June, 1948

In which there is a wedding.

Edwin Jarvis looked up from straightening his cufflinks to see Steve Carter standing in front of the mirror, still engaged in the same valiant but losing battle with his tie that he had begun a few minutes ago. Taking pity on him, Jarvis stepped forward. "If you'll allow me, sir," he said, nodding at Mr. Carter's collar.

Color rose in Mr. Carter's cheeks, but he nodded and turned away from the mirror. "Thanks, Jarvis," he said. "I don't know why I can't get the stupid thing to work."

"It's perfectly natural, sir," Jarvis assured him, his fingers deftly executing a perfect Full-Windsor knot. "Pre-wedding nerves often make for rather jittery fingers." He smoothed down Mr. Carter's collar, shifted the knot of the tie half an inch to the right, and nodded, satisfied.

"Were you nervous before your wedding?" Mr. Carter asked, smoothing down the front of his tie in a noticeable effort not to fiddle with the knot. His tone suggested he was having trouble picturing Jarvis being anything but cool and collected.

Jarvis smiled. "Indeed, I was, sir," he said, thinking fondly back to the day in question. "My mother had to tie my tie for me."

That elicited a soft laugh from Mr. Carter, and put him at ease enough to drop his hands back to his sides. "I don't know why I'm so nervous," he said. He looked up and met Jarvis's eyes, suddenly looking very young. "I've wanted to spend my life with Peggy since…well, for years. And now I'm about to get to do that, and I…Why am I this scared?"

Jarvis smiled at him encouragingly. "I have found that the more momentous the occasion, the more nervous we tend to be. It doesn't mean you don't love her—merely that you are keenly aware of the significance of what is about to happen. If I might offer some advice?"

"Yes, please," Mr. Carter replied quickly.

"You need only keep hold of your fear until you reach the front of the church. Once Agent Carter comes in, you will very likely forget that you were even afraid to begin with." That was certainly how it had worked for him. He had been a bundle of nerves, on the verge of passing out, when Ana appeared like a vision from Heaven. All his unease had been washed away in a tidal wave of warmth, happiness, and love so powerful that he'd had to restrain himself from running down the aisle and grabbing her up in his arms.

Mr. Carter nodded, glancing down at his watch. "Only ten minutes until we go in." He drew in a deep breath. "Ten minutes. I can do that."

Jarvis watched him curiously as his hands went for his tie again before he caught himself and folded them behind his back instead, pacing over to the window and bouncing on his toes as he looked out over the church garden. Agent Carter had caused quite a stir two weeks ago when she'd announced her engagement to a man who had appeared seemingly out of thin air not even two months prior. It struck several of her friends and colleagues, Jarvis knew, as wildly out of character and impulsive. There had been a great deal of speculation about this Steven Carter, whose name, by one of those odd little quirks of the universe, was the same as the woman he was destined to marry, and how he had managed to sweep the unshakable Peggy Carter off her feet.

Jarvis, however, was not among the speculators. He had known Peggy Carter for a long time. He had seen her fearful, angry, confident, determined, grieving, courageous, and happy. And he had never seen her as happy as he had in the past two months since Steve Carter had appeared on the scene—the sort of happiness he felt with Ana, that joy of knowing you'd found your other half. Except once. It had been when Agent Carter had been staying in Mr. Stark's California home and Jarvis had found her late one night in the kitchen. It had been an anniversary of some sort—she never said of what—but she had been unable to sleep. So he made a pot of tea and pulled some biscuits from the cupboard, and listened as she talked. Jarvis had known that she and Captain Rogers had always had feelings for one another beyond simply being colleagues, but this was the first time she talked to him about it freely. And even in her sorrow, her grief for the man she'd loved and lost, Jarvis had seen that same happiness in her that night as she spoke, a happiness borne in his memory. And now it was in her eyes all the time.

There was also the fact that in 1944, Jarvis had been at a funeral for an agent who had served under someone Mr. Stark had been collaborating with at the time. The Lieutenant standing next to him, before the service started, had elbowed Jarvis surreptitiously and nodded across the circle of mourners to a man in an American uniform, slightly in awe of the fact that Captain America would be at Agent Arthur Collins's funeral. Jarvis, of course, knew what Captain America looked like, though pictures of the man without the cowl and uniform were rare. It had been something of a thrill to see the legendary hero at such an unexpected place, but then the service had begun and he had focused his attention elsewhere, and filed the moment away.

