Swimmer's Ear

by CapandCarter

Peggy goes abroad and finds herself knee deep in a rousing competition between houses. But a chance encounter sets her on a path with a new goal in mind.

Peggy steps out of the car, her duffle against her legs and a box in her hands. She stares up at the massive Victorian mansion that is now to be her home for the next school year. Her driver helps unload the rest of her stuff and then is gone. Leaving her on the sidewalk with everything she owns in the whole wide world.

She takes a deep breath and steps forward, walking up the steps and knocking on the big wooden door and ringing the doorbell. She hears the patter of footsteps and the door is being swung wide open. "PEGGY!"

She grins at her friend, Hope, who she met many years ago as a summer camp and had kept up a friendship with. "HOPE!"

They embrace and the girl calls back into the house, "PEGGY'S HERE! COME HELP!"

Peggy is introduced to Natasha, a striking red-head with a grin that tells Peggy she always wants to be on her side. Maria, a solemn but kind girl with intensely dark hair. Pepper, a much shyer red-head but who seems whip smart and makes quips that have Peggy laughing as they haul her belongings into the house. Wanda, another red-head who doesn't speak much but smiles easily. And lastly Angie, a girl who talks faster than Peggy can listen, but feels an instant connection too

They help haul her stuff up to the room she'll be sharing with Hope and they sit on the floor, sipping lemonades and talking about the upcoming school year.

"The houses on Sorority Row usually come a week early. We like to get all set up and prepared so we're not moving in and starting classes at the same time." Hope explains, "so I'm glad you could come early." Then the woman looks seriously at the girls around her, "we need to keep the scum off of Peggy. No way we're losing her to any nasty frat boys."

Peggy laughs. "I'm not here to date. And I'm only here for a year, you know that. No point in starting something."

"You may think you're here for only a year." Natasha says slyly, with that cat-like grin on her face, "but you're going to fall in love with this house and us and the school and America and you're gonna wanna stay forever!"

Angie nods and starts waxing long about the pros of America.

Peggy doesn't argue. Who knows what the future holds?

—

"Who has my hairdryer!" She hears Pepper call. Peggy smiles, she's been around women all her life, and she's never experienced the type of sisterhood that this house has.

"I have it!" Maria calls back, "I'm done, I'll bring it over."

"Thanks!"

"Does anyone have any sunscreen?" Wanda calls into the hallway, "my bottle just ran out!"

"I do!" Natasha's voice floats up the stairs from the living room, "it's on my dresser behind my dry shampoo!"

"Thanks!"

Peggy smiles as she pins up her curls. She's only lived in this house for two weeks and she already can't imagine going home.

—

The school year starts to bear down. Her political science classes ramp up their reading and papers while her minor in international affairs continues to ensure she spends late nights at the library researching and preparing for presentations. She's a sophomore but feels like she's already working on her dissertation.

Her phone buzzes and she checks the message.

Angie:

Stop working so hard. Come hooome. There's a party three houses down. It's the first one of the year! We HAVE to go!

Peggy:

I have a presentation in a week I'm not nearly prepared for!

Angie:

A week? Days in college are like dog years. That's plenty of time. Come back this instant or me and Hope will bombard the library with a speaker blasting music and get you kicked out ?

Peggy:

You wouldn't dare.

Angie:

Try me.

Peggy stares at that message and looks back at her books. She's already been here for several hours. Maybe a break wouldn't be so bad. She rolls her eyes and types back.

Peggy:

Fine.

The amount of emojis Angie responds with makes Peggy laugh as she packs up her stuff.

—-

Since it's the first party of the year, all the other houses on Sorority Row are still getting to know each other, so they decide to coordinate the colors they're wearing.

Each finding something in a startling shade of red that will set them apart.

Natasha's wearing a red dress, just short enough to show off her gorgeous legs. Pepper wears striking red heels that make her height even that much more impressive.

Maria's traditional bun has bright red hair chopsticks sticking out of it. "How does she manage to make hair accessories frightening?" Wanda stage whispers to Peggy. The girls laugh and Maria raises an eyebrow at them. Angie somehow manages to make the large red headband she's wearing look stylish instead of childish.

Wanda has on a red leather jacket that hugs her form, and Hope is wearing red corduroy pants that Peggy is baffled by how she manages to make them look fashionable.

Peggy's red item is her lips. Perfectly applying her favorite red-lipstick and receiving "oohs" and "ahhh" from the rest of the house. They link arms and head down the sidewalk to the house whose doors are thrown open wide and music spilling out onto the lawn.

—

It's not exactly Peggy's scene, with the overly loud music and the constant squealing every time a new face arrives. But she won't deny that the energy is contagious and the girls all seem more welcoming than American TV has ever portrayed a sorority before.

Peggy's introduced to dozens of girls and she tries to remember their names. She sings along when a song she recognizes plays, and she laughs when the girls who live in the house perform a choreographed dance number that ends with them singing the school song.

The applause dies out as the head of the house stands on the stairs, whistling to get everyone's attention.

Quiet falls and the girls all look at her as she grins widely. "This is the year." She states firmly, "that a sorority finally takes back the win from that fraternity house!" Thunderous applause assaults Peggy's ears and she looks around, confused. "They've won the last two years and I refuse to let them continue their streak!"

"But they're nice!" Someone calls from the back. Laughter echoes and the girl on the stairs huffs in amused annoyance.

"I don't care how nice or hot they are." She grouses, "I want a win for the sororities! We've never gone more than one year without winning and I refuse to let our shame carry on for a third year! So, right now, with all you girls here. I'm telling you. I don't care which Sorority wins. I just need it to be a sorority! Who's with me!"

Shrieks and screams and applause echo through the house and the party resumes.

—

The air is fresh and clears the stuffiness from the heat of all those bodies packed together. Peggy tousles her hair, letting the wind dry the sweat on the back of her neck.

They make it into the house and everyone is getting ready for bed when Peggy sticks her head out the door. "Wait. I meant to ask, what is the competition that Okoye was talking about?"

"Oh shit!" She hears Natasha call, "I forgot we haven't told her about that!"

She watches as all the girls, in various stages of undressing and prepping for bed, come flooding out of their rooms and plop down into hers and Hope's.

"The competition is called "The Row of Champions". Hope explains. "It started years ago, when this college first started letting women attend like 70 years ago. It's funded mostly by the Alumni and former pledges. It's actually crazy how big it's gotten. Anyways, it's a one semester competition that takes place between every house in the Rows. Whoever wins gets a huge prize that you can choose what you want it to be. Maintenance or upgrades to your house, cash prize, tuition, and a bunch of other stuff! One year a frat bought a van with their cash so they could drive around to all the parties." She laughs and the girls nod. "The last two years have been won by this house on Fraternity Row." She pauses, "what's their house called?"

"The 107th." Angie says, "they're right next to the Stark House."

Peggy watches as Pepper visibly blushes. "What was that!" She asks, pointing at the woman.

"What was what?"

"You blushed!"

"I did not!"

Peggy laughs, "you're a terrible liar. Who lives at the Stark house that has you blushing?"

The girls start to hoot and holler and Peggy points accusingly at them, "you've all been hiding things from me!"

Hope waves the girls to be quiet and then stares dramatically at Peggy. "First of all, we would never keep things from you. The school year just started and we don't like to kiss and tell each other's secrets." She glares at Pepper who shakes her head as the girls "oooOooOhhh" in her direction. "and second, you made it very clear that Frat boys and men in general were not on your radar. We wanted to respect that."

"They're off my priority list." Peggy explains, "but I still want to hear about your escapades! I'm not a nun for Nora's sake. I may not be willing to get involved in my own trist, but I sure as bloody hell want to hear about yours!"

The girls laugh and Peggy settles in as they begin to tell her about the boys they can't wait to introduce her too.

—

Apparently the Stark House has been utilized by a long line of men actually related to the original Stark who helped fund and build the school. And when Pepper says the name "Anthony Stark" all the girls whistle and poke fun at her while she shakes her head in her hands.

Hope rolls her eyes when someone mentions the name Scott Lang, but the grin on her face says otherwise.

Wanda and Maria don't speak about a boy, but Peggy has a suspicion that they're just more reserved than the others. Natasha tells her about a good friend who lives in the Stark house named Clint that she's known from her hometown. "Is he more than a friend?" Peggy asks, nudging her in the ribs.

"Nooooo." Natasha says with a laugh, "he's dating some nice girl named Laura from a few houses down. They're definitely getting married, he's so head over heels for her."

Peggy looks at Angie and says with a raised eyebrow, "for as long as I've known you, you've had your eye on someone. Who is it this time?"

"He's not in the Stark House." She informs Peggy, "he's in the 107th, right next door." Angie begins to gush about a boy named Gabe and how he's teaching her French and the girls snicker and jib about 'what type' of French he's teaching and Peggy laughs at the way Angie waggles her eyebrows suggestively.

Eventually the group turns to Natasha who very slyly informs them that it's none of their business.

The girls crow and holler at her and Hope rolls her eyes. "She's been eyeing this boy in the 107th for the last year and she keeps waiting for him to make his move. But so far, no luck."

Natasha hushes her, "I was very passive last year." She admits, "but this year I plan to be much more aggressive."

"God help that poor man." Peggy says, placing a woeful hand over her heart and the girls crack up talking about their boys and the possibilities until one of the girls yawns and they split off to bed.

—-

It's Saturday night and Hope has called a house meeting.

"Okay. The first part of the competition is coming up!" She looks at a clipboard. "Okoye has lined out the entirety of the known judged aspects for this year, and has also listed a few of the things she thinks they judge but aren't publicly announced."

Peggy sits in the worn but comfortable leather chair and pulls at an errant thread off the blanket covering her legs. "What are the events?"

Hope begins to read.

"Next Saturday is the House Inspection. We get to explore and see all the houses that have decided to compete this year and get a baseline for their decorations. This kicks off GTKTC Week where we will be assigned a night of the week, along with one of the frats, for everyone to come to our two houses."

Peggy raises her hand, "um, what in the blue blazes is GTKTC?"

"Get To Know The Competition." Wanda supplies helpfully, typing something on her phone.

"Ah." Peggy says, "Ooohkay, continue."

"Then, Okoye believes these are the unlisted things, but still items they judge. 1. How much community service we do. We need a certain number to graduate, but there's no maximum. The more the better." The girl nods, and Peggy smiles, she can get on board with that for sure. "Then she believes that ensuring that our Row, Reserve Street, is kept perpetually clean and safe. Okoye has written in big bold letters, NO DRUNK PARTIES, NO DRUGS, NO EXCEPTIONS."

The girls laugh and Peggy joins. While she's sure some of the girls in the other houses participate in those particular extra-curricular activities, the houses serious about winning that huge prize understand that there is a zero-tolerance policy.

"3. Participating in the College Campus Clean-Up. While not required by the school, she believes they definitely keep track of who helps." The girls are nodding along, " and then for the actual judged events, there's Halloween Hype. I'm already starting to think about our decor and theme. Then Fall Fest, of course, then the Christmas Clash. Anyone in town will participate in the New Year's Eve Event, and they announce the winner on New Year's Day!"

