massachusetts, USA
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Peggy clawed her way back to consciousness as though she was scaling the inside of a well. Her mouth felt dry, and she was freezing. With a sudden jolt of urgency she reached blindly for her stomach, heart lurching sluggishly against her ribs.
"Hey." A gentle pair of hands caught hers, holding them steady. Pepper. "Peggy, are you awake?"
Was she awake? She supposed so. "C-cold," she managed through chattering teeth, and Pepper's hands disappeared. The next moment something warm settled over her, and she couldn't help the little sound of relief that escaped.
"Baby?" she tried, keeping things to one-word sentences for now. Pepper didn't answer right away, and suddenly Peggy found the panicked strength to haul heavy eyelids open.
She must have looked horrified, because Pepper's hand was around hers again, administering soothing little pats. "They're not sure yet. They had to pull out early because of some fluid around his heart, but things looked encouraging."
Pepper's voice went on - she said something else about another checkup in a few hours, but Peggy didn't hear a word of it. Her vision blurred and she shut her eyes against the relieved tears, refusing to let them fall. Encouraging. She could live with that diagnosis for now.
"Steve?" she asked next.
This time the pause was longer. Peggy felt her heart shudder to a stop; she tried to steel herself before opening her eyes again.
"He - mm - he went down, didn't he?"
Her voice shook miserably. Wretched drugs. Her emotional walls were all in pieces; there was nothing left to shore up her defenses.
Pepper squeezed her hand tightly. "We don't know that."
The CEO was outwardly very calm, methodically laying out the facts despite her own undercurrent of strain so strong it was almost palpable. "From the satellite images it looks like Sokovia has blown up. There's too much dust in the air to get through to the helicarrier, but it's built to survive extreme conditions. He's probably fine."
Peggy bit her lips and turned her head away, breathing deeply through her nose until she was sure her face wouldn't crumple. The evacuation had been underway - there was a good chance Steve had been able to make it onto one of the transports. Still, she knew him well enough to know that he would have been the last in line, the last on board the helicarrier. If anybody had still been on the flying rock when it blew up, he would have been with them.
With a long breath, she pulled her hand out from Pepper's and tried to sit up, scowling when her lower body wouldn't move. The epidural still hadn't worn off.
"Wheelchair," she ordered. "Let's go."
Pepper didn't move. "The doctor wants to keep you here for observation," she explained again. "They're not sure yet if the operation was successful or not."
Peggy eyed the door and tried to calculate her chances of being able to drag herself out by her arms, but the prospect wasn't attractive. Besides, she was still in a hospital gown, chilled to the bone, and there was a chance her baby still needed help. With a groan, she flopped back against the pillow. "I shouldn't be here," she fretted. "I should be there with him."
The CEO nodded understandingly, her own face tight with anxiety. "I know. Believe me, I know."
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6:13 PM CET, Novi Grad, Sokovia
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Night came on very suddenly, the sky streaked in blood as the setting sun caught the dust in the air. Steve's feet felt numb. He couldn't remember the last time he'd sat down. There was so much to do though, and no time to take a break.
Hours earlier, after the explosion that tore Ultron's plans to shreds, Fury had been set to take the helicarrier to a refugee camp in a nearby country. The Sokovian officials had refused, insisting they be set back down in what was left of Novi Grad. Families had been torn apart, people were frightened and lost, and the angry Sokovians demanded SHIELD's help and cursed the Avengers for their interference in the same breath.
They had been somewhat surprised when Steve Rogers arrived to stand with them, showing up in his dirty uniform, shield on his back.
"This wouldn't have happened if it hadn't been for us." Steve's jaw was set, and his arms folded. "We owe it to them Fury, like it or not."
Fury hadn't liked it, but he didn't have much say in the matter - not when the captain had that look on his face.
And so Steve, shoulder to shoulder with the terrified survivors, had been the first man to set foot on the ground.
Novi Grad was an absolute mess. Most of the city had been torn up by the roots, and the rim that was left hadn't escaped unscathed either. Buildings had toppled from falling debris and the initial ground-shaking wrench. Water and electricity were out, phone lines were down, and the streets were clogged with cars and people. Children choked on the thick air as parents tied whatever cloth they could find around tiny mouths, trying to protect their lungs.