Agent Carter's happiness would have been enough to clue him in to Steve Carter's true identity, but Jarvis never forgot a face, and though it was rather older than it should have been, there was no mistaking it now. Captain Steve Rogers, by some miracle, had come back to life three years after crashing into the ice, and in fifteen minutes, was going to be marrying Peggy Carter. How, Jarvis didn't know, and he suspected he never would. For reasons of their own, the couple chose to keep his true identity under wraps, and so Jarvis would respect that.

He smiled to himself as he watched the groom-to-be at the window. Pre-wedding jitters were natural to any man, but he rather imagined they must be multiplied a hundredfold when the man in question had somehow managed to defy death to return to the bride.

"If I may be so bold, sir," Jarvis said, attempting to distract his mind from his nerves. Mr. Carter turned around. "I should like to take the opportunity to say I feel rather honored at having been asked to stand as your best man." Seeing as Captain Rogers seemed to be remaining officially dead, there would appear to have been no opportunity for him to have asked someone he knew better to take on the role. Jarvis did wonder who might have been standing beside him today otherwise. His options had been limited, but Jarvis had still been surprised to be asked.

Mr. Carter smiled. "You're a good guy, Jarvis. I'm honored to have you up there with me." Though it was the sort of thing one would have been expected to say, Jarvis could tell he truly meant it, and suddenly felt quite touched. Mr. Carter's smile widened. "And you really don't have to keep calling me 'sir'. 'Mr. Carter' is just fine," he added, as if he knew asking to be called 'Steve' was a bit too informal for Jarvis to feel comfortable.

Jarvis smiled, appreciating both the gesture and the natural way Mr. Carter had about him for putting people at ease. He was a wholly pleasant man, far more friendly and down to earth than one would have expected of a man who had been such a famous public figure—and thanks to Mr. Stark's various…liaisons, Jarvis was well acquainted with the typical actions of celebrities. Steve Carter was a welcome surprise. It was little wonder he'd drawn Agent Carter's attention back during the war.

"Do you have your jacket?" he asked, shooting a quick glance down at his watch. "We had best be taking our places."

Once again, pre-wedding jitters won out, resulting in a frantic search for the suit jacket that was draped across the back of the chair where he had left it. "Would you mind?" Mr. Carter asked, nodding at the boutonniere that was waiting by the table under the mirror as he slipped on the jacket. "The rate I'm going, I'd probably stab myself."

Jarvis smiled and picked up the flower, affixing it to Mr. Carter's lapel with practiced ease. "Any butler worth his salt knows how to remove blood stains from a white shirt," he said, straightening the jacket as well as the tie that had gone askew during the search for it. "But it's still best we avoid it."

Mr. Carter chuckled and nodded. "How do I look?" he asked.

"Rather dashing, sir," Jarvis replied. The man did cut quite a nice figure in a suit.

He smiled, walking with Jarvis for the door. "I can't believe I'm getting married," he said, half to himself. "After everything that…" He shook his head, then seemed to realize he was speaking out loud. "I guess I never thought this would be in the cards for me."

"You're a very lucky man, Mr. Carter," Jarvis said, and it was true in more ways than one.

Outside the door to the sanctuary, Mr. Carter drew in a deep breath, then reached for the handle. "Don't lock your knees," Jarvis said, offering one more piece of advice. "And don't forget to breathe." He patted him on the shoulder, and Mr. Carter went in.

The maid of honor appeared, and Jarvis took her arm as they waited for their cue. "You look lovely, Miss Roberts," he said.

"You don't look so bad yourself, Jarvis," Rose replied with a grin.

They walked in together as the music played. The crowd was small—just a few friends of Agent Carter's, her mother, and some faces Jarvis recognized from the S.S.R. Mr. Carter relaxed as Jarvis and Rose reached the front, and Jarvis remembered well how nerve-wracking those first few minutes alone in the front of the church could be.