Peggy tilts her head, "so it's just a bunch of parties?"

She's booed by the laughing girls and finds pens and pillows being thrown in her direction.

"It's not just parties." Angie bemoans, "it's about the community and spirit that they create! College is stressful. Having a Row to lean on is such an awesome experience. The decorations bring a lot of life and fun to the streets, and the secret emphasis on keeping our college clean and working in the community creates good will between the college and our college town. Keeping the peace. Sororities and Frats get really bad raps most places, well-deserved in some or most cases. But we really try not to let that be the case here. So, some friendly competition to see who can do the most good, look the best, and make their house the most welcoming and fun, earns the prize!"

Peggy looks around at each of the girls and smiles, "well, let's kick some Fraternity ass!"

They cheer wildly and start planning for their first event.

—

She stands quietly as Okoye welcomes all the houses. There's a man next to her, dashing and handsome and Peggy doesn't miss the way his eyes stare at her as she speaks.

"We can't wait to see what wonderful things this semester has in store! Do your best and be proud of your Row and school! Go Avengers!"

The crowd cheers and the man steps up to the mic. "I'm sure you've all been informed of the rules, but sabotage of any sort is not allowed. Sabotaging another house will get the participants removed from their houses. If you violate any of the rules you are subject to disqualification from the competition. We mean it. This is all in good fun. Don't ruin it."

Okoye steps back up, "thanks T'Challa. Okay, ladies and gentleman, enjoy the evening, explore the houses, mingle and let's get this party started!"

There's more cheers as the giant group of college kids break up, all heading in different directions towards different houses.

Hope and the rest of the girls find her and they give each other a knowing look. "Let's go look at the competition."

Peggy nods and they start off towards Fraternity Row.

—-

The turn left onto Shield Street and see 10 large houses, 5 on each side, lining the street. All the houses are alight and music plays from each of them. But Peggy notes that while the music is not quiet, that it's not so loud and overbearing either.

They stop at a few houses, making introductions or the other girls waving 'hello, good to see you' when they find someone they recognize.

The Stark House is as grand as they'd described. The wrap around porch with attached gazebo all lit up with modern lighting makes Peggy smile appreciatively.

They get the tour from a nice guy called Rhodey, which makes Peggy have to stifle a chuckle. He's kind though and offers them sodas or slushies from the machine they have installed in the kitchen. He talks to Pepper with a respectful deference that has the girls raising their eyebrows at the girl. She smiles and they seem to get along splendidly, Peggy notes.

"He's best friends with Stark." Natasha whispers, "she and Rhodey keep him out of trouble."

Peggy laughs quietly and they continue the tour. Eventually Hope peels off with a brunette with a goofy smile and Peggy hears a loud shout.

She turns to see a boy, dressed in a suit walk through one of the doorways.

"Pep!"

Peggy watches the red-head turn towards the significantly shorter man and smile fondly, "Hello, Tony."

They begin chatting and Peggy turns towards Angie, "this isn't the competition, is it?"

"No, that's the house next door. They just wanted to stop here first. Come on, let's head over, I want to introduce you to Gabe!"

"Yeah," Natasha says, appearing from the next room, "let's go."

A stocky blonde man, who is sitting crookedly on a chair in the next room, and Peggy assumes is Clint, shouts, "she just wants to see James."

Natasha scoffs at him, but the quick grin after confirms his accusations.

They step back out onto the porch and head towards the next house over.

Peggy tries to keep her mouth closed as they approach the porch steps. Vintage light bulbs dangle off the edge of the roof, wrapping the entire porch in a warm light that seems cozy. She notices the vintage but well taken care of porch furniture and the evenly spaced potted plants. The door is open and Big Band music can be heard playing through the house. They step inside and Peggy feels transported back in time. The furniture, the decorations, the ambiance reminds her of any WW2 movie she's ever seen.

"Oh, we are so screwed." She hears Angie say bluntly.

She turns to the girl, "why?"

"They've just chosen a solid theme, solidified it, executed it well, and it can be the baseline for every party they throw. Not only creating a fun and exciting party, but a consistent experience that people will be excited for as each party approaches. Tell me you wouldn't be excited to see what they do for a 1940's Halloween party, or Christmas party, or New Years E—"

"Okay." Natasha snaps. "We get it."

Peggy huffs, "well surely we can step up our game. It's only the first night!"

"And we're already behind!" Angie wines.

"Behind what?" They turn to see a guy, dressed in perfect 1940's attire looking at them.

"Gabe!" Angie shouts, leaning in for a hug and kissing him on the cheek. "You guys are the worst, you know that?"

He laughs, and looks around. "It's all Steve, you know that."

"One day, when he finally shows his face, I'm going to bop that kid on the head." Angie scowls.

"Who's Steve?" Peggy asks, not having heard that name yet.

Gabe looks up and smiles, "he's our resident artist. He's the brains of the planning and execution even though he avoids the actual events."

"Oh, why?" Peggy asks.

"He's real shy." Angie states, looking at Gabe for confirmation, "I've only seen him a time or two. Barely heard him speak!"

"He's sweet." Natasha adds, "he's James' best friend. They grew up together in Brooklyn."

"New York?" Peggy asks, "what brings them to DC?"

"The school of course." Gabe says, leading them past partygoers and into a nice kitchen that is modern but somehow still exudes that vintage charm. "Bucky's in the engineering program with me, Denier, and Morita. Steve's in the architecture program, it's apparently top tier too."

"What about me?" A booming voice calls. Peggy turns to see a massive man, sporting a horrible mustache, a bowler hat, and wheat blonde hair.

"You're boring." Gabe teases, "this is Dugan. He's in the—-" He pauses, tilting his head sarcastically, "what the hell is it you do here actually?"

They start joking and jabbing at each other and Peggy laughs along with Natasha and Angie.

"Nat!" A voice calls, making the girl turn around. Avery handsome man appears dressed in a crisp uniform, and Natasha lights up.

"James!"

The man laughs, "you're never going to call me Bucky are you."

"Nope." Natasha says flatly. "It's a terrible nickname."

"It really is." Peggy adds with a smile. James looks up at her in surprise, "Hey," he looks at Natasha, "you have a Monty now?"

Natasha rolls her eyes and swipes at him. "James, this is Peggy."

"Peggy? And you're making fun of my nickname?"

The room goes momentarily quiet, just the music playing as Angie and Natasha stare at her with wide eyes, unsure how she'll respond. But she just scoffs and begins laughing, "touché. I suppose. Pleasure to meet you." They shake hands and his smile is kind and his eyes sparkle with mirth. She feels as if she passed some test.

"Who's Monty?" Peggy asks, curious as to why she'd been compared to him.

"He's our resident Brit. I think he's upstairs."

Peggy feels a thrill of excitement. Even though she'd left home happily, wanting to escape the crushing expectations of her mother, she would love having someone who reminded her of home.

"I'd love to meet him." She says excitedly, "whenever he comes down."

"Oh no, he's on the phone with his girl back home, let's go interrupt!"

James waves them up the stairs and Peggy looks at all of the pictures and art on the walls. A fascinating mix of recent photos and childhood portraits hang seemingly at random, but creating a very aesthetic nostalgic look along the walls. Then a painting of the house catches her eyes. She stares in awe at the detail and points at it. "This is beautifully done." She says, "was it done by your friend, the artist?"

Jame looks back, seeing what she's pointing at, "oh, yeah. Steve did that last year I think. Or… man… was that our freshman year?" He scrunches his nose in thought. "Can't remember. But yeah, Steve did that one."

Peggy looks at the painting one last time before following them into a room.

A giant Union Jack hangs on the wall and she instantly smiles. A man, slim in build and with a slightly more acceptable mustache, sits in a rolling chair at a desk, staring at his laptop.

"Monty!" Jame calls, getting the man's attention.

"What is it, James?"

"Thought you'd like to know the British Invasion has started."

Peggy scoffs as the man looks at the group in confusion. "What are you on about now, James?"

"I'm Peggy Carter." She says, her accent crisp and present. "I thought it would be nice to meet someone civilized in this house."

Monty stands an immediate grin wide on his face, "oh, aren't you a blessed sacred sound to a man's ears!" He shakes her hand and they begin speaking about their homes and where they grew up.

They'd just discovered they have a mutual friend when the door opens.

"Hey Monty? You got an—" The group turns to look at the door where someone has started to enter. Peggy can't see, her view is blocked but she hears him speak again, his voice lowering and almost to the point of inaudible, "oh, sorry, didn't realize— never mind." The door starts to shut and James steps around it.

"Steve, come on in, it's just a few of us. Monty's meeting a fellow Brit."

She can't hear the response, she just watches as the door shuts and James' shoulders drop.

"Can't push him, mate." Monty says calmly.

"I know that, Falsworth." James snaps back, "it's just. It's Junior year. He's supposed to be getting out of his shell, he—" The man stops, looking at the group, "uh, sorry. Anyways, let's head back downstairs, shall we?"

The group follows him back to the main floor where the rest of the girls have gathered taking in the incredible sight of the house.

"You're kidding me." Hope hisses at Natasha and Angie.

"I know!" Angie moans, "I already told these two that we're so screwed!"

"Such defeatists!" Peggy admonishes. "Sure, they've got a nice head start, but we can catch up. We just need to plan."

—-

And plan they do. They decide on a theme for Halloween and start looking through thrift shops and on eBay to find the right items.

The air starts to sharpen into fall temperatures and the College Campus Clean-Up arrives sooner than Peggy expects.

She and her housemates get dressed, leggings and hoodies and gloves shoved into their pockets just in case.

They walk to Center campus where a decently large group has gathered.

"Good Morning!" A brightly dressed woman speaks into a megaphone. Thank you so much for volunteering your time here today! Make sure you sign in to receive your credit hours. There will be plenty of hot drinks after if you'd like, and refreshments ass well. Groups will be splitting in just a few minutes so sign up for whatever area you want to help clean! Thank you and have fun!"

Peggy wanders to the sign up table with Hope and Wanda. They look at the options and Peggy notices that there's only a few names under the trash pick up list. "I'll do this one." Peggy says, "fresh, cold air never hurt anyone."

"Says you." Hope groans, "San Fran's weather is balmy compared to this!"

"Then pick somewhere else." Wanda laughs, signing her name under Peggy's, "the cold doesn't bother me either."

Hope rolls her eyes and signs her name. They take off to get their trash stabbers and garbage bags.

—

She has her headphones in, listening to upbeat music, when she feels a hand tug her sharply. She stumbles back and pops her head up right as a bicyclist flies past.

She sucks in a sharp breath and turns to face the stunned blue eyes of whoever grabbed her.

"Sorry." The guy says quickly, "sorry I grabbed you like that. I tried to shout, but—" he gestures weakly to her ears and is already stepping back, voice getting quieter with each word. "Sorry. I didn't mean to yank you. I just saw him not looking as he turned the corner and you didn't hear him coming and—" the man is rambling, taking steps further away from her, "sorry. I'm sorry." She sees that he also has a trash poker and a bag, but he's gone, disappearing around the same corner the man on the bicycle has just come from.

"Thank you—" she says to the space he had just occupied. She looks up to see Hope and Wanda on the other side of the parking lot, distracted with their work.