The whole scene was horribly familiar, actually. Steve had seen this before in London, in Belgium, in Normandy. He worked mechanically; clearing rubble, helping trapped civilians, carrying the dead to lie along the streets so their families could identify them. It was thankless, numbing work.
An hour into his self-imposed task, Tony arrived, wordlessly helping him heave a fallen beam out of a road. They didn't speak, working silently in tandem.
Most of the civilians avoided them, casting wary glances out of the corner of their eyes. A few swore or spit, some cried, but the most difficult were the ones who got violent, screaming as they threw things at the Avengers. They didn't cause much damage to the Iron Man suit, but after a cinder block connected with the back of Steve's head, Tony lost his patience.
"Ungrateful brats," he said, after frightening the young hoodlums away with his menacing approach. Then he faced the captain, speaking to him directly for the first time since finding out Bruce was MIA. "Look, why don't you head back to the carrier, see what the next step is?"
Steve shook his head, hair bloody where the sharp edge had cut him, coughing against the dusty air. Stark's metal gauntlet curled over his shoulder, and the mask folded back.
"I mean it, Cap," he said quietly. His voice was brusque, but not unkind. "Go get a drink or something. I can take care of stuff here for a while."
He didn't want to. He wanted to stay and keep helping, try to absolve his guilt through manual labor - but this was Stark, trying to do something for somebody else, and Steve knew how important that was. Besides, there was a chance the helicarrier might have established connections with America again.
"Five minutes," he relented at last, and went.
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The inside of the helicarrier was bright, and Steve was mildly surprised at how dark it had become outside. The passageways were still full of homeless Sokovians, and they clutched at his uniform as he passed, calling out inquiries about their families, their homes, their livelihood. He had no answers - his command of the language wasn't nearly good enough, and he was emotionally stretched thin.
It was a relief to reach the command deck and close the door behind him. Maria Hill brought him a bottle of water, and he downed half of it in one swallow.
"Any chance I can get a call through to New York?" he asked hopefully. Hill shook her head. The dust had been settling somewhat, but technicians didn't anticipate being able to get a connection through until morning at least. Her eyes were full of questions that she would never ask, and he was grateful for that.
Finishing off the water, Steve turned back to the door. Then he hesitated. He knew that the homeless, helpless throng was waiting for him on the other side, and he knew he was unable to help them.
"Where's Miss Maximoff?" he asked instead.
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He found her curled into the shadow of a bulkhead, up on the upper level where seawater could flood in and out freely when the helicarrier was used as a boat. With a stifled groan, he slid down the wall and sat next to her, stretching out his legs. His knees hurt, and the back of his head still throbbed.
Vision had flown off somewhere, and hadn't returned yet. Thor didn't seem worried though, so Steve had decided to leave it all to him. Aliens and robots weren't exactly his area of expertise.
Homeless European war victims - now those he had experience with.
For a long time, they sat in silence. She was just a kid, eyes staring blankly out of a dirty face, long hair hopelessly tangled. Steve had seen that look on so many faces during the war, after New York, after DC. In fact, he was pretty sure he'd had that look on his own face after Bucky died, after his mother died.
"I'm sorry about your brother," he said at last.
Her face twisted suddenly, and she laid her head on her knees, hair falling around her. Steve knew the words were hopelessly inadequate. He'd heard them before when Bucky had gone missing; when he'd let his brother fall. Shifting, he reached out and lightly touched her shoulder. She didn't pull away, so he left his hand there, trying to ground her.
"You know," he said at last, when the silence between them felt a little less fragile, "You're welcome to stay with us for as long as you want."
She sat up straight, and he drew his hand back. "At Stark Tower?" she asked, mouth pulling into a halfhearted expression of distaste.
"At the Avengers Tower," Steve corrected quietly.
Wanda surveyed him for a moment, and then lowered her eyes and clenched a hand over her mouth. She had been too young when her parents died, Steve realized. Grief for them had long since changed into anger and a desire for vengeance. This loss was new and raw, and she had no idea how to deal with it.
"I wish I could tell you that it gets easier," he told her after a minute. His voice rasped in his throat from the dust; he spoke slowly, choosing his words with care. "It won't, not right away. But you don't have to do this alone. We got your back, Wanda."