The music changed, and every eye in the room turned to the door. Outlined in the gothic archway and haloed in the late afternoon sun stood Peggy Carter, looking absolutely radiant. Her white dress was simple but elegant, accented by a thin, gauzy veil resting over the dark hair cascading down her back. Tiny white flowers were artistically dotted through her hair—Ana's touch, Jarvis knew—and she was holding a bouquet of the same tiny white blossoms nestled among vibrant red roses. She seemed to glow in the light shining through the stained glass window behind her, but it was nothing compared to the light in her smile.

She began to walk down the aisle, and Jarvis chanced a quick sideways look at Mr. Carter. The radiance in Agent Carter's smile matched his own, and he looked so overcome with joy that Jarvis found himself fighting back the sting of tears behind his eyes.

She reached the front of the church, and Mr. Carter stepped down to meet her and offer her his arm, escorting her up the steps to stand before the minister. Neither of them let go of the other's hands once they were in place.

"Dearly beloved," the minister began. "We are gathered here today to join this man and this woman in the bonds of holy matrimony." The happy couple kept their eyes locked on one another through the entire ceremony, hands locked together as though they were afraid to let go. The Romantic in Jarvis supposed that if one had lost the love of one's life once, a second chance would be clung to desperately until it was assured. He looked down to where Ana was sitting, smiling at her warmly as he remembered this day in their own lives. She smiled back at him, that special smile that made him wonder what he had done to be lucky enough to find her.

The minister asked for the rings, and Jarvis pulled his attention back to the present, stepping forward and placing the ring in Mr. Carter's hand. They repeated their vows, and Jarvis couldn't see Mr. Carter's face from where he stood, since he had turned to face Agent Carter, but he could see a joyful tear slip down her face.

"I now pronounce you man and wife," the minister said. "You may kiss the bride."

There was a little cheer from Rose, and Mr. Carter scooped his wife up off her feet and kissed her. As they headed back down the stairs, he shot a quick look at Jarvis as if to say he'd been right, and a slightly dumbfounded smile was stretched across his face as though he wasn't entirely sure he could believe this had all just happened.

The rest of the party adjourned to the church hall where the cake was cut and toasts were made. Music began to play for the couple's first dance as husband and wife, and Mr. Carter led Mrs. Carter out onto the dance floor to the soft strains of 'It's Been A Long, Long Time'. A slender arm looped around Jarvis's waist, and he lifted his arm for Ana to slide in and lean against his shoulder. She sighed happily. "Have you ever seen anything so beautiful, Edwin?" she asked softly, nodding out to the dance floor.

"You know, I rather think I haven't," he replied. The way the newlyweds held one another, the joyful tears glimmering in both their eyes, and the radiant smiles that hadn't dimmed in the slightest since seeing one another in the sanctuary…One rather got the feeling that no two people in the world had ever been so incandescently happy as they. And after the losses he knew they'd suffered, he couldn't imagine any two people who deserved it more.

Ana's arm tightened its embrace around him. They simply stood there for a moment, watching as the Carters danced, and though it may have been overly sentimental, Jarvis couldn't help but think that they were in the presence of love. He leaned down and kissed Ana gently—something he rarely did in public, but he was unable to restrain himself. "I love you very much, my dear," he told her as the song ended. Other couples drifted out onto the floor as a new one began, and he took her hand. "Shall we dance?"

Steve woke up to a shaft of sunlight hitting him in the face, but he was too sleepy and comfortable to let it bother him much. He closed his eyes a little tighter, rolling away from the sun and hearing a soft sigh from beside him as he moved. He did open his eyes then—Peggy was lying next to him, her face inches from his and peaceful in sleep. The sun shot streaks of gold through the dark hair fanned out on the pillow beneath her, and it danced along the gold ring encircling her finger where her hand rested on his chest. Her wedding ring. He had married Peggy Carter last night.

A slow smile spread across Steve's face as he watched his wife—his wife!—while she slept. The lines of her face were soft and familiar, the same as they'd been in his dreams for the past eleven years when dreaming was the closest he could ever get to her. But it was more now, so much more vibrant and real…all the tiny little details like the soft flutter of her eyelashes, the quiet sound of her breathing, or that one little strand of hair falling across her face that floated back and forth with each exhale. Steve reached out a hand and brushed that hair back into place with the others, something big and so wonderful that it hurt swelling up in his chest as Peggy smiled in her sleep and rolled her face up toward his hand.