She shakes her head, taking out one headphone and getting back to work.

—

Halloween quickly approaches. And between cramming for midterms, finishing projects, and submitting papers, Peggy helps slowly decorate the house piece by piece. The retro-futuristic aesthetic does wonders for the ambiance of the house and when October 31st comes along, the girls stare proudly at the decorations and all the effort they put into it.

The party starts well, their house flooded with people giving "oohs' and "aahs" to the carefully curated decor and the appropriately themed and named finger foods.

"When are we gonna head over to check them out?" Peggy looks over at Natasha who is whispering to her, no need to ask who them is.

"I say soon. Pepper, Wanda, and Maria don't want to leave the house, so I told them we'd go make the rounds, sizing up the other parties."

"Let's go."

—-

They stop at the Stark House where the theme of "Space Exploration" is cool but Peggy thinks it's not as well executed as theirs. They say their goodbyes and walk over to the 107th.

Handmade paper ghosts hang from the trees, with lights inside them to make them glow. The pathway is lined with candles, stuck to the cement pathway in piles of their own wax, giving it Edgar Allen Poe vibes.

"No. Fucking. Way." She hears Angie hiss.

"What?" She asks, looking up towards where the girl is pointing. Peggy looks up and gasps. The house looks… black and white.

And then they hear the strains of "The Twilight Zone" theme song and Natasha throws up her hands in defeat. "I thought they were sticking to the 1940's!"

They walk up to the porch and enter the house. Each room has been carefully lit to create an effect that makes it seem like they're seeing everything in black and white. Peggy has no idea how they've managed, although she does note that the more colorful items that had been in the rooms are removed. Anything neutral colored has remained and utilized to create rooms that have an eerily empty effect.

"You guys like?" They turn to find Bucky, painted head to toe. He looks black and white as well and Natasha stomps towards him. "I thought you guys were staying with the 1940's theme!"

James laughs, "we are!"

"The Twilight Zone premiered after the 40's! It was like the 60's!"

"Yes, but not every episode was set in the 60's right? There were episodes set in the 1940's and that's where Steve got the idea!"

"Kid's a verifiable genius." Another voice says. Gabe enters the room, also painted and Angie crosses her arms in a pout.

"There should be a rule. If someone else does all the hard work then it shouldn't count."

James scoffs, "you think rearranging the furniture a thousand times, hanging and adjusting the lighting, and carefully taping up the outside of the house for days wasn't hard work? He may be the writer and director but we're the actors and the stagehands. Don't belittle our work because you guys are going to be sore losers again."

The girls gasp and act affronted. But it quickly changes to humor as they tease and jest with each other.

"Come see our house." Angie says to Gabe and James. "It's still fun, even if it's not insanity like your home."

"We're on shift." Gabe says, "waiting for Dugan and Morita to get back, then we can leave."

The girls nod and they settle in to talk. "Can I get some water?" Peggy asks, feeling thirsty.

"Yeah, you know where the kitchen is?"

She "uh-hmms" and heads that direction. She steps through the wooden door frame and pauses, seeing someone standing at the sink, their back towards her.

She notices that he's not painted, but he seems comfortable in his surroundings, and the unfamiliar frame makes her think this is the elusive Steve she still hasn't met yet.

"Hello." She calls, "sorry to intrude, just grabbing some water." The man freezes at the sound of her voice. He turns and their eyes lock. She gasps in surprise at the blue eyes staring back at her, "you!"

He takes a step back, running into the counter.

"You saved me from that maniac on a bicycle!"

His mouth opens to speak but no words come out of it.

He's shy. Angie's words echo in her mind.

He's sweet. Natasha had added.

"Sorry. Don't mean to sound accusatory." She says with a smile, holding her hands up in surrender, "I just never got a chance to thank you. That would have been a nasty clip. Thank you. I'm Peggy Carter." She holds out her hand for him to shake and he stares at it briefly before slowly extending his hand and shaking hers firmly before pulling his hand back.

"Steve." He manages to say softly. "Steve Rogers."

"Nice to meet you, Steve." She responds with an easy smile. "I've been told you are the brains behind this whole operation. You've got quite the inventive mind. My housemates and I are jealous."

The red that floods his cheeks definitely doesn't fit the black and white theme, but Peggy doesn't mind. It's adorable. He ducks his head and pushes at the bridge of his glasses, shaking his head. "I'm alright." He says quietly, shifting on his feet, "just enjoy the challenge."

"Well, one day, when it's not a competition, you'll have to give me some pointers on interior design. You seem to have quite the eye for it."

He looks at her quickly, a smile in his eyes, before he's looking back at the ground, "thanks."

A loud laugh causes her attention to shift, looking behind her, and when she turns back, he's gone. The door on the other wall swinging shut.

She walks out of the kitchen a bit stunned.

"Did you see the water bottles?" A voice pulls her from her reverie.

"Oh…" she says, looking at her empty hands, "No, I suppose I got distracted."

Natasha tilts her head, "at what?"

"I just met your last housemate, Steve."

James is on his feet, "what?" He looks towards the kitchen. "He was down here?"

Peggy nods and looks at him, "he ran off quickly though, I think I startled him."

James sighs, but Peggy feels the need to defend him, or… she's not sure, stick up for him. While she's never been shy, she's had shy classmates, so she can sympathize. "He was very kind before he left."

James' head snaps up, "he spoke to you?"

She pauses, unsure about his reaction, "yes… we spoke briefly." James looks at Gabe who just looks shocked. "Should I be concerned?"

"No!" James practically shouts, then backs off, "no, he's just… he doesn't usually talk to strangers, so I'm just surprised."

"Well, he spoke enough when he saved me from the man on the bicycle." She adds, feeling like there's something she's missing.

"What?" James asks incredulously, "when was that?"

"The Campus Clean Up day. I had my headphones in and he pulled me out of the way of some maniac on a bicycle and then apologized for saving me, and then disappeared!" She laughs, "I didn't know it was him of course, at the time, but then I saw him in the kitchen and recognized him."

Both James and Gabe are looking at her as if she'd spoken in a different language.

They look at each other and seem to have an unspoken conversation with their eyes, that Peggy can't seem to fathom at the moment. "Guys?" Natasha asks, "you wanna fill us in?"

"No." They both say immediately. Natasha looks about to press when the door opens and Dugan and Morita enter bickering about something. They're also painted head to toe and she imagines the effect on the dark streets at night would be amazing.

"Did Steve paint you guys too? Or did you paint yourselves?" Peggy asks curiously.

"He painted us." Dugan says, "took him all day, but he did a bang-up job. You know how many compliments we got out there? We've got this party in the bag."

"Hey!" Angie and Natasha protest good-naturedly.

"Don't be sore losers." Morita says smugly, "You're just jealous."

"Well, duh!" Angie huffs. "We don't have an art prodigy in our house! It's an unfair advantage."

The guys laugh and they gather their things to go. Peggy catches James looking at her strangely and she's about to ask him why, but Angie pulls her out the door and they head back to their house.

—

The next day, Peggy is sitting in the library and she looks up in surprise when someone sits in the chair in front of her.

She looks up to see James sitting there, eyeing her with caution. She removes her headphones and looks at him curiously. "Can I help you?"

He leans forward and studies her. "Can I trust you?"

She blinks. Taken off guard. "I-I don't know. With what?"

"We barely know each other, and yet…" he trails off, shaking his head, "it's a delicate topic."

She sets her pen down and gives him his full attention, "what is it? It seems serious."

"It is." He says, tapping quietly on the table. "It's about Steve."

Ah.

"What about Steve?"

James leans forward and speaks quietly. "Other than when absolutely necessary, Steve doesn't speak much. And almost never to a girl. And definitely not to a stranger—"

"Why?" She asks, "he's that shy?"

James bites his cheek and she can see him debating with whether to trust her. He eventually takes a deep breath and talks quietly. "He's been bullied our entire lives. He's not as short or as skinny now, but… kids were mean, outright cruel, and… and he used to stand up for himself. He always would get in fights and wouldn't back down—" He grimaces, "but… his dad was meaner than any kid." Peggy stills, listening intently. "His dad would come home, mad that he'd got in a fight and telling him he wasn't worth anyone's time. He'd shout and scream and yell, 'no one wants to hear what you have to say, Steve. So, why don't you just shut up!'."James' fingers are curled tightly and Peggy can hear the tone of fury in his voice. He's personally witnessed the degradation of his friend. Peggy stays silent, watching as he breathes in and out a few times, calming himself, "so eventually… I mean… There's only so many times a kid can hear that without taking it to heart. So he got quiet. Stopped talking. Stopped standing up for himself. Stopped participating in life. And I—" He leans back, scrubbing at his eyes, "it's so fucking painful to watch because if you knew him? You'd know he cares about everyone. I swear the kid has more protective instincts in his pinky than the rest of us have in our whole bodies. He would help everyone, wouldn't turn anyone down if they asked for something, or even if he knew they needed it and hadn't asked. I mean, you said he saved you from a bicyclist right? That's him. Sees someone in need and helps. But usually it's from the shadows and without anyone noticing him. Because he believes—" James cuts off, his throat tight. Peggy feels her heart aching at the story. "His asshole of a father managed to convince him that no one wants to hear him speak. So unless he's around me, or one of the guys he knows super well, he's silent." Then James pins her with his stare, "except for you. He spoke to you twice, and I'm not going to sit here and ignore that. I don't know what it was, but something about you drew him out, even for just a moment. So I'm here to ask a favor."

She waits, as he gathers his thoughts.

"How do you feel about swimming?"

The question catches her off guard, "I-I like it?"

"Here's the favor I'm asking and… I know I've got no right to ask this of you. And if you turn me down then that's fair. I get it. It's unusual. And I wouldn't hold it against you—"

"James, just ask."

"Be his friend."

It stuns her, "what?"

"I'm not asking for anything major. Not asking you to become best friends or anything deep. Maybe it's more honest to say forced proximity friendliness."

"And… how am I to manage that?" She asks.

His face lights up, "so you'll do it?"

She sits back, eyeing him and taking a moment to truly consider everything he's told her. And her heart aches for the young boy who had his voice stolen from him.

"Yes." She says firmly, "I'll do it."

He sags in relief, "thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you. You have no idea. I mean it."

"I still don't know how you expect me to manage it." She says, "I'm never in the architecture building, and I've only seen him outside of the house once, by accident mind you."

He smiles, "that's where the swimming comes in." He leans forward conspiratorially. "He had heart issues as a kid, and he got sick a lot, so he couldn't be outside much, or do anything crazy physical. So he started swimming at our indoor community pool. Now he swims in the pool at the gym every morning, except Saturdays, at 5:30a.m. I know it's early, but I can't think of another way for you to see him consistently without him getting suspicious. Also," he looks at her seriously, "the guys don't know about Steve's past. They just think he's shy. No one but me, and now you know about his dad. And I haven't told anyone about me asking you to do this. Not Natasha or the guys at my house. If Steve even catches a whiff that I'm pushing him to branch out, he'll freak and—" he waves his hands in wild motions, "I know I'm asking a lot, but I…" he stands up, pacing back and forth in front of her. "If he doesn't come out of his shell now, I don't think he ever will. He'll bury himself at some architectural firm and disappear from the world. I can't let that happen—"

"Why?" Peggy asks, cutting him off, "why is it your responsibility? Not that it isn't admirable, it is, but why do you feel like you have to help him out of his shell?"

