Chapter 8

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Married life was a whole new adventure.

Peggy's flat was far too small for one, let alone two people. Steve accidentally put his fist through the plaster while stretching, and Peggy constantly had black and blue spots from bumping into the table as they tried to get past each other in the kitchen—and yet neither had been so entirely happy in their whole lives.

Being together like this—it felt right, like nothing else had in a long, long time.

Every morning, Peggy went to work, dressed in a crisply professional outfit, and Steve would depart for his blue-collar construction job. Howard was kindly working through the tangles so Steve could use the G.I. Bill to pay for some college classes, and in the meantime the former captain hauled lumber for a living.

He didn't mind. The pay wasn't great, but it was certainly something, and they needed every penny to get a bigger place at some point in the future.

Coming home at night was probably Steve's favorite part of this whole world he had returned to. For the first time in over a decade, there was someone to come home to, someone to make and eat dinner with, someone to talk to, or read to, or sit on the couch and listen to the radio with. And then, once their radio show had ended, Peggy would pull off the couch cushions, and Steve would unfold the hide-a-bed, and they would cuddle close, dropping off to sleep in each other's arms.

It wasn't perfect, of course. They weren't naive, hadn't expected it to be. Time changes a person, like it or not, and both had become rather set in their ways after years of living alone. There were hard days, and disagreements of all shapes and sizes, but those could be worked through, with trust and effort.

"Because after all," Peggy admitted once, "nothing worthwhile is ever easy."

They each had baggage too. There were days when Peggy froze, blank-eyed and white-knuckled at the sound of a low-flying plane, ghostly air raid warnings screaming in her ears—or nights where every person Steve loved turned to ash in his hands and he woke shaking and sweating and panicking to the point of hyperventilation.

But in a way even those dark days or terrible nights were easier to bear.

Because there were two of them now, hand in hand against the world in ways neither had ever hoped to have.

You won't be alone, Peggy had told him long before, back when they thought Bucky had died—and now, finally, she was right.

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Steve had been working in construction for a few weeks when the foreman called him over. With him was another fellow—some guy Steve didn't know.

The stranger pointed to the timesheet on the wall, where Steve in a moment of abstraction had doodled a small cartoon of a worker running late to work. The fellows had liked it, and apparently the stranger did too.

Three days later, Steve landed an illustration job—his first since the war, and what was to become the first of many such jobs.

"Peggy!" he called that night, coming through the door of their little flat and smacking his shoulder against the doorframe in his excitement. "You'll never guess!"

She was sitting at the table, a rather odd look about her mouth. "Neither will you," she retorted, tipping up her head for his lingering welcome-home kiss. "Yours first."

Too excited to sit, he paced the tiny apartment as he told her about the cartoon, about the illustration job. It wasn't much, just a little sketch for a small magazine, but it meant the world to him. Peggy was too British to be overly effusive, but the warmth in her smile and the triumphant sparkle in her eyes as she cried "oh darling, I'm thrilled!" told him how happy she was for him.

Then she told him her own news.

Phillips had unexpectedly returned to the office, and she'd told him about them. She'd told him about Bucky. She'd officially requested leave for two months for the rescue mission.

Steve settled abruptly into the chair across the table from her, eyes wide. He ran his hands through his hair. They'd agreed to take this step, but the rapidity with which the events were unfolding had blindsided him. "Wow," he managed. "Okay. Good. How'd he take it?"

Peggy's mouth twitched into a half smile. "He stormed," she admitted. "And shouted. And then he told me to tell you that he'd do unspeakable things to you if you hurt me again."

Her voice wobbled just a little at the end. She and the colonel had weathered the difficult days after Steve's presumed death together. Their bond went far beyond that of commanding officer and associated agent. If the colonel hadn't been incommunicado on the other side of the country at the time, she'd have asked him to her wedding.

He was the closest thing she had left to a father figure.

Steve reached for her hand across the table and pressed his lips to her knuckles for a moment before wrapping it warmly in both of his. She smiled and squeezed his fingers briefly.

"There's more. He wants me—us—to move to Washington. They're reforming the SSR, and I'm to be part of it."

