Chapter Two

;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;

"Hi," the man in the doorway said. "I - I'm late."

The unladylike sound that exploded out of Peggy's mouth was neither a laugh nor a sob. Possibly it was both. Her vision clouded, but she refused to let the tears fall, gritting her teeth until pain lanced through her jaw. This couldn't be happening.

Lines in his face tightened at her obvious distress, but the intense expression in his eyes - was it gladness? - didn't diminish. "Can I come in?" he asked carefully.

"Steve died," she snapped, not budging an inch. The words were harsh, breathless, painful as they tore out of her. The gun in her hand was really wobbling now, but she didn't dare let go of the doorknob to steady it with her other hand. "He died in the war. He died a hero, and I heard him die, so whoever you are, don't imagine you can fool me."

"I would never." He looked very earnest, as though he meant it. "Try me."

Peggy's mind went blank. Try as she might, her spinning brain couldn't come up with any question concrete enough, foolproof enough to ask. He must have seen her dilemma; his voice was very gentle as he started speaking.

"October '44. Four soldiers jumped you in the woods outside of Verdun. Buck and I were the only ones who saw you when you got back. He stood watch while I got you to your tent and fixed you up. You lost a glove in the fight, so later I went back and found it for you. I never told a soul, Peggy. Not even Bucky knew about the glove. Just you."

A pause. Peggy's heart hammered once - twice - hard against her ribs. Then she slowly lowered the gun. The way she was shaking, she'd probably shoot out the window of the house across the street if she tried to hit the man in her front doorway, even at point-blank range.

"Come in," she told him hoarsely, and peeled her clenched hand from around the doorknob, backing toward the kitchen, never letting him out of her field of vision. She hit her hip hard on the edge of the kitchen table, but didn't notice the pain. He followed slowly, pushing the door shut with one foot, keeping his hands in plain sight with that little furrow in his forehead he always got when he was trying very hard to do something right.

No - with the little furrow Steve always got. This man wasn't Steve, surely not. He couldn't be. She couldn't bear to think he might be.

Hope was too painful to even consider.

Peggy took her eyes off him for a split second, wrenching open a kitchen drawer to swap her gun for a knife. When she looked back at him, he was already rolling up one sleeve as though he knew what she was going to ask.

"Sit down," she croaked.

He pulled out one of the two kitchen chairs with his foot, and sat, laying his bared arm out across the table, palm up. She slowly sat on the other chair across from him, still shaking. Any other man would lay his hand palm down to protect the major veins, or at least watch the knife to make sure she wasn't about to pin his hand to the table with it, but his eyes never left hers, and the trust in them nearly undid her.

"Peggy," he said, as though the very sound of her name was a prayer.

She swallowed hard and slid the blade down the outside of his forearm, leaving a long, shallow line that reddened with a thin rim of blood. It was possibly a bit deeper than she'd meant to make it, but the way she was trembling she was vaguely surprised she hadn't taken his whole arm off by accident. He was trembling too, she noticed, and the look in his eyes was stronger than ever.

Now she recognized that expression. He was looking at her as though he loved her - as though he couldn't get enough of the sight of her - as though he was terrified and hopeful and fearful all at once - and it was too much, far, far too much to take in at the moment.

She tore her gaze away from his, heart jumping unevenly in her chest, and looked back at his arm. It had already scabbed over - and when, with an unsteady hand, she ran her thumb across his warm skin, the scab flaked away, leaving an already-fading pink line.

The knife dropped to the tabletop with a clatter.

"Hey," he said - and she must have lost track of her surroundings for a moment, because all of the sudden he wasn't sitting across the table from her; he was kneeling by her chair, his head on a level with hers, one careful hand hovering beside her shoulder as if to steady her. "Peggy, you okay? You need me to call somebody?"

"Steve," she breathed, and turned blindly into his arms.

;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;

The teakettle whistling brought them back to themselves. Steve stretched out an arm from where they sat on the floor and switched the hot plate off. He was crying too, Peggy realized - his face was all wet and his nose was red, and the awestruck wonder in his eyes when he looked at her simply took her breath away.

"You're alive," she quavered, finding coherent words for the first time since fairly falling into his arms. "You - you came back."

He nodded, and wiped his hand across his eyes before wrapping his arm back around her, smiling tremulously. "Yeah. I had a date."