He sinks back into his chair. "I was one of his first bullies." She feels her eyes widen and he looks at her in shame. "We met in kindergarten, and I remember the teacher praising a drawing he did, and I was just a scared little kid who could barely hold crayons right. So I started shoving him around on the playground. He fought back, swinging at me and we tussled. I ended up breaking his wrist that day. I remember watching him leave with his ma crying, and I hated how I felt. So when he came back the next day, his arm in a cast, I… I went straight up to him and said sorry. I asked to sign his cast and he said 'yes'. Didn't even question it. Just let me sign the arm I broke and asked if I wanted to play during recess."

Peggy's smiling but then James' face turns dark.

"And then… his dad." He looks at her and he sighs, guilt across his face. "I knew, when we got old enough… I knew. I would sit there in his room as he was yelled at in the kitchen. Or… when he'd sleep over and I'd see bruises or marks where his clothes usually covered, and I knew who was doing it. But I didn't do anything. I would offer for him to come stay at my house, or… whatever small things I thought would help. But I never did anything. I should have told someone. I should have told his ma! His dad was always doing that shit when she wasn't there. She worked so much, she was gone most days and nights. He never yelled at Steve in front of her. Never laid a finger on him when she was around. And… Steve never said a word. Never told her. Never spoke up for himself. I should have known she didn't know. By the time I decided to stop being a huge coward, it was too late. His dad left his ma and him high and dry and she died not even a year later. She worked so much. She was so busy but I know she must have wondered why he got so quiet. I don't think she ever knew what his dad did."

"James—" Peggy starts, unsure how to even respond.

"He can't ever know I told you this. Ever. If he knew, he'd—" he huffs out a breath and scrubs at his eye sockets with his palms. "I'm telling you, because you're my last hope. I want you to go into this with your eyes open. He's never showed interest in speaking to a stranger before and I may seem insane to you, but… I refuse to stand back and not do anything again. I've made that mistake before. Never again. So here I am. Acting like an insane person. Telling you my best friend's life story, asking that you'll take a chance. That whatever made him see you as someone willing to listen… you'll keep doing that. Please."

She reaches across the table and places her hand on top of his. "I will. I promise. Even though I don't know exactly why he spoke to me."

He reaches over and drags her into an awkward over the table hug, "thank you." He says into her coat, "thank you."

"Thank me if this works."

"No," he says firmly, "I'm thankful for even the effort." He squeezes her tightly and then lets go, nodding and disappearing out the doors.

She sits there for the next few minutes, thinking of everything she was just told. And her mind pictures those wary and shocked blue eyes, and the sound of his voice as he spoke softly to her. And she pulls out her phone setting an alarm for 5a.m.

—

She's lucky that Hope had told her to bring a normal one piece swimsuit in case they did car washes or other aquatic activities. She wakes quietly, not having told anyone her plan, and she slips on sweatpants and a hoodie over her suit. She braids her hair back into two thick braids and thanks her lucky stars that she swam a good bit as a kid so she wouldn't make a complete fool of herself. She slips her shoes on and grabs a gym bag, stuffing it with the things she'll need after so she can head straight to breakfast after.

The walk is chilly, but she's surprised to find it refreshing. The music plays gently in her headphones and she slips through the doors and into the locker room without seeing another person. She stuffs her things into a locker, sliding off her shoes and quietly walking towards the pool. She enters the swim area and is hit with a nostalgic mix of chlorinated water and moist air. She has beat him there, which is exactly what she'd hoped. There's 6 lanes in the large Olympic sized pool and she takes the second to the left. The water is, thankfully, heated and she slips beneath it easily.

Slow, steady laps take her mind off her nerves as she goes back and forth. She's only made it through 4 laps before she hears the sound of another person. She purposefully doesn't look up, or acknowledge his presence. She continues to swim, back and forth, ignoring the way the water moves as another person enters it. She does not ignore the fact that he takes the farthest lane from her. But that's fine, easier for her to hide this way.

She does 20 laps before she's too tired to continue. As she exits the pool, using the towel to cover her face as she pretends to dry her hair, she listens to his slow even strokes and she smiles as she slips out to the locker room showers.

After James had left the library, she'd decided on a plan of action. Whether he'd told anyone else or not, she knew Steve would most likely get suspicious if the girl he'd spoken to just the night before suddenly showed up during his morning routine.

So, she has to plant the foundation.

For the next week, she arrives at the pool at 5:15, swims without even glancing up at his arrival, and then leaves by 5:50. She lets just her presence become something he expects. She wears hats or beanies, or headphones, or anything to sort of obscure her face as she enters and exits just in case he's looking, which he never seems to.

At the end of the second week, she gets there at 5:25, sitting on the edge of the pool and fiddling with her goggles which she'd purchased from a local sporting goods store. She waits until she hears him entering the area. She still doesn't turn around, but she hears him pause and then move to set his towel down. She turns ever so gently and manages to catch his attention. She smiles briefly, barely even making eye contact, before going back to her task of adjusting the straps. When she finishes, she slips into the water and begins her routine.

—

Fall Fest kicks off and the girls struggle to ensure everything will be done in time. They host a community bake sale, a food drive for the local food pantry, and decorate their house inside and out with fall decor. They'd thrown the theme out the window for this one. No one could figure out how to make Fall look retro futuristic.

Their house smells like apples and pastries and each of Peggy's days are filled to the brim.

But each morning she makes the trek to the pool and she finds that the routine is actually soothing. The girls had started to notice her absence and she just told them that she had wanted to get in a bit of exercise, so she'd decided to go swimming in the mornings.

"You're insane." Angie yawned, "those hours of the day are not meant for humans. Just ghosts and birds and things."

Peggy had laughed. But was relieved when no one pressed further.

—

In the third week, she brings the waterproof speaker she'd purchased online.

She sets it up with her phone and waits, twiddling the dials and pretending to be busy until she hears the doors open, and his soft foot falls enter the area.

He's about to step into the pool when she looks over, "I hope you don't mind. I know it sounds silly seeing as we're under the water half the time, but I just love having music on when I exercise. Do you mind?"

She looks at him openly, holding a gentle smile and open eyes to make sure she looks as non-threatening as possible.

He shakes his head 'no" and she sighs loudly in relief. "Oh, thanks. Okay, whew."

She plays some instrumental score music and swims like normal.

—-

The next day she's leaning on the edge of the pool, the water lapping around her torso. She waits till he enters and then looks up and smiles. He ducks his head, and she waits until he's set his stuff down before speaking.

"Steve?"

He looks up, surprise in his eyes at her recognition.

"I thought I recognized you yesterday." She says easily, "I'm sorry for not saying hello earlier. Well, now that I know it's you, I need to hear a song request from you. Do you like music?"

He's frozen for a few seconds before he barely nods, and she smiles, "okay good, come here." She makes it a casual command, like a friend calling over another friend. She oozes relaxation as he takes hesitating steps towards her, "you saved me from the bicyclist and have therefore earned at least a few song requests. What'll it be?"

She looks up expectantly, not giving him an out. She wants to hear him speak and respond positively to whatever he says.

Peggy watches as his Adam's apple bobs up and down, a sure sign of nerves, but she doesn't speak, doesn't give him an out.

"It's fine." He finally says, "you can play whatever."

"Oh come now, don't hurt my feelings like that!" She says with mock dramatism, tacking on a bright smile, "there has to be some song that you love that gets your blood pumping! I want to know!"

She ignores the large scar running down the middle of his chest. Keeping her eyes locked on his as he seems to struggle with what to say.

"Any song by E.S. Posthumus." He whispers in a rush, as if afraid the words would be painful.

She smiles and nods, "I've never heard of them! I'll try them out, thank you!" She clicks on her phone, looking away and giving him a chance to escape, which he takes.

The music is epic, heavy beats and great musical composition, and even though she only hears parts of it while swimming, she enjoys the ambiance the music gives to her workout.

When she finishes, she waits, sitting on the edge of the pool and listening to the version of Moonlight Sonata that is playing.

He starts to pull himself out of the pool and she calls out. "Thank you so much! I love them. I'll need to listen to more of their stuff. I expect you to come with a new recommendation tomorrow!"

He looks at her and she thinks she catches the briefest of nods as he ducks his head, grabbing his towel, and leaving.

—

She's waiting for him, and she looks up expectantly when he arrives, now putting part two into action. The foundation has been laid. He expects her to be there. Her presence won't frighten him like it did in the kitchen, now it's 'get him to speak and show that she will listen' bit.

"Steve!" She says happily, waving him over, "you were right, E.S. Posthumus is pretty epic. I listened to more of them while I was working on a project and I felt very motivated."

She smiles up at him and almost sighs in relief when a genuine smile crosses his face in return.

"Okay." She says, pointing at her speaker, "now that I know your music sense can be trusted, I need more recommendations from you. What have you got for me today?"

"What music service do you use?" He asks softly, glancing at the floor and then at the pool. She ignores the way his fingers are gripping his towel nervously.

"I use Spotify," She states, "easier for me and my 1,000 playlists." He lets out a small laugh that has her heart racing. He laughs! She feels giddy in her success but stays calm on the outside. "What about you?"

"I use that too." He responds quietly.

"I would like to follow you so I can get more of your music wisdom! What's your handle?"

He fidgets, his throat flexing as he swallows and bites the inside of his cheek. "May I?" He asks gently, gesturing to her phone. She hands it up to him, not hesitating one instant. He taps through something and hands it back to her. "Now we're following each other."

She gasps, looking at her phone, "perfect!" She exclaims, "you've just made my day. Any playlist or song suggestions for today?"

"Have you heard of Ludwig Goransson?" He asks, "he does some score music, it's pretty good."

And while it's not the most words he's ever said to her at once, it is the most cohesive and confident she's ever heard him speak.

"I haven't," she admits, "but I'm excited for something new!" She types in his name and selects the "This is" playlist that Spotify has for the major artists.

He smiles and slips into the pool.

The music, of various styles and tempos, keeps her interested as she cuts through the water.

—

And each day progresses a bit more. He stops clutching his towel in her presence. He stops hesitating when she calls him over, and she notices that he doesn't always pick the furthest lane from her.

But it's the next week that floors her.

"What do you have to suggest for me today?" She asks, as they both store their towels and sit on the edge of the pool.

"May I?" He asks, holding out his hand for her phone. It's become a thing. She'll ask him a question, but instead of answering fully, he'll answer by pulling something up on her phone. She doesn't mind. It's still building trust.

She hands it over, stretching as she waits.

He hands it back and she looks at the screen

It's a new playlist:

Swimmer's Ear - For P.C.

By: SGR

She stares at it, brain trying to comprehend what she's seeing.

"You made a whole playlist for me? And with a pun for a name!?" She chokes out, flipping through the songs. She looks up at him and all pretense drops, "this is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. Ever."

He looks stunned by her response and his cheeks heat.

