May 2012, New York City
Phil Coulson was a godsend. In the midst of the chaos, he had somehow found the time to slip Steve's address into the debriefing packet waiting for her on the quinjet.
As soon as they touched down in New York, Peggy made a beeline for the apartment building. She had a small office on the helicarrier with a change of clothes, so going back to her own house was unnecessary - and pointless, considering Steve was here.
There was no answer when she knocked on the door, but Phil's note had explained that he was picking them up at 0600 the following morning, so Steve was sure to return soon.
The building was one that SHIELD had used in the past for various stakeouts and safe houses, and she was unwilling to linger in the hallway for too long, lest she be recognised and questioned.
So she drew a thin bobby pin from her hair and used it to pick the lock, stooping to puck up the SHIELD file that had been slipped under the door.
The only light in the small apartment spilled in from the city outside through the open drapes and she didn't bother changing that, breathing a sad sigh at the old-fashioned furnishings.
Clearly someone had SHIELD had decided to provide Steve with a taste of the familiar, but all it seemed to do was highlight just how much had changed since they last met.
Her eyes fell on the coffee table beside the threadbare couch, to the pile of personnel files that lay there, and she flicked through them to see the younger faces of the Howling Commandos.
Each one was stamped with a red 'deceased' marker, including her own, and her heart ached for him.
Thank God we had that talk.
There was so much they needed to talk about, so much to catch up on, but they wouldn't have much time before the quinjet arrived, especially not if they wanted to catch some sleep as well (and she would need to sleep; she'd been awake for over twenty-four hours).
A soft noise in the hallway caught her attention and she dropped the files back on to the coffee table, placing the debriefing packet on top of them.
The door swung open and Steve stepped into the apartment, what looked like a punching bag slung over one shoulder. He had the door closed and the bag on the ground before he realised he wasn't alone, and she smiled, settling almost automatically into parade rest.
"Hello Steve."
"Peggy …"
His voice was filled with no less emotion than the last time she heard it, and she itched to run to him, but she held herself back. "I hope you don't mind, but I picked the lock."
"It's fine," Steve said hastily, seemingly rooted to the spot. "I just … I didn't think I'd see you until tomorrow."
"Well, I got back to New York about fifteen minutes ago," Peggy said with a shrug. "SHIELD quinjets are a marvel. Figured I could go home, grab some sleep and a change of clothes, or I could come here, see you, and use the change of clothes in my office. Sleep's non-negotiable though."
Steve took a tentative step towards her. "I'm glad you're home."
Something inside her snapped, and she threw caution to the wind, throwing herself into his hastily opened arms, burying her face in his broad chest, the reassuring thudding of his heart against her cheek filling her with joy and relief.
For a long time, they stood there, just clinging to each other, but finally he heaved a sigh. "I need to shower."
Peggy took a deep breath and wrinkled her nose, although didn't loosen her grip. "Yes, you do."
Steve chuckled, and it vibrated through her body. "I missed you. I was starting to think that I'd imagined that call."
Peggy leaned back in his arms, tilting her head back to see his face. "I'm sorry."
Steve shook his head hastily. "Don't be. Did you get them?"
Peggy couldn't help the satisfied smile that crossed her face. "Yes, I did."
"Then it was worth the wait," Steve said, loosening his grip. "I really do need a shower. And Fury said something about a debriefing packet?"
"Coffee table," Peggy said, reluctantly releasing him.
"We've got a lot to talk about," Steve said.
"We do," Peggy said. "But can I suggest we stick to the important stuff for now? We can sort everything else after we've saved the world."
Steve tilted his head slightly. "What do you class as important?"
Peggy thought for a second. "Anything that's going to make us want to shoot ourselves for not mentioning if one of us dies."
Steve grimaced. "On the condition that we don't talk about dying again."
"Deal," Peggy said immediately, giving him a little push in the direction of the bathroom. "Go on, shower. I'll wait."
Steve gave her a shy smile. "I won't be long."
He took a change of clothes into the bathroom with him, probably a throw-back to the lack of private space in the barracks, so she kicked off her shoes and wandered into the small bedroom after him, perching on the edge of the bed, made up with military precision.
It was inexcusable, how little support he had.
Soldiers found it hard enough to readjust to civilian life under the best of circumstances, without factoring in the culture jump from the 1940s to the 21st century.
However, there was a time and place to get upset about it, and here and now was not it.
Here and now was the time and place for Peggy to decide how much she should tell Steve about her kids, both of them complicated in their own way, neither of them a child of her blood or her womb, but hers all the same.
Tony was likely to be called in. It didn't take a genius to realise that Fury was falling back on the Avengers Initiative, whatever the Council had said, and he might have been fooled by Natasha's fake psych profile, but he had to know they needed Tony.
Tony was her godson, and she had loved him as though he were her own from the moment Howard had placed him in her arms.
Steve needed to know that.
The problem was that discussing Tony meant discussing Howard, which deserved a much longer conversation, and hardly fell into 'important' as she had defined it.
The problem was that she knew Tony and she knew Steve, and she had a gut feeling that they would mix like oil and water.
If Steve had all the details, he would likely understand, but they didn't have time for all the details, or for Peggy to give him the twelve-page essay that was 'Understanding Tony Stark, his paranoia, and his insistence on acting like a complete asshole in public'.
If Steve knew how important Tony was to Peggy, he would bottle any dislike, which she would normally want to encourage, were it not for the fact that it would probably be better if they aired their differences sooner rather than later.