Peggy hiccuped, and wished she could wipe her own eyes, but decided it was more important to keep her hands right where they were, clenched around fistfuls of his jacket. She used her grip to shake him slightly instead, her mixed emotions roiling.

"Where have you been?" she demanded, exasperation winning out for the moment. "It's been so long. Did Howard find you?"

The light in his eyes faded, then - and suddenly he looked more tired than she'd ever seen him, even than after some of the worst missions during the war. Looking up at him as she blinked away her tears, she realized for the first time that his face was older, more mature than that of the young man she'd known and fallen in love with.

Unclenching one of her fists, she raised a hand, fingers drifting lightly across his furrowed forehead, the new lines at the corners of his eyes. With a sigh, he turned his face into her palm, eyelids fluttering closed at her soft touch, his wet eyelashes grazing her skin. All his walls were down, and keen longing showed clear on his face.

It was the most intimate moment they'd ever had together.

She never wanted it to end.

"It's a long story," he began, faltering a little as he finally dragged himself down to earth again. "I - I'm not sure you'll believe me when you hear it."

She considered, looking between his oh-so-subtly altered face and the damp spot on his shoulder where she'd cried on it earlier. Somehow she felt that whatever he had to tell her, it would change her life forever.

"Tell me," she asked simply, and he did.

It took a long time.

Some time during the tale, they ended up on Peggy's couch, one on either end, facing each other over the empty cushion in the middle. A cup of tea steamed in Peggy's hands - she thought Steve must have made it for her; she certainly had no recollection of getting it herself - but it grew cold over the course of his story.

When he was done, neither one talked for a while.

"All I'm hoping for is that dance, Peggy," he finally broke the silence. "One dance. I know it's been long enough that I can't ask for more - but if you'd be willing - unless you - do you still dance?"

Even after all this time, he still was a fumbling idiot when it came to women. Peggy looked at him. His blue eyes were desperately earnest and visibly afraid of her answer. She swallowed hard around the lump of emotion in her throat.

Then she set down her stone-cold cup of tea on the floor and stood decisively. Crossing the room, she stood with her back to him, touching her hair, dabbing carefully at her eyes, fingers fluttering at her waistband to make sure her blouse was tucked in, that she was all in one piece and as presentable as she could get. Then she reached for the radio.

Her radio was not new. It screeched annoyingly, and the antenna had to be positioned just right in order for the music not to be swamped in pure static, but tonight the world seemed to be working in her favor. One of the stations was playing slow dance music. Still facing the radio, Peggy took a deep breath. Then she turned around and looked at Steve.

He was watching her, of course. He sat on the edge of the couch, his big hands fidgeting a little nervously, slow comprehension dawning on his face as he realized what she was doing.

Peggy reached out a hand and cleared her throat. "Are you coming?"

Steve made a jerky, aborted movement. In that moment, he looked more like the young, bashful private than she had seen him in years. "I - I was hoping to take you out someplace nice Saturday night."

"No." Peggy's throat spasmed and her voice cracked, but she firmed up her mouth and fought to remain in control. "I refuse to take another rain check, Captain."

To his credit, he didn't protest. He got to his feet and approached her slowly, looking down at her with a mixture of earnest emotions tangled in his face. "Then, Agent Carter - will you show me how to dance?"

She taught him a slow foxtrot first, since that was what was on the air at the moment. Standing opposite him, his large hands careful on her waist and wrapped around her fingers, she led him in the step, step, side-together in time to the music. Something in the rhythm of it helped dispel a little of the tension that had built in the room during his unbelievable recital.

"How do you keep from running into things if you always go backwards?" Steve asked, following her meticulously, forehead furrowed.

Peggy's laugh was tremulous but genuine. All that time in the future, and he still didn't know the first thing about dancing. "Oh, that's your job." She joggled his arms. "A lady trusts her partner to steer her away from anything behind her."

Steve nodded soberly. "And what's your job, then?"

Pale, incredulous joy fluttered in Peggy's chest. She tipped back her head to look her impossible partner in the eye, and raised a teasing brow. "My job is to make you look good, Captain."

They danced for a very long time. The crackly little old radio played song after song as the two of them revolved around the tiny flat, treading the worn carpet, Steve carefully steering her around the little table and back. Peggy leaned close and felt his hand tighten gently at her back, drawing her still nearer, the reverent touch speaking his feelings more plainly than he'd managed in words. She laid her head on his chest; his cheek brushed her hair. The warmth and breadth of his shoulders and arms surrounded her, and for the first time in years, she felt herself enveloped in that sense of safety he had always seemed to carry with him.