She reaches across and gently places a hand on his shoulder, hoping he's okay with touch.

"Really Steve. I can't even begin to thank you. How thoughtful! I'm never going to stop crowing about this. I'm going to brag! A playlist just for me!" He doesn't shrink away from her touch, although she can see the blush creeping up from his neck. She pulls her hand away and giggles giddily like a schoolgirl. "I can't wait to listen to it all!"

She clicks play and the first song starts and it's a perfect blend of energy while not being overbearing. She slips into the pool and looks up at him, "I am buying you breakfast today."

He leans back in surprise, shaking his head 'no'.

"Steve. You can't deny me this! You just made me a playlist, I have to pay you back somehow!"

He laughs. Oh every time he laughs she wants to cry. "It was free. No payment needed."

She scoffs, "friends make friends playlists and friends let friends buy them breakfast to show appreciation for kind acts. No arguments!"

He does try to argue, but she insists. "The minute we're out of this pool, I'm dragging you straight to our mediocre cafeteria, and I'm buying you breakfast. Do you understand me?"

"Peggy—"

And she has no time to process that she's hearing him speak her name for the first time ever, because she's still arguing, "no, don't Peggy me! I know we haven't known each other long, but there's something you need to know, and that is that I get what I want. And I want to pay for your breakfast. Are you really going to say no?"

"I suppose not." He whispers.

She claps her hands and smiles brightly, "excellent! A wise decision. Now let's get to swimming. All this breakfast talk is making me hungry."

He nods and smiles and she resists the urge to take a picture.

—

She rushes through her shower, worried he might try to leave the gym without keeping his end of the bargain, but when she sees him standing outside the men's locker room looking a bit lost, she has the sense that he wouldn't go back on his word and she shouldn't have questioned that.

"Let's go!" She calls, stepping up close to him and pulling a beanie down over her ears.

He gestures for her to lead the way and she does so happily.

—

The cafeteria is relatively empty since it's quite early, and they have no issues going through, selecting their food, and moving to a booth by a large window.

She sighs as the floor heaters release heat and she looks across the table at Steve, who is very carefully buttering toast.

She studies his face. Of course she's seen it plenty now, but in this moment, when he's calm and distracted, she gets to really study it.

The way his nose fits perfectly in the middle of his face. Straight and proportioned against his cheekbones and wide eyes. She notices the slight dip where his temples are and how his hair, still slightly damp, makes his face look long and almost regal.

"You're very handsome, you know that?" She says bluntly. And when he freezes and looks up at her in confusion, she laughs, "it's true. I wouldn't lie. And I feel like people need to hear the truth. Don't you?"

He swallows thickly and nods, "yes. I like the truth as well."

"Well the truth is you're handsome."

He looks so lost when he responds, "thanks" so quietly she can barely hear it. But it's okay.

"Do you have a breakfast buddy?" She asks, pulling out her textbook and setting it on the table.

His brow furrows, "breakfast buddy?"

She "uh-hmms" while she pulls out a notebook and utensils. "I study best with other people around but not when they're studying the same thing. Like the library, or the cafeteria. I've been looking for a breakfast buddy, and since you've got excellent music tastes, you're easy to talk with when I need a mental break, and you obviously don't have class right now, you would be my first choice. What do you say?"

"I-I don't—"

She waits. She wants to push and shove and force him, but she knows he has to make some choices by himself.

"I don't know." He says softly, looking unsure at his bowl of oatmeal.

But she smiles, because it's not a 'no'. "Well, how about this. We do a trial run. Bring whatever study materials you need tomorrow and we will make breakfast a study session. I'll bring my headphones and you bring yours and we'll keep each other company while we study. If after a day or so, you decide that breakfast buddies isn't for you, then we'll quit. How does that sound?"

And he shrugs slightly before nodding, "okay."

Oh she could cry with joy.

—-

True to his word, when they exit the locker rooms, he has a backpack on and she smiles brightly, "breakfast buddies, let's go!" He smiles and she lights up in response.

They settle into the same booth and eat slowly at first. Mostly it's her talking, and he nods on occasion or smiles in response, but eventually she tries. "So, Steve, we've been swimming partners for a few weeks now, and we're metaphorically dipping our toe into the realm of being breakfast buddies, but I don't know much about you. You've let me yap for days and now I demand to hear about you. Tell me about yourself."

And she can almost see him curling in on himself as his fingers grip his spoon tightly, so she makes it easy, "do you have any siblings?"

He shakes his head 'no'.

"Okay," she says, "where did you grow up?"

"Brooklyn."

"New York? That's awesome! Wait—-" she gives him a serious look, "was it awesome? My knowledge of New York is limited to the media. Did you like Brooklyn?"

His half smile makes her heart melt, "yeah, I love Brooklyn."

"I'll have to go one day and you'll have to be my tour guide, deal?"

The softness in his eyes mirrors the way his grip loosens, "okay, deal."

Success!

"Good. Now, pets?"

"Nope, allergic to most animals."

Her jaw drops, "oh no!" She laughs, "actually, pet hair was a menace. Smart choice. School?"

"Brooklyn public." Is his response, "Buck and I went together."

"Oh, James? Actually, now that you mention it, I think I heard Gabe say James grew up with one of the guys in the house. He must have meant you! It's wonderful that you're in college together. Nice to have an old friend."

"James." He says with a shake of his head. Huffing a laugh. Then gets quiet as if he expects to be chastised.

She doesn't let the tension sit. "Yes, well I couldn't very well call him Bucky, now could I? What is he, a chipmunk?"

That startles a real laugh out of him and she watches the way his lean but wide shoulders shake. "He always hated the name James. Now he's got his girl calling him that, and you."

"Oh, did he? Why? James is a perfectly acceptable name."

"Dunno, just does."

"He's a bloody fool." She says briskly, making Steve laugh again and she listens to it, committing it to memory. "You have a wonderful laugh." The words come out unbidden but she doesn't take them back. "Some people laugh so ridiculously, but yours is so pleasant to hear."

His ears tinge pink but he smiles and says, "thank you." And they go back to eating.

—-

Peggy's walking across campus, headphones in, when suddenly she's being lifted into the air and swung about in a large circle.

She's set down and before she can think, she's turned to face someone and being crushed in a hug.

"Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you, THANK YOU!"

James squeezes her tightly and then lets her go, "I don't know what you're doing, and I don't want to know, but I can't thank you enough!"

She smiles, "I haven't done much—"

"No, listen, today, I heard him humming." She looks on as he laughs, head tipped back to the sky and breath forming puffs of white. "He was humming. Voluntarily or maybe subconsciously making noise! I haven't heard him hum since 6th grade! You—" He yanks her forward, squeezing all the air out of her lungs. "You're a saint. You need something? You just ask. Anything. I'll do anything!"

"Let me breathe!" She squeaks, and he steps back, holding his hands out in apology.

"Sorry! Sorry. You're right. I just— Ugh, you don't understand, just that little thing. That tiny change is like a whole mountain's been moved. Thank you. Seriously. Thank you."

"I have bigger motivations than just humming." She says seriously. "Much bigger."

He looks at her in awe and she can't help but feel emboldened by the trust he so willingly has given her.

—-

They're stepping out of the gym, backpacks on their shoulders and coats wrapped tightly around them, "what are you doing for Thanksgiving break?" She ventures, as they walk towards the cafe.

"Staying here."

"Oh really?" The excitement in her voice is clear and he looks up at it, "me too!" And she swears there's a smile in his eyes at that news. "We can stay breakfast buddies, except do and talk about fun things instead of studying. What do you say?"

He nods this time with no hesitation and it takes everything in her to not shout her joy out loud.

—-

Breakfast is finished and she's waiting till she sees him finish whatever assignment he's working on before tapping the table to get his attention. He looks up, pulling out his headphones and she leans on her elbows.

"I've been thinking. We're both going to be here for break, and I don't plan on being a boring ninny and sitting in my house all day. I want to have a few adventures in our free time. But I'd like to have a friend with me so I'm not all alone. Would you mind terribly being my Break Buddy?"

"The girls?" He asks, referencing the one's she lives with.

"Sadly, they're all American and are going home to their families to celebrate by eating too much food." She laughs, "so it will just be me and the house alone, and I have no intentions of turning into the woman from The Yellow Wallpaper thank you very much." This draws a smile out of him and she takes the chance. "Please say you'll be around? I don't want to bogart your. time, but I'll take as much of it as you're willing to give!"

"Okay." He finally says, "break buddies." She claps and squeals like a 5 year old and ignores the stares they receive.

"You're the best!" She crows, reaching out and grabbing the hand that lies on the table. "What would I ever do without you?"

He rolls his eyes and she scrunches her nose at him.

—

"You've been awfully busy." Hope comments one night as she packs her gym bag for the next morning.

"I know, I'm sorry! When is that Christmas Clash House Meeting?"

"I think we're meeting tomorrow night."

"Okay, I'll be there for sure."

"You sure you don't want to come home with me or with Angie for break? You know our families would love to have you!"

"I know, I appreciate it, but I'm okay. I have some things I want to do during break, so it's perfect that I'll have the house to myself."

"Oh, are we too much for you?" Hope jokes.

"Sometimes." Peggy jests back.

They laugh and talk about what they think they should do for the Christmas party.

—-

It's breakfast time on the Friday that everyone is leaving for Thanksgiving Break when she feels like a tremendous breakthrough gets made.

"Peggy?" She looks up, stunned because it's the first time (other than the bicycle) where he's initiated speaking first.

"Yes, Steve?"

"Have you been to the Smithsonians?"

She shakes her head, "no, I haven't, should I?"

He nods, looking hesitant, "they're really fascinating. We could do that over break."

And the way her chest swells at that. "Are you kidding me? That would be fantastic! Oh I would love that! What do you say, Sunday maybe?"

"We should go Monday, less crowds." He says that with his brow furrowed in thought, then he looks up at her in trepidation, "if that's fine with you. We can go whene—"

"Monday sounds lovely." She says firmly. Not letting him second guess his suggestion. "But don't think that gets rid of me for Saturday and Sunday. What should we do then?"

And the way his shoulders relax and settle as they begin discussing ideas of things to do together makes her feel a genuine thrill.

—

They agree to take advantage and sleep in on Saturday but still meet for brunch.

And she notices a change today that makes her want to shout to the world.

He, for the first time ever, looks completely relaxed and almost excited when he sees her.

"Steve!" She calls from across the entryway, waving excitedly.

He smiles and waves back. Oh, she could crow.

They head upstairs and each get a large portion of breakfast. She's noticed that he always eats a grapefruit and she can't fathom why that amuses her so.

When the food has been demolished, she sits back, "I don't think I've ever eaten that much in one sitting," she groans. "I feel positively sick."

"Welcome to America." He laughs, wiping up a splash of orange juice.

"Speaking of America." She begins, "we still on for sightseeing today?"

"If you want."

She scoffs, "of course I want! Do you want?"

And she waits on bated breath, hoping.

"Of course. Let's go."

They walk to Shield Street and stop in front of the 107th. She notices a car idling at the Stark House. Steve stands there, hands pulling at the hem of his jacket.