She stifled a yawn. There was no point in worrying about that now - she could reassess the situation when they actually met.
Clint was going to be harder to explain.
After all, she had known Tony since he was born, had practically raised him; her relationship with him was understandable.
How could she explain how an eighteen-year-old sniper had wound up in her office a few days after joining SHIELD, and her heart had inexplicably adopted him as her own.
Oh, it had taken her a while to realise it had happened, but it had happened all the same.
The thought of him out there somewhere under Loki's control made her blood chill in her veins.
Her only consolation was the note in the debriefing packet.
Clint had shot Fury in the chest, not the head, and he hadn't made contact with Hill at all.
He was too good to miss those shots, so she had to hope he was fighting it.
But, again, there was nothing she could do for now, except wait.
She could, however, take the opportunity to rest her eyes while Steve showered.
She jolted awake what only felt like a few minutes later, her heart racing, and her eyes darted around the room as she tried to calm herself.
The room was darker now, and she was lying down, a soft blanket thrown over her. Steve was sitting in a chair between the bed and the bathroom door, a sketchpad lying on his lap, the debriefing packet on the nightstand, watching her with concern. "Are you okay?"
"Fine," Peggy said, sitting up. "I didn't mean to fall asleep."
Steve smiled. "I guessed that. But you did say that you needed it."
"What are you working on?" Peggy asked, climbing off the bed to unmake it.
"Just some sketches," Steve said vaguely, flipping the pad closed in a way that told her he had been sketching her.
"Couldn't sleep?"
Steve didn't meet her eyes. "Slept for seventy years."
"Sixty seven," Peggy corrected, climbing back into bed, under the covers this time. "And comas don't work like that. Nightmares?"
"No," Steve said a little too quickly. "I'm just not tired."
"If you say so," Peggy said mildly. "I do get nightmares; can I use you as a pillow?"
"Are you sure?" Steve asked. "We are getting a pick-up in the morning."
Peggy smiled warmly at him. "Relax, Steve. Times have changed; my reputation isn't going to get blasted because I spent the night here. I know the guy coming for us; he'd be surprised if I didn't." She reached a hand towards him. "Now would you please come here? I know you were starting to think you'd imagined talking to me, but I've spent the better part of seven decades thinking you were dead."
With only a moment's hesitation, Steve slid into bed beside her, and she curled into his side, resting her head over his heart, the remainder of her tension seeping out of her at the contact.
"Nightmares?" Steve questioned, wrapping an arm around her.
He was trembling ever so slightly, and she signed into his chest. She didn't think they had ever been this close and, if they had, it would certainly not have been as intimate as this. "Most nights, I hear the crash. Some nights I just see you, struggling to breathe, asking me why we haven't found you yet."
Steve's arm tightened around her. "I'm sorry," he whispered, anguish dripping from his voice. "I'm so sorry …"
"No," Peggy said sharply, her fingers fisting in his shirt. "Don't you dare apologise, Steve. I'm glad you called, that we knew where you were. I'm glad you weren't alone." Her voice softened. "I'm just glad you're home now."
"There is one apology I owe you," Steve said.
Peggy tilted her head up to see his face. "Oh?"
"I'm sorry I'm late."
Peggy laughed, pressing a spontaneous kiss to his jaw. "Oh, darling, you're forgiven. You do still owe me a dance though."
"Do people still go dancing now?" Steve said wistfully. "The world seems so different."
"No," Peggy admitted. "Well, they do, but not the kind of dancing you're thinking of as a rule. I'm sure there's somewhere, but if not, I have a fairly large living room and a record player. We can improvise."
"That sounds nice," Steve said, his hand gently running up and down her arm, lulling her back to sleep. "We'll talk after we've saved the world though. The last time we made a date …"
Peggy flinched. "Good point. I need to …"
"There's one other …" Steve said at the same time.
They broke off, and Peggy laughed. "Go on."
"No, ladies first," Steve said.
Peggy wrinkled her nose and poked him gently. "Don't argue with me, Captain; you know I'll win."
"Yes ma'am," Steve said cheekily. "There's one other thing I need to tell you before we walk into this."
The laughter between them faded to something much more serious, and Peggy shifted so that their eyes could meet more comfortably. "Something wrong."
"No," Steve said quietly. "But you deserve to know." He took a deep breath, and she laced her fingers with his, squeezing gently. "Peggy, I … I am completely in love with you. Have been since you punched that idiot in the face."
For a second, Peggy forgot how to breathe, a radiant smile crossing her face. "Well, isn't that convenient?" She asked, somehow keeping her voice steady. "Because I've been in love with you since you jumped on a dummy grenade."
Steve had always had a truly beautiful smile, but it was nothing compared to the way his face lit up now. He released her hand in favour of brushing the hair from her face, and she tilted her head invitingly, melting into the kiss he bestowed upon her.
Their first kiss had been harried, desperate, a split-second decision born out of a fear that she would never see him again.
Of course, that was still a very real fear, but now they had time, time to explore, time to indulge (and no CO right next to them), and they parted sooner than they would have liked, but later than anyone without enhanced lung capacity could have managed.
"Mm, that was well worth the wait," Peggy murmured, settling back into the curve of his arms.
"You're exhausted," Steve said quietly, stroking her hair. "Go back to sleep. I've got watch."
"We're going to talk about your sleeping patterns when we get out of this," Peggy told him, already slipping back under.
For the first time in sixty-seven years, she didn't dream.
Look out for 'The Right Reason', my Clintasha story which will be up shortly.