Her face crumpled. Then she cried - a low, mournful keening for her brother, her soul's companion, her friend. Steve closed his eyes for a moment and remembered a bombed-out pub, the bite of ineffective alcohol, and a bone-deep grief that would never entirely leave him.
He put his hand on her shoulder again, and they sat in the gathering darkness.
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1:20 PM EDT, Boston, Massachusetts, USA
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"Thank you," Pepper said to the woman at the hospital lunchroom. The cinnamon rolls weren't nearly as nice as the ones Natasha could make when she was in the mood, but hopefully they would make a nice treat for Peggy. The agent had been lying flat on her back for far longer than either of them had patience for, and needed something to keep her occupied while they waited for the results of the procedure.
Absorbed in her paper bag, Pepper stepped briskly off the elevator and was halfway down the hallway to her friend's room when she overheard the hushed, gossipy chatter coming from the nurse's station.
Pepper hadn't got where she was without knowing when to listen in, and to whom. She slowed, taking care not to let her steps make a sound as she approached.
"...got a ring, but I guess her husband didn't even care enough to come with her."
"At least she has a friend."
"What kind of man leaves his wife alone at a time like this?"
They were talking about Peggy. If she hadn't worried that they would throw her out, Pepper would have stalked over and shown them a few of the self-defense moves Happy had drilled into her. Instead, she put on her most politely threatening smile and advanced.
"You know her husband is a soldier?" she commented, almost conversationally and with extreme politeness. Heads turned guiltily; one of the nurses jumped and dropped a clipboard. Pepper allowed her pleasant smile to widen just a trifle. It was an expression that always left the stockholders shivering in their seats, and she knew it. "He's overseas right now, fighting to keep all of you safe."
She didn't bother to listen to their shamefaced apologies, her expensive heels clicking dangerously as she continued down the hall to Peggy's room. After all, the cinnamon rolls weren't getting any warmer.
Besides, she needed to get the number of the wing supervisor. Employees shouldn't be talking behind their patients' backs like that.
So unprofessional.
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8:36 PM CET, Novi Grad, Sokovia
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Steve stayed with Wanda for an endless age as she cried, quietly offering what support he could. Then, when her choked sobs had finally turned to miserable hiccups, he offered her his handkerchief. It was filthy and bloody, but she hunted for a clean spot and blew her nose.
"Want to lend me a hand?" he offered, once she handed the square of fabric back. "Sometimes it helps."
She wiped at her eyes with both wrists, leaving muddy streaks on her face, and nodded without hesitation.
There were blankets in the helicarrier lockers. Steve doubted Fury would tell him the combinations if asked, so he simply started at one end of the row, systematically breaking each door open. Wanda worked toward him from the other end.
The girl was made of strong stuff, Steve mused, as he watched her wrench another locker open with a flash of her eyes. She just needed some stability, some support. Maybe she would allow them to give that to her.
It was handy having a native speaker with him. Together, he and Wanda distributed blankets, trying to get families settled in any free corner of space they could find. Most of them wouldn't be leaving the helicarrier tonight. Clint eventually joined them, hobbling badly, face tight and grim and grateful as he nodded briefly to the Maximoff girl.
After all, it was because of her brother's sacrifice that the ice-cold saline stasis tank in the medical wing held Pietro's bullet-riddled body and not Clint's.
A mechanical clanking echoed down the hallway, and Steve straightened guiltily. He'd meant to go right back and help Stark, but then Wanda had needed a friend, and then they'd been sidetracked.
"Sorry," he started, but Tony waved off the apology, detaching the faceplate into his hand.
"Not a big deal. Thunder Boy and his new buddy turned up right after you left. We're gonna take off for the night anyway." He stepped closer, metal boots echoing dully. People pulled away, spitting on the suit, glaring hatefully, and Steve felt a sudden surge of annoyance at them. Despite having made Ultron in the first place, the man wasn't completely responsible for all of this.
"Oh, before I forget." Tony held out the faceplate of his suit and lowered his voice so those around them wouldn't hear. "Will you tell your wife I am not a cell phone service? Sheesh, the nerve of some people."