"Should we walk around," she offers, "or hail a cab? Or perhaps even see if there's some tourist sightseeing bus?"

He glances down the driveway that rests besides the house to the garage. "I uh- I have motorcycle. If you'd prefer." He whispers, his cheeks going pink, "but if you'd prefer a more cozy ri—"

"You have a motorcycle!" She exclaims, mouth agape, "and you never told me! That's brilliant!"

"Steve!"

They both turn to see Anthony Stark standing out by what must be his car, suitcase in one hand and phone in the other, eyes wide in surprise.

Steve nods in his direction, and Peggy can see him starting to withdraw.

"Hello, Anthony!" She calls, "I'm surprised you're still here!"

"Well, you know me. I got stuck working on something in the lab and then next thing I know it's Saturday at 4am. So I had to sleep before driving to the airport."

"I see." She says amicably. Ignoring the look of complete disbelief she's seeing on his face as he stares at Steve.

"We will see you around!" She calls, "come on, let's get that motorcycle."

"You guys need a ride?" Anthony offers, calling after them, "I got plenty of time before I need to leave."

"We're doing some sightseeing actually, so I'm afraid it's not a one stop trip." She gestures to the garage and she and Steve both turn to go when she hears Anthony practically choke, "you're going sightseeing, together?" The smile on his face is wide and eyes in awe, "take my car."

"What?" Peggy asks in shock.

Then he shakes his head, "no, no, wait, take me to the airport, I'm just going to BWI, and then you can have my car for the week, on two conditions, you use it often, keep the engine warm, and you pick me up on Sunday."

She can almost hear the desperation in the man's voice and it makes her wonder how many people James has tried to use to get Steve out of his shell. Because Anthony is obviously brutally aware how unusual the situation they're in is.

Peggy looks to Steve, "I still want a ride on that motorcycle." She insists, "but it might be nice to have a car in case of the weather. What do you say?"

And she can practically hear Anthony holding his breath, as she's holding hers.

After a beat he nods slowly, and looks at Anthony, "okay, yeah… That's real nice of you."

She beams at him and turns to Anthony who looks like he just won the lottery. "Great! I hate driving. Who's better at driving?"

He looks at the two of them and Peggy laughs, "I'm perfectly capable of driving, however I haven't had much practice on the wrong side of the road. "Steve, do you mind?"

"I don't mind. I like driving." He says softly, looking at his hands.

The smiles she and Anthony exchange could light up the darkest winter night.

—-

The drive to the airport is filled with bickering about music tastes and food recommendations. It's mainly her and Anthony talking. But Peggy ensures that she asks Steve direct questions and Anthony must catch on, because uncharacteristically of him, he stays silent, waiting for Steve to answer. And everytime he does, she can feel Anthony practically vibrating in excitement in the back seat.

—

They're dropping him off at the curb and Anthony pulls her in for a hug, "I don't know how the hell you're doing what you're doing but for the love of all things keep doing it." He whispers quietly before pulling back and smiling at her. He shakes Steve's hand and says, "make sure you guys use the card in the dash for gas. No paying for your own when you're doing me a favor. Got that?"

Peggy and Steve start to protest but he makes a slicing motion and cuts them off.

"No arguments. My car, my rules. I want you to use my car and it takes premium gas. You hear me? If I don't see at least three gas station charges to fill up my tank I'm going to come back pissed. Now, get out of here. And thanks for taking me. I land at 6p.m. Sunday. See you then."

He's gone with a wave and they stand there a bit stunned. Peggy turns to Steve slowly and a mischievous grin crosses her face, "you heard the rich man. We must use his car. Let's get to it." And the amused chuckle Steve gives in response has her rubbing her hands together in glee.

—

It happens accidentally. After driving through more of the popular sights to see around DC on Saturday, they decide to venture a bit further to Alexandria and Georgetown on Sunday. And it's as they're driving past the huge houses that overlook the river that it happens.

She stares at the huge homes and asks offhandedly, "these homes are positively massive! Who designed these?"

Steve slows, pointing to one and mentioning the structure and the design and how, it was likely this architect, or possibly another. And she listens in awe as he speaks without hesitation or the usual sound of him fading out. Usually the longer he speaks, the quieter his sentences get, but this time he just speaks normally, gesturing with his hands as he points out architectural features and reasons for why that makes a house historical or not.

When he finishes, he looks at her and winces, "Sorry," he whispers, "I didn't mean to ramb—"

"That is fascinating!" She says quickly, cutting him off before he can backtrack. "I want a tour. A whole tour. I've always loved looking at interesting or unique homes, and I'm a fool to just be realizing that as an aspiring architect you're a fountain of wisdom! I want to hear about all of it. You must know all the interesting homes or buildings to look at! Would you show me?"

And the question he asks makes her heart ache, "you really wanna hear me ramble about houses?"

She reaches over and grabs his hand, "Steve, you have a lovely voice and I would love to listen to you ramble about anything. But I would especially love to hear you ramble about something you want to talk about. Something that you love. Will you be my personal architectural tour guide?"

She hopes it's not too on the nose. She's been wanting to tell him that since she first heard him speak more than two unhurried sentences. His voice is deep and smooth and a pleasure to listen to. So she tells the truth, and she hopes he accepts it.

He studies her, something in his eyes trying to decide if he believes her or not. So she focuses on looking as earnest and honest as she can, still grasping his hand lightly where it sits in the gear shift and staring at him hopefully.

"I'd be honored." He finally says, his eyes keeping on hers, not turning away or hiding from her.

She squeezes his hand, "the honor is all mine."

—-

Monday is filled with the Smithsonians. And another miracle happens because when they get to the art sections, he continually amazes her with his knowledge and insight into the famous or significant historical pieces.

"So you're not just an architect," she accuses, "you're an artist!"

He blushes but smiles, "I wanted to be, but everyone told me that there's no way to make a living in art. Said I should stick to something I can make money with."

"Well those people are buffoons. Even if statistically they're correct." She says huffily. "Although that painting in your house tells me you could be one of the greats."

"Painting?"

"Uh-hmm. The one you did of the house. I saw it the first night when I was there, being introduced to Monty."

"Oh." He says quietly, "yeah, that was a fun one to do."

"How much do you cost?"

"Excuse me?"

"If I were to commission you to do a painting for our house."

He looks at her in surprise, "you'd want me to paint your house?"

"Of course! You're amazingly talented, and I think it would be a really cool addition to the house. We don't have much permanent artwork. We need something, and a painting by you could be just the ticket."

He looks at the piece in front of him. "I don't know. I've never really done commissions before. Just the cost of the supplies I suppose?"

She groans, "Steve, of course you won't make any money doing art if you don't make a profit!" She laughs, grabbing his arm and dragging him to the next display, "you need to value your work, you've got something to offer the world! Don't keep it from us." She points at the large painting, "one day this could be you!"

And the way his eyes light up at the possibility makes her squeeze his arm just a tad tighter.

—

Tuesday is a full architectural tour of the greater DC area. They drive for hours and hours, only stopping to eat and get hot drinks as Steve points out house after house, and while she's no architect, she's fascinated and enraptured the entire time. At first she thinks she'll be fascinated just because Steve is actually speaking more than she's ever heard in her entire life, but eventually it becomes true fascination and the tidbits and trivia and general knowledge he states during the tour is actually incredibly interesting and enlightening.

He takes her to the oldest houses they can access by public roads, and homes where famous people or where historical events happened.

He drives her past Ford's Theater and says, "actors, so dramatic, am I right?"

And she chokes on her chai. "Steven Rogers you did not just make a joke about the assassination of one of your presidents!" He winces but there's a sly grin behind it and it makes her truly devolve into a fit of laughter. "You're terrible!" She crows, wiping the splatter from her coat, "who knew you had such dark humor. I love it."

He looks at her and there's a moment where the air is charged and the sly smile he gives her sends a thrill up her spine and she has to suck in a sharp breath as the car accelerates.

—

Wednesday they spend outside. Peggy ignores the cold air, and they walk around the national mall. He points to one of the war memorials and she listens as he describes his grandfather. A perpetually kind man, who Steve admired, especially for speaking out and saying they shouldn't have been fighting over there.

She finally hears a little about his mother, and it's clear to Peggy that even though she was busy and missed the horrible treatment her son was receiving, that she was kind and loved Steve very much. He doesn't speak about his father and she doesn't ask.

She convinces him to go ice skating and finds herself amused and annoyed when he seems to have a natural talent for it.

"You're telling me you've never skated before?" She huffs and he glides past her.

"I have, just not often." He responds, his cheeks pink, but this time from the cold and exertion. "I was rather short growing up, so my balance was always good."

"When did you hit your growth spurt?"

He blinks slowly as they glide in tandem, "well, I'm assuming you've noticed the scar on my chest?"

She nods, "I may have noticed it a time or two when you swam shirtless next to me for weeks."

He laughs at her jab and nods, "after I was lucky enough to receive a heart transplant, I-I uh, felt a lot stronger and my body adjusted, letting me grow some more and making it to an average height."

"Heart surgery is a lot to go through as a child." She says genuinely, "I'm sorry."

His face gets wistful and almost sad, "I always wished that I hadn't been so sick all the time. Maybe if I'd been healthier then my ma wouldn't have had to work so hard, and she wouldn't have gotten sic—"

"Steve." Peggy says sharply, pulling him to a stop. She raises her gloved hands and surprises him by placing them on either side of his face, looking up into his eyes. "There is not a doubt in my mind that your mother did what she did because she loved you. It's not your fault, and I won't hear one second of you putting the blame on yourself. You understand?"

His big blue eyes look down at her, blinking slowly between her mittens. She waits, holding him there, unwilling to let him go until he accepts what she's said. His eyes close and he nods. She sighs in relief and gently brushes her thumbs against his cheekbones.

"Good. Now let's get off this ice, I'm starting to turn into a popsicle."

He smiles and they head towards the exit.

—

The next day, Thanksgiving Day, she's about to head out the door to meet him, when she receives a text.

Sorry, not feeling super great today. Rain check for tomorrow?

She stares at the screen and realizes with a gasp that he'd told her he got sick often as a child out in the cold and she'd kept him outside all day!

Steve, I'm so sorry! I shouldn't have kept you out all yesterday, I'm such a fool. Can I bring you anything?

No, no. You're fine. Thanks though. See you tomorrow.

And she almost, almost lets it go. But she can't stand the idea of him being unwell and alone all day because she'd been a bloody idiot.

She grabs Anthony's car keys and her purse and heads out the door texting James as she goes.

If I wanted to get into your home, how would I do so?

And she smiles at his quick response. Not even questioning her intentions.

Key in the potted plant on the porch by the back door. Under the actual pot, sitting in the water.

Thank you.

No. Thank you.

She briefly wonders why Steve hadn't gone home. And she wonders if it has anything to do with not having any blood relatives near. Although she assumes James' family would have had him… She'll have to ask.

She pulls into the parking lot of one of the few grocery stores open on the holiday and runs inside.

—

Loaded down with bags, she drives up to the house and gets out of the car. She moves as quietly as possible. She digs the key out of the frigid water at the bottom of the plant and opens the door that leads directly into the kitchen. She brings the items in, separating them and putting the cold items in the fridge. She starts the oven and is about to turn on the stove when she hears,

"Peggy?"