Steve Rogers was more than a decade older than when she'd last seen him. He had more blood on his hands, more lives on his conscience, more pain in his heart. He was scarred and lonely and desperately tired, and she could see it all more clearly than he knew.

But at the core of him, he was still the same man, and Peggy knew that more certainly than she'd ever known anything in her life.

At length, the radio played the Star Spangled Banner and signed off for the night, empty static hissing through the speakers. They still stood swaying in the middle of the floor, Steve's arms around Peggy's waist, her hands slipping up to his shoulders. He felt a hitch and a sigh in her breath, and looked down suddenly to discover she was crying. There were tears in his own eyes too; emotion clogged his throat.

"Thank you," he whispered thickly, and folded her closer. Because whatever happened after this - whatever his future held, at least they'd had their dance, and he'd fulfilled his promise.

;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;

"I should go," he said at last, reluctantly. It was the last thing he wanted to do, but the clock over the stove showed a time that was well past midnight, and he respected Peggy too much to put her reputation on the line. "Let you get your sleep."

Even as his arms loosened, Peggy leaned closer. She looked up - and oh, her face was so temptingly near.

"Where will you go?" she demanded. "Are you going back to…"

"Back to the future?" Steve filled in, and then internally kicked himself at the sudden recollection of a movie night in the Avengers tower, back before things had soured inside the team. He shook himself free of the memory of Tony gleefully critiquing the time travel scientific gobbledygook - Tony, the man who had eventually invented an actual, working time travel - the man who was at once both heroically dead, and not yet born.

She was watching him with steady, liquid eyes, he noticed, and dragged himself out of his memories, not wanting to lose a moment of his time with her. "No, I just have to find a place to bunk for the night. I don't need to go back to the future just yet."

"Don't go back to the future tonight," Peggy cut in, before he finished his sentence. Her fingers tightened around a handful of his shirt as if she could physically prevent him from going. "Not tonight."

"I won't," he promised. He tried to memorize her - the touch of her hands on his shoulders, the way she fit inside the curve of his arm, the face he knew both young and old. Dimly, he realized he was losing himself in her eyes again. They were big and clear, filled with silent promises and hope and tears. A man could spend a lifetime looking into those eyes…

Steve's stomach chose that moment to make itself heard, rumbling in a way that was clearly audible to them both. Steve flushed. Peggy laughed a little hysterically. She leaned back and looked him up and down - a quick flicker of her eyes. "When was the last time you ate?"

He couldn't remember. Something high-energy right before departing on this time trip - and then Thor's mother had given him some kind of alien sandwich when he'd handed the Aether over to her, but he had no good way of putting that into hours. "Not sure."

"At least let me fix you something." She was grasping for straws to keep him from leaving, and they both knew it.

"Thank you," he responded gravely.

She fumbled around the kitchenette, dropping a glass and the bread knife in the process; her hands were still unsteady. After the bread knife clattered to the floor, Steve stood and came over, catching a second glass neatly before it had time to become acquainted with the linoleum. He solemnly accepted the plate of burned toast and the glass of milk that she presented him, and made his way back to the couch.

Peggy sat on the other end and watched him as he ate. She accepted his offer of the least-burned piece of toast, and nibbled on it distractedly. Steve sipped at the milk and smiled encouragingly at her. "Penny for your thoughts?"

Peggy jumped, slightly embarrassed at being caught staring. "What did you do to your leg?"

It was his turn to be embarrassed. Thanos had done a number on his leg with that wickedly double-bladed weapon of his, and it was still healing, but he thought he'd hid the nagging limp rather well. His free hand moved unconsciously toward his knee before he realized it was a dead giveaway, since she hadn't specified which leg she was asking about. "Just a little stiff. Not a big deal."

She arched an eyebrow. "In a pig's eye," she shot back Bucky's old phrase, the thing he always said when Steve got himself hurt and tried to hide it. She even aimed for his flat Brooklyn twang.

Steve snorted into his toast, spraying crumbs across his lap.