Steve stared at the faceplate, and his throat felt suddenly too small. "I - my wife? Tony, the dust is still too thick to call out."
Tony grinned suddenly, teeth gleaming white in the dirt-darkened face. "You mean SHIELD can't call out. My tech is better - I've had reception for the past half hour. Scratchy, and audio only, but better than nothing. Here," he flapped the faceplate impatiently, "my arm is getting tired."
Blindly, Steve passed his armful of blankets to someone - probably Clint. His hand wasn't quite steady as he reached for the piece of metal, and Tony threw him a quick, surprised glance. If it weren't for the strain still hovering between them over Bruce's disappearance, the billionaire probably would have asked what was wrong. As it was, he would almost certainly try to listen in.
Steve couldn't take the call here. Not if - not if the worst had happened.
"Thanks," he managed, and then pushed through the nearest door, turning corners at random, heading away from the noise and crowd until by some miracle he found an empty stairwell. At last, uncertainly, he lifted the plate to cover his face. Stark's head was a different shape from his own - it didn't fit comfortably. A viewscreen bloomed before his eyes, a picture of Pepper hovering in one corner; he guessed the call was from her phone.
"Rogers." His voice was more abrupt than he'd meant. There was a very long pause, and he was just beginning to think the connection had failed when he heard Peggy's voice. It was thin and crackly, but definitely hers.
"Steve?"
The air left his lungs with a rush. "Yeah." Why was he so bad at talking on the phone? "Did - are you - how'd it go?"
Another moment of silence. All the air seemed sucked out of the room. Steve's heart seized up, cramping in his chest.
Then Peggy caught her breath, a shuddering little sound. "Darling," she whispered. Her tone was unreadable over the bad connection. "It's all right."
He still couldn't breathe. "All right?" he faltered, mind spinning too fast to manage rational thought. What did 'all right' mean exactly?
"The doctor just came through." It was unmistakable now - her voice fairly throbbed with a hope and gladness he hadn't heard since the first bad news blindsided them. "They believe the operation was successful. He needs to heal, but - Steve - he has a chance."
Steve didn't realize he'd fallen to his knees until he felt the floor under his fingertips. His other hand clamped the mask hard against his face, bruising the bridge of his nose. He tried to say something, to let her know how much he loved her, how glad he was, how relieved, but the only thing that came out of his mouth was a sort of sobbing half-laugh.
He knew how to take grief with a stiff upper lip - that was an old story to him. Joy, however, was another matter altogether.
On the other end of the line, Peggy blinked wet eyes hard, smiling giddily at her husband's wordless, exhausted relief, whispering tenderly to him as he fell apart on the other side of the world. Pepper, her own heart warm from the few words she'd exchanged with her boyfriend earlier, quietly got to her feet and left the room, giving them some privacy.
They didn't need an outsider listening in.
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Hi. :) Thank you for all your kind reviews, and for your patience waiting for me to get my act together. I hope I didn't break your hearts too much with Pietro - honestly, half of what took so long was me trying to figure out how to save him and what I would do with him if I did. But this is the way I wrote it so long ago, and so this is the way it went. RIP, you quirky Sokovian rascal - I loved writing you more than I'd expected.
Guest replies (I'll get around to the rest of you at some point, truly! For now, just know that I Appreciate You and that You're The Best Readers Ever!):
Arwen55: I love Steve too! Steve appreciation club, unite! As for the Infinity War - yeah, I feel the same way. Next year feels forever away, and I'm so apprehensive about it already… anyway, thanks for your review!
Kirsten: You. Are. Amazing. You had me smiling for three days straight as I got all your lovely reviews, one after the other! I tried a couple times to jump in and edit a chapter to leave you a thank-you note, but I don't know if you saw it. I don't know if you'll see this either, but I wanted to let you know that I'm so incredibly grateful, and your kind words made for one of the most memorable experiences I've had on this site. Thank you!
ChildofGod: Hey, being late is what the Steggy fandom is all about, so you're not alone. Thanks so much for your lovely review! I'm glad you feel like Tony was in-character. Having Bruce leave had to be hard on him, and I felt like we needed to see some of that reaction. (Also, Pepper and Peggy are probably the best and scariest fririendship ever. Just saying.) Thanks again!