Steve's heart skipped a beat with a throb of sudden joy. He'd known this was coming, but to get to see it, to get to live it with her…

"You'll be amazing," he said, and meant it. "When?"

Peggy bit her lip.

"As soon as we can find a place," she confessed. "Darling, are you quite annoyed that we won't end up in Brooklyn?"

He turned his head to kiss her fingers again, lips lingering on the thin gold wedding band she wore with pride. "Not at all," he promised.

Because he hadn't come back for Brooklyn. He'd come back for her—and everything else was negotiable.

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They took a weekend to travel down to Washington D.C. and go house hunting. When they found the house, they both knew it was meant to be theirs.

"Yes," Peggy had said immediately, and Steve had agreed without hesitation. It was perfect—good neighborhood, high ceilings, up-to-date wiring and plumbing. The previous owners had kept it in good shape. There was even a nice room with good lighting that Steve could turn into a small studio for the illustration offers that were already beginning to come in now that his first piece had been printed. If things went as hoped, there would be no more construction work for him.

"There's a good school nearby too," the realtor commented off-handedly. Peggy dimpled and her cheeks turned a very interesting shade of pink, and suddenly Steve's knees went weak enough that he had to sit down, because…

Kids.

They could have kids.

He'd known it in theory, but suddenly this house seemed to make it much more like a reality. He could see them in his mind's eye, jostling around the front room, running down the stairs, laughing up at him with their mother's eyes and hair.

Once upon a time, he had envied Barton. He'd wanted what Barton had so badly that he hadn't been able to breathe. Those things had seemed impossible then; now they were a clear and present possibility.

"We'll take it," he told the realtor again, and signed the papers with a joyful scribble, his signature beside Peggy's looking so different from the careful Captain Rogers autograph that had been drilled into him. These days, his signature looked a lot more like that of the kid from Brooklyn, before the USO publicity team had got their paws on him.

The day they moved in, Steve set up the radio first. It was no ordinary radio—the thing had access to far more stations than it should, along with a few other special features; a side-effect of Peggy's job and her friendship with Howard Stark. But for now, it simply played music as he and his wife moved their belongings into their new home.

He was opening the last box when a song came on that Steve instantly recognized. He'd got the record back in the future—had listened to it on those nights when his whole soul felt like one giant throbbing bruise and all he'd wanted to do was take his best girl into his arms.

Now, of course, he could.

"Peggy?" he called, and when she appeared in the doorway, he held out one hand. "Think the room's big enough?"

It was definitely big enough for dancing, unlike the tiny New York apartment. Willingly, she stepped into his arms, head tucked beneath his chin, and they slowly danced to the sound of Harry James and his orchestra.

It was a perfect moment.

He never wanted it to end.

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"You and I will find their boy and bring him home," Peggy had promised Steve before their wedding. And while the new job and the relocation to Washington D.C. had derailed their plans a bit, Steve and Peggy had never faltered in their determination to rescue Bucky.

It had been the one thing Steve had known for certain he would do in this time, even before he'd known whether Peggy would take him back or not.

After all, it had been the only thing Bucky had asked of him.

"Hey, Stevie?"

It was the evening before the trip to return the stones, not long after their discussion about Peggy. Bucky had an unusually solemn look in his eye.

"Yeah?"

The plates in Bucky's arm shifted slightly, as though he were nervous. Then, stepping forward, he'd put a file and a small black case into Steve's hands. The file was his own; the one Natasha had given the captain all those years ago, filled with additional notes and scraps of paper that Steve and Sam had added to it.

Steve had no idea how it had fallen into Bucky's hands.

"Find me," his friend requested simply. "If it is a new timeline, instead of this one, then try to find me. It's…" he'd paused to swallow hard. "...it was the one thing I hoped for, all the way up until I forgot who you were."

So Steve and Peggy had spent the entire time between their marriage and their move to D.C. working over the logistics, planning the best way to proceed. They'd got their affairs in order, arranged by letter for supplies to be waiting for them at their intended port of arrival, and formed a plan of attack.