She turns to find Steve, in a hoodie and athletic pants, a beanie covering the back of his head, and slightly glazed eyes behind his glasses.

"Yes, it's me. Not an intruder."

He tilts his head, "what are you doing here?"

"It's Thanksgiving, and it's all my fault you're feeling unwell and I need to make it up to you."

"It's not your—"

"Would you be sick if you hadn't been out all yesterday?" He pauses and she nods, "see, my fault. Now get back to bed, I'll bring up food and be out of your hair soon after."

He starts to weakly protest, and she can see that he really must not feel well, because he seems a bit out of sorts.

"No arguments. Get back upstairs."

He complies and she sets about the kitchen.

—

She finds a tray, and loads it with the dishes she's made. She thanks her lucky stars that this particular house seems to have the necessary items of an actual kitchen instead of just a microwave and random utensils. There's hot tea, bread buns heated in the oven, and a bowl of potato soup. Not exactly what she's seen described as a Thanksgiving meal, but she knows most people don't like to eat too much when they're sick.

She looks for his door and is happy to see one that has a blueprint of a house taped to the front. She knocks and hears a quiet, "come in…"

She balances the tray, opening the door and stepping into the room. She's taken aback by how neat and rather bare the room is, but it still has a cozy feel from all the sketches and blueprints on the walls. She walks over to where he sits up on the bed, a sketch pad in his lap.

"This should warm you up." She says softly, setting the tray over his lap,"I really am truly sorry for being so unthoughtful yesterday, I wish you would have said something."

He rubs at his eyes behind his glasses and yawns, "I had fun." He says gently, "I didn't want to come inside." And in that sentence she can see the kid James' spoke about. The one who used to fight for himself. The one who participated in life.

"Well, I'm glad it was fun. But now we focus on you getting better. I want to ensure you're back fighting fit for school."

He yawns again, and looks at the food. "Thanks, this smells great."

"Good. I'll leave you to it, you'll text me if you need anything?" There's a crease between his eyebrows that makes her pause, "yes?"

"Would you—-" he stops himself, "never mind."

"What is it?" She prods.

"Nothing," he says quickly, avoiding her eyes, "you've done so much, I'm grateful."

She sits in the chair at his desk that's close to his bed. "I'm not leaving until you speak your mind. What did you want to ask me?"

He ducks his head, "I was just going to ask if you wanted to stay? We could watch the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade. I used to watch it in person with my ma. If you don't—"

"Yes." She practically shouts. "Yes, I'd love to." And she means it.

Even though he's the one who suggested it, he seems surprised that she'd want to stay. "Okay," he says softly, "great."

She pauses. "You know… If I'm going to be here awhile, I want to be comfortable. So, how about this. You eat, and I run home and get changed. I'll be right back and we'll spend thanksgiving all comfy and watch the parade. How does that sound?"

He nods, "yeah, that sounds great."

She smiles and pops up, "okay, you eat, I'll be right back!"

He nods and she bounds down the stairs, wanting to be back before he changes his mind.

—-

When she comes back, she notices the dishes have been washed and the tray wiped clean and she huffs in disbelief. She stomps up the stairs, ready to tell him off for getting out of bed, only to find him asleep, sketch pad hanging off the edge.

She gently removes it, not wanting to wake him. She notices the sketch he was working on and it makes her eyes widen. It's a sketch of her sorority house.

She closes it, not wanting to pry. And then she settles into the overstuffed chair in the corner.

Only a minute later, she hears it. Thinking he'd woken up, she looks over only to see him still asleep. She settles back, assuming she'd been hearing things. But only a few moments later she hears it again.

Realization dawns and she claps a hand quietly over her mouth to keep from laughing. She creeps closer, sitting on the floor and staring at him.

She waits, and is rewarded a few moments later to see his lips moving.

It's mostly incoherent words and mumbling, but she still has to wipe a few tears away at the fact that he's talking in his sleep.

She leans against the bed, resting her head close to his and just listening as he quietly talks. She wonders what he's dreaming, and smiles when she hears her name more than once.

—-

She's not sure when she dozes off, but when she comes too, she feels the weight of eyes on her. She blinks open and sees his slightly glassy eyes watching her.

"Steve?" She asks, yawning and sitting up, "are you feeling better?"

He nods, but she's not sure she believes him. His nose still looks quite red and his eyes are even more glazed than before. "You feel asleep." He says matter of factly.

"I did." She agrees.

He doesn't make any move, but he blinks at her, his eyebrows furrowing. "You should be sleeping on the bed."

She lets out a surprised laugh, "oh, should I?"

"You're a girl." And she's about to protest that being a woman does not earn her a bed over him being sick, when he keeps going, "girls deserve the bed."

And if that's not just the sweetest thing she's ever heard.

"I think I'm okay." She says gently, "I think you need it a bit more than me at the moment. But I appreciate the thought."

"You're beautiful when you sleep." He says bluntly, barely registering his own words. "I wanted to draw you. But I didn't want to be rude."

For the very first time, Peggy finds herself speechless in his presence. "T-thank you." She finally manages, "you're very kind."

"Truth."

"What?"

"You said people should hear the truth. I'm just telling you the truth."

She feels the breath leave her lungs at the sincerity there in his red glassy eyes. "Thank you, Steve. You've made my day."

He sighs and lays back, head facing the ceiling. And that's when she notices the bead of sweat dripping from his forehead down to his pillow. "Steve?" She asks anxiously, "do you mind if I feel your forehead?" He shrugs listlessly and her concerns ratchet up a notch. Her hand rests against his slightly damp forehead and her eyes widen at the heat radiating off him. "Okay." She says, trying not to panic. "You definitely have a fever." She saws slowly, "I'm going to go—"

"You're leaving?" He asks, his throat cracking on the last word.

"No." She says quickly. "No, I'm not going anywhere. I'm just going to head downstairs and find a washcloth to rest against your forehead. I'll be right back."

"You'll be right back." He looks at her, almost waiting for her to assure him that the words he's saying are true.

"I'll be right back." She vows.

—

While the fever is concerning, she can't help but feel a sense of giddiness at his behavior during it. The fever has certainly scrambled his brain because the things he's saying while under its influence have her hiding laughs and smiles behind the back of her fingers.

"I'm not that sick." He states again. This seems to be his mantra, even though everything points to the contrary. But she's quickly discovering that a sick Steve is a contrarian Steve. She finally manages to get some heavy medicine in him and he squints at her, "I'm thirsty."

"Okay." She says easily, "would you like some water?"

"No."

"Ooohkay."

Several minutes pass.

"I'm going to go get some water."

She smiles, "Steve, let me. I'll bring some up."

"I can do it myself."

"I"m aware. But I think in your state I should be the one—"

"New York."

"Excuse me?"

"You said, 'in my state'."

She purses her lips. Trying not to laugh. "Right, of course. Your state is New York. Silly me."

"You got states in England?"

"No." She says with an amused grin.

"Hmm..." Steve says, blinking his eyes rapidly behind his glasses. "Too bad."

She does let loose a chuckle then. "Oh? And what's so great about having states?"

He squints one eye closed, staring at the ceiling, "if England don't got 'em, they must be good." He looks at her, a dazed grin on his face, and she realizes he's trying to tease her in his fever induced state.

"Ah." She says dutifully, "you've hit the mark. Foolish of us not to have states. I'll suggest it to the queen when I return home."

And somehow her joke sobers him up. "You're going home?"

She tilts her head at his question. "I assume I will eventually."

"Oh..." and the hoarse way he whispers that out makes her want to reach out and grab his hand, to reassure him it will all be okay.

"But not too soon. If we win the competition I might even be able to convince my mother to let me stay my junior and senior year." She teases.

"The Row competition?" He asks, his eyes fastened to hers.

She laughs softly, "my mother was part of a house when she was in university. And She hated the thought of me coming over to America. She said she'd allow one year. Just one. But I'm hoping… Well, I'm hoping if I tell her what a wonderful experience I've had, that she'll let me stay. I'm sure the prize money wouldn't hurt either to help entice her to allow me to stay, but all in all, even if it's just for one year, I'll be glad for the experience." The genuine sadness in his eyes as he blinks at her has her leaning forward. "Steve? What is it?"

She feels his forehead and his fever seems to be rising. But it's the quiet words he speaks that stills her heart more. "Everyone I've ever loved has left me."

Her mouth parts in surprise, and she watches as his eyes slip closed. He sighs deeply and she knows he'll fall asleep in a moment, but she can't let the conversation end this way.

"Not James." She rasps out, "he hasn't left."

His eyes don't open, but his mouth moves, "but he will. He'll marry Natasha and I'll be alone. Again."

"Steve." She admonishes, "while I don't believe he would ever abandon you, you know you can make new friends anywhere you go."

At this his eyes open and his stare is so piercing that his words cut her to the quick. "Why form attachments when they're just going to go home?"

Her hand stops, and she feels it tremble as his fever-induced accusation stabs her like a knife.

She looks at him as he blinks slowly in front of her, the medicine kicking in as he slips into a fitful slumber. His words play over and over in her mind and she understands where he's coming from, but disagrees with his solution. She just needs to convince him of that.

—

He speaks even more in his sleep while he's drugged, and she keeps up a steady cycle of cold washcloths and blankets to try to help cool him down. The fever breaks not much later and she can see the way his body relaxes into a deeper sleep. She turns on the little TV in his room, finding the channel with the parade and keeping it on mute.

She watches the humongous floats as they pass by the camera and she imagines a small Steve, tugging on his mother's hand, pointing up at them.

She feels him shift awake and sit up.

"Peggy?" He asks groggily.

"How'd you feel?"

"Like I got hit by a truck." He groans stretching, "but…" he yawns and shakes his head, "my head feels a bit clearer, so does my throat. How long was I out?"

"Well, after your fever—"

"I had a fever?" He groans, "oh no, sorry."

"Why are you apologizing?"

"I've been told I'm the worst when I have a fever." She wonders who said that. James in good humor? Or his father in distaste... Her silence has him falling back against his pillow, "I was wasn't I?"

"Not at all." She replies honestly, "you were quite the entertainment."

"You can leave now." He says sheepishly, "I'm sorry I've kept you here this long."

"Nonsense. I've enjoyed every minute except the bits where I worried about your brain frying with how hot you were. Do you get fevers often?"

"Not so much any more. But every once and a while I will. Sorry you had to be my nurse."

"I didn't mind in the least." She nods at the TV, "and I've been watching this parade you spoke about. It's quite ridiculous if I'm being honest."

"You're just like Monty. You Brits don't know how to have fun."

She scoffs, a hand to her chest in affront, "I'll have you know that us Brits are loads of fun!" She pauses, "we…" And suddenly every fun thing that she's ever done escapes her mind. "We—" she tries again, racking her brain for something unique to England that she can throw in his face.

A deep laugh echoes through the room. She turns to him stunned as he laughs out loud, clutching his chest. "You should see your face!" He gasps, "you—" he laughs, a full and vibrant sound that fills the room, "you can't even think of something fun!" He laughs and she wants to be cross but she finds herself laughing heartily along with him.