Her fingers moved on his chest and she was coming awake, smiling at him as she blinked the sleep away from her hazel eyes. "Morning," she said softly.

"Hey," Steve replied, aware that he was probably grinning like an idiot, but unable to stop himself.

"Have I ever told you you have the most beautiful smile?" Peggy asked, shifting over a little to nestle herself against his side and sending a tingle shooting up his spine at the feel of her warm, soft skin against his. She stretched her neck up a little so she could plant a kiss on the smile in question. "A smile like sunshine."

Steve smiled even wider and slid an arm around her waist, pulling her closer. "I don't smile like this for just anybody, you know."

"Is that so? And who makes the cut to be more than 'just anybody'?"

"The love of my life," Steve replied, kissing her just because he could and smiling because he got to say that to her and not just about her.

"Lucky me, then," she said with a smile that sent another tingle down his spine. She shifted down to rest her head more comfortably on his shoulder, one finger tracing lazy circles across his chest. "I get to see you smile at me like that for the rest of my life."

"I can't believe you actually married me," Steve said, still somewhat in awe that the whole thing had happened.

"Why wouldn't I?" she asked.

He smiled softly, his fingers moving up and down her back in an echo of the motion hers were making on his chest. "Because for eleven years, this has been just a dream—physically, temporally, and in all other ways, completely impossible. Even though I'm actually here and it actually happened, it's going to take a while for it to feel real."

"I have an idea of what you mean," Peggy said, and she did, even if it had been only three years instead of eleven. "But it's real," she said. She propped herself up on her elbows and kissed him soundly. "And it's forever." She kissed the tip of his nose. "You're stuck with me," she said with a playful grin.

Steve chuckled. "I couldn't be stuck anywhere better." That big, painfully wonderful feeling was back in his chest, threatening to crack his ribs as it expanded. "I love you so much."

"I love you too, my darling."

"I love it when you call me that," he told her.

"Darling?"

"Mm-hmm. It's…" To be someone's darling, to be so beloved, so precious…and not just to someone, but to her, it… "Please don't ever stop."

She smiled warmly. "Never, my darling." She leaned in and kissed him again. "Never, ever."

She kissed him again, and he slid his arms around her and pulled her over onto his chest and kissed her back. She felt so right in his arms, fit so perfectly against him, like he'd been missing something his whole life, and he finally understood what people meant when they said they'd found their other half—because she was his.

Eventually, they stopped, taking the chance to breathe and to look into each other's eyes. He could just lose himself in that smile of hers.

"Shall we see about finding some breakfast?" she asked.

"I'd have to let go of you to do that," he protested.

"Not entirely," she said, leaning in to kiss the tip of his nose. "Just enough to let me get up."

He smiled and loosened his grip across her back, and she slid off of his chest and rolled around to sit up in one fluid motion. The sheet slid from her body as she stood, and she laughed merrily as Steve blushed and ducked his head. "You remember the part where we got married last night, don't you?" she asked with a playful smile. "Not to mention the events that followed. You're allowed to look."

Steve blushed, feeling silly, but he smiled back as he looked up at her. "Sorry. Habit."

"As long as that's all it is," she teased. "You'll give a girl a complex, otherwise."

Steve laughed, shaking his head. "That's all it is," he said, playing along, but totally serious. "Because you are…" He shook his head again. "Aphrodite's got nothing on you."

She laughed as her cheeks colored, embarrassed and pleased at the praise. "Flatterer," she said, smacking him gently on the shoulder.

"The whole truth and nothing but the truth," he insisted, grabbing her hand and kissing it.

She smiled, leaned in to kiss him, then stood up, yanking the rest of the sheet away as she moved.

"Hey!" Steve protested.

"If you get to stare, so do I," she countered. She looked him up and down appreciatively. "Not a bad view from where I'm standing either."

Now it was Steve's turn to blush, though he was grinning too.

"In fact," she went on, stepping back to the bed. "I think I need to get closer to really take it all in." Her hands were on his shoulders and her lips were on his and the air was rushing out of Steve's lungs as he hit the mattress again with her on his chest.

"I think breakfast can wait," she breathed.

"Breakfast can wait," he agreed.