The faster they could get in and out, the greater their chance of success. Besides, they were on a schedule. There was a window of about eleven months where Steve knew for sure where Bucky would be—but after that, even Natasha hadn't been able to find where they'd relocated him to.

"The Russians aren't too friendly these days" Steve had mused as they'd packed for their move to D.C. "It'd be better to go in through—Poland?"

Peggy had made a little face. "The Soviets are playing merry havoc along the borders. The Commandos and I slipped in through Ashmyany the last time I was back. That's probably the better route."

He'd ended up bowing to her expertise. The post-war borders were in very different places and had very different dynamics than the maps he'd known in the past or the future.

"How are the fellas these days?" he'd asked her later around a mouthful of nails as he worked to put the bed frame together in their new house. His back was definitely looking forward to not sleeping in the hide-a-bed any longer. "Think any of them would be interested in coming along?"

Peggy's smile warmed his heart. "Darling, who else do you think I've been counting on?"

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Peggy didn't bother to tell the Commandos that Steve was alive; only that she needed them for one last secret mission into Soviet territory, and that she had a surprise for them.

Of course, they'd taken the bait.

As a result, when Steve stepped out of the taxi at Stark's private airstrip, he found himself immediately smothered by three stunned friends. Dugan bellowed in his ear, Jones shook his free hand like a madman until Steve thought it might come off, and Morita slapped him on the back over and over again, laughing in a kind of giddy glee that was reflected in all their faces.

"But how?" Jones asked later, once the uproar had subsided a little. The group stood in a loose circle on the windy airstrip, shading their eyes against the sun. The Commandos couldn't stop staring at Steve, relief and joy written plainly on their faces. "You went down. They couldn't find you."

Peggy—the only one who had thought to wear sunglasses—told them the same story of Steve's survival that they'd fed Howard. It was realistic enough that none of them visibly doubted, though Dugan did squint a little, looking at the captain.

"So what's the call then, Cap?" he asked. "Carter said it had something to do with Barnes, but I'm guessing that was just an excuse to get us all out here."

Steve reached out and took Peggy's hand in his, turning it until the sunlight glinted off her wedding ring. "She's Rogers now too, boys," he announced, and then raised his voice above the shocked chorus of profuse (and in Dugan's case, profane) congratulations. "And she's right, this does have to do with Barnes."

He paused for a breath, feeling almost giddy at the enormity of the moment—and then dropped the truth like a bombshell. There was no other way to say it.

"Bucky's alive. He's imprisoned in Russia, and he needs our help."

Dugan stared, and then actually took off his everlasting bowler hat, wordless for the first time since Steve had known him.

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Hello, my lovelies! And thank you for your kind support and lovely comments. There never was a better set of readers than mine. I'm fearfully sleepy, so kindly ignore any clumsy typos—I'm sure they're there and I'll find them later, but I wanted you to have this.

Oh—and can anybody guess what the song Harry James and his Orchestra are playing? I didn't name it, but it's a little Easter Egg for you all. :D

Hope you all have an awesome week and a very Happy Halloween (if you celebrate it)!

Guest Reviews:

DBZfan45: The best banter byplay line? I'm so honored! I liked that line myself. :D Thank you!

Guest (Sep 25): I read your lovely comment over and over. What a blessing to have a relationship with your great-grandma—but I am so sorry for your loss. I can relate to the not-having-a-grandparent-come-to-graduation though—and it really is harder than a lot of people realize. I'm sorry you had to go through that. And I'm thrilled that my stories could be an escape for you! You are welcome on my end of the internet anytime. :D Oooh, and that's so fun you're playing Steve and Peggy's songs! 40's music holds a special place in my heart. Thank you for stopping by, and for taking the time to leave such a nice comment. I hope and pray things will look up for you and your family soon. Sending hugs :)

My-secret-garden: hey, your very valid thoughts made it a better story—so thank you! And why yes—yes I did hint that they would try to rescue Bucky! Remember though, this is an alternate timeline, so Steve is changing history. So if he does manage to rescue Bucky in this timeline, there won't be a second Bucky in the future. Thank you so much for your kind comment!