And somehow, after Peggy's laughter had died down into half-sobbing giggles, and Steve, red and sheepishly chuckling, had brushed the crumbs off his trousers, the ice was broken, and things didn't feel so awkward anymore.

;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;

When he was done with his food, Steve rose to leave. Peggy hated to see him go, suddenly terrified that the minute he walked out of her door he would vanish forever.

"Stay," she proposed. "You could sleep…" she looked around, grasping for an idea. The couch had a bed folded into it - her bed - and once it was unfolded for the night there wasn't enough floor space for even a small child to lie down, let alone Steve Rogers. Unless he wanted to fold himself into the sink, there was no place for him.

"There's a flophouse a block down," Steve assured her as he opened her front door and stood on the threshold. "I'll bunk there for tonight." He lingered, though, as if reluctant to go.

"I…" Peggy had to admit that his plan was a sensible one. She came as close to him as she dared, looking up into his face. At this range, she could feel when his breath caught at her proximity. "Tomorrow, then?"

"Tomorrow. We could get breakfast somewhere." He cleared his throat - his ears were growing red. "Peggy…"

Whatever he was going to say, he never finished it, because that was when she rose on her toes and kissed his cheek.

When she drew back, his eyes were wide as saucers, and somehow his hands had settled on her waist. He didn't let go, lightly holding her close to him, his face only an inch from hers.

"I missed you," he breathed helplessly, barely a sound in the stillness.

She flung caution to the wind and lost herself in his eyes, because how often did one get a second chance like this one? "I missed you too - so much."

His whole body swayed, his nose almost brushing hers, his eyes flickering across her face as one large hand tightened imperceptibly at her spine, drawing her nearer…

And then, reluctantly, he pulled back.

"I—" he managed.

She barely had time to be disappointed before a very familiar expression solidified on his face - the look she'd seen when the skinny recruit had first faced off against a larger opponent, the expression that he got before storming that last Hydra base - the look that meant Steve Rogers was going to do something incredibly, desperately reckless.

And then he closed the distance between them, cupped her face in one careful hand, and found her lips with his.

It was a gentle kiss - unpracticed, but filled with hope and longing and an emotion so deep that her very bones ached and thrilled with it. It was the answer to her own kiss from so long ago - a kiss he'd waited more than a decade to give her.

Much later, she would realize that they'd been standing in the open doorway where any neighbor might have looked in and seen them. She would realize that her makeup was smudged, discover that her hairpins had been slipping out on one side.

But right then, in that instant, it was just the two of them sharing a single perfect moment that had been so long delayed, so deeply impossible that they had only ever dreamed it in hopeless dreams. And in that moment, she knew to the depths of her soul just how much he loved her.

When he drew back, he looked somewhere between radiant and completely shocked that she'd let him kiss her. For her part, she felt like her body had been filled with sunlight; every nerve quivered from the crown of her head to the soles of her feet.

"Um," he said eloquently. He floundered for a moment, and then settled on "Goodnight?"

"Goodnight," she whispered back, too stunned to do more than echo the farewell back at him.

He devoured her face in one more comprehensive glance, touched her cheek briefly with an unsteady hand - and then vanished down the stairwell.

Mechanically, Peggy returned inside her flat, and locked the door. For a moment she stared at it, a hand pressed to her tingling lips. She could still feel the ghost of his hands on her back, on her face.

Then she turned and fled across her flat, scrambling around the table and clambering on the couch to get to the window. She was just in time to see him emerge from the street door, three floors below. He must have been as dazed as she felt - she watched him walk into a street lamp, address it absently in what was probably an apology, and then continue down the street toward the flophouse he'd mentioned. Even from the window she could see the lightness in his step.

And when he was out of sight, fully and completely, Peggy put her head down on the windowsill and found expression for all her mingled grief and joy and thankfulness and shock by crying her heart out.

;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;

Ah, this was a delight to do. I've wanted to post this for ages!

Fun fact: the memory Steve reminds her of is a callback to the oldest standalone Steve/Peggy short I've done, written all the way back in October 2015, a month after I started posting Sarcophagus. I've never posted it, but let me know if it's of interest and I might change my mind. :)

Thank you all for your kind reception to this story. You're the best ever, and I appreciate you all so very much. Have a great day!


Ryn: oh my word, thank you so much for your kindness and encouragement! I'm delighted that these stories are a positive note in your life. Rest assured that I'll continue my stories for this pair for as long as I can.