—

Night falls and she tries to decide what to do. He's on the mend and looks and feels much better. But she's wary of leaving him alone.

"Should I stay over?" She asks, not noticing the widening eye's he's looking at her with, "I fret if I leave, you fall back into a fever. I don't want to find you a mess tomorrow!"

"I'll be fine." He insists, turning towards the bed, "I've been sick alone a lot of times."

She turns sharply to him, and watches as he strips his bed. He says that so casually. So off-handedly. As if being sick and alone was an incredibly common occurrence.

"I'm staying." She snaps. He turns to her and they just stare at each other for a moment. "I'll sleep in another room. Who's the cleanest?"

"Peggy. I'll be fine. Go home and sleep in your own bed. Be comfortable. You've done so much for me already."

"I'm staying, Steve. Who is the cleanest?"

"Morita or Monty."

"Which one is closer to your room?"

"Monty's."

"Perfect, I'll stay there."

She walks out his door before he can argue.

—

Once his sheets have been washed and dried, they put them back on and he settles in, feeling a bit tired.

"Are you hungry?" She asks.

"Not really, are you?"

"No. Just thirsty. I'm going to get some water, you want a bottle?"

"Yes, please."

She returns with two bottles and sits on the edge of his bed, looking at the movie he has playing on the TV. "What's this?"

"Not sure. It came on after the parade, something about a girl taking on an old intern? Seemed nice. You can pull over that chair if you want to be more comfortable." He offers, "or I can give you the bed?"

She scoffs, "you're ridiculous, you know that?"

He doesn't answer, just shrugs. And it's with a sudden realization that she hasn't thought about him speaking or not speaking for the past two days. He's just been… Steve.

—

She's not sure how, but she must fall asleep because when she wakes, she's still on his bed, lying back, her head near his knees. He's propped up as if he fell asleep sitting up, head is tipped back and mouth parted in sleep.

She shifts. She knows she should go to the other bed, but she just doesn't want to move. She wriggles up further onto the bed, using the blanket that was resting on the end as a blanket and presses her forehead against his thigh. She's asleep before she has another thought.

—-

Something warm rests against her scalp and she blinks awake. She tilts her head and finds that he's sunk down in the middle of the night. Her head now closer to his stomach than his thigh. And he has one hand caught in her hair.

She ignores the way his soft sleepy mumbling stirs something deep in her chest. He's still asleep and she should probably extricate herself before he wakes and gets uncomfortable at their proximity.

She reaches up, brushing the knuckle on her index finger against his jaw before smiling softly at him and slipping off the end of the bed, careful not to disturb him.

—-

She wakes up a few hours later under the large Union Jack and swallows thickly against the soreness in her throat.

Oh no.

—

He looks at her mortified as she sniffles and tries to wave off his apologies. "It's not your fault Steve! It's mine! I got you sick in the first place. This is my comeuppance."

"I'll take you home." He says firmly, "you can get in bed and I'll make you tea—" He grimaces, "do we make tea the same way? Maybe I'll make you something else—" he's rambling and she lets him, listening to the way his concern shows by trying to figure out how he can help her. And an idea pops up in her mind.

"How about this. You take me home, but you stay with me. Keep me company like I did you. I doubt you'll catch a second bout. It's our last weekday of break. I don't want to spend it alone. How does that sound?"

"You want me around?" He asks, his eyes wide. "After I got you sick?"

"Of course I want you around! You're quite the engaging conversationalist and I don't plan on being sick for long. Let's go."

He changes, gathers a few things and they head to her house.

—-

She can see he grows hesitant as they scale the stairs and make their way to her bedroom. "Just here." She says before sneezing. "My room." She pushes open the door and is glad that Hope is a relatively neat human being. Steve looks at all the pictures and mementos pinned on the wall. She pulls over a thick chair by the side of her bed and then clambers up onto her comforter. "Okay, I think I'm going to sleep a bit. You're welcome on the bed, or chair or wherever you feel most comfortable, okay? Help yourself to stuff in the kitchen and Steve?" He looks at her, hands pulling at the pockets of his sweatpants. "I really appreciate you keeping me company. You're an excellent friend."

"Of course." He whispers, sinking into the chair she'd pulled over, "anytime."

She smiles and lays back against the bed and is asleep before she knows it.

—-

Soft scratching plays in her dreams and it's a soothing sound. She tries to find the source but it eludes her. She eventually lets it lull her into a deeper sleep.

She wakes up to a note on her nightstand.

Went out to grab some food. Be right back.

She sits up and decides to read a bit as she waits. He comes back not much later, a bag of take-out in his hand.

"You feeling better?" He asks, "you look better already."

She nods, "I do feel better, for sure, that smells delicious, what is it?"

"It's from a taco place. I'd thought you'd be hungry for something good but a little fresh. Is that—" he looks at the bag in his hand, "is that okay?"

"Sounds amazing." She says, pushing herself up and gesturing for the bag. He hands it to her and she pats the bed, "come, sit." He lowers himself onto her comforter and they eat, chatting about what they want to do tomorrow and how they're sad break is ending. "I can't believe we haven't swam all week." She states suddenly, "I kind of miss it."

He laughs, "I do too. But we can start again Sunday when the gym opens back up."

She nods and they continue eating.

—

They're sitting watching some terrible movie when Peggy hears the door downstairs open.

She feels Steve stiffen beside her. They are leaning back against her head board, her laptop balancing between their laps and sharing headphones.

"I wonder who came back early." She says calmly, not pausing the movie or making any motion to leave.

"I can go—" he starts, shifting in his place.

"Please don't." She says suddenly, looking over at him, "I mean I won't force you to stay, but— I don't want you to leave."

He nods and settles back, more tense than he was a few minutes ago, but not stiff as a board.

"Hey Pegs!" She hears Angie call, "Pegs, you here?"

"Yes! In here!" She calls back, trying to ignore the panic radiating off of Steve.

Her door opens and Angie steps in, carrying a duffle. She freezes at the sight of another person. "Oh." She huffs in surprise. "Oh— Steve?"

He nods and Peggy smiles, "how was your trip? You're back early?"

But Angie's just staring at Steve, "Steve's here?" She asks the room.

"Yes." Peggy says crisply, "do you have an issue with that?"

And that snaps Angie from her shock because she bounds over, "are you kidding me? No way! I've been dying to talk to you for ages." Peggy watches as she drops her duffle bag on the floor and plops onto the bed, stomach down, wedged between their sets of legs. Angie beams at them and then turns to Steve.

"You gotta tell me how you do it!"

He looks at Peggy in uncertainty, and she shrugs, unsure what Angie is asking.

"Do what?" He asks quietly.

"Come up with all your ideas!" She squeals. "We don't stand a chance with all your creativity oozing out of every stupid inch of that house! How do you come up with all those amazing ideas?"

And Peggy could just grab Angie and squeeze her. She'll buy her a gift or something. It's the perfect way to approach Steve, asking him questions about things he knows about. Letting him enter the conversation with confidence.

He lets out a nervous laugh and scrubs the back of his neck, "I don't know, my head is always running a mile a minute with fun ideas. But once I pick one, my brain narrows in on it and it becomes our focus. I can't really explain it."

Angie flips over, placing a hand to her forehead, "ugh! I wish I was a creative genius like you!"

"I'm not a—"

"You are." Both women snap together. Steve blushes and Peggy watches Angie light up at the sight.

"Or else we wouldn't be losing to your house every year." Angie whines.

He laughs for real that time and the awed look on Angie's face has Peggy's chest bursting with pride.

—-

She can't prove that Angie texted the girls, but the fact that all but Maria come back on Saturday instead of Sunday makes her incredibly suspicious.

Their excuses range from 'I was tired of my parents heckling about my grades', to 'I just missed campus'. And it would probably annoy her if they weren't so perfect to Steve.

She and Steve are sprawled out on their stomachs in her room, music playing as they plan their last Sunday of break, and each girl just 'happens' to walk into Peggy's room.

Peggy has a growing inkling that Angie sent out a mass text and that must have included something about him, because every girl comes in, drops to the floor, discusses something with Peggy, asks Steve something about him and purposefully waits for his answer.

She can see the way his hands shake or clench at his elbows when they arrive, but by the end, he's usually relatively relaxed and even speaking a bit on his own.

"I love this song!" Wanda exclaims, turning up the speaker, "do you guys know it?"

Peggy listens, "yeah it's—"

"Until I Found You." Steve interjects, distracted by the pen in his hand and the doodle he'd been working on as they talked.

Wanda looks at Peggy in shock and Peggy is grinning back.

And the best part about it is that he never even realizes. Doesn't pop his head up to apologize for interrupting or stammer that he didn't mean to speak out of turn.

Wanda smiles and slips out the door and Peggy closes her eyes as she hears Steve start to hum.

—

She's getting changed for bed that evening after Steve had left for his house when she gets bombarded.

"What the literal hell!" Hope screeches, "when were you going to tell us about him?!"

"Steve!" Angie sighs, "STEVE! I can't believe Steve was here, how'd you manage that!"

"He's a major cutie." Wanda sighs, "those eyes, that hair!"

"Hush!" Pepper admonishes, "he's Peggy's."

Peggy laughs, "he's not mine. We're friends. We met at the pool and we've been hanging out ever since."

"Peggy." Natasha snaps, "you don't get it. Steve doesn't hang out. He doesn't even speak to anyone but people he knows. The fact that he's hanging out with anyone outside the 107th, let alone even talking to you says alot. Like a lot. Oh my gosh. James is going to fucking flip. He's been—-" she waves her hands dramatically, "about Steve getting out of his shell since I met him."

She slips on her oversized night shirt and tucks onto her bed, curling her hands up into her pillow. "He's honestly really great." She admits, "I noticed how quiet he was and I just… kept trying. We connected through music and then became breakfast buddies and… we've gotten close."

"Did you guys hang out all break?"

Peggy nods and Angie squeals, "oh my freaking gosh you don't understand, that's the most socialization he's been willing to participate in his entire college career!"

Pride and warmth spreads through her and she hears a gasp.

She looks up to see Pepper pointing at her.

"What?"

"You should see your face! You like him!"

"What!" Peggy shouts, "I do not!"

"You do!" Pepper shrieks, pulling her chair closer and practically giggling, "you just smiled so sweetly that you almost blushed!"

"I did not."

The girls protest and they devolve into a friendly banter that has Peggy laughing and the rest of them on the floor in a fit of giggles.

"Is this what it's like to have sisters?" Peggy asks softly after they've quieted down.

She looks over the edge and they all stare back. "None of us have sisters." Wanda says softly. "So yeah, I guess we are sisters."

—

She dresses quickly on Sunday morning, dashing out the door and sliding into the passenger seat. "You ready?" She asks.

But he doesn't answer, he's busy staring at the 5 girls standing on the porch and waving goodbye to them. Peggy huffs a laugh and makes a 'shooing' motion with her hand.

"Apparently they've informed me that I should be quite honored to be in your presence." She says with a grin.

He looks at her nervously, "what?"

"Some of the girls were under the impression that you didn't like hanging out with too many people, so I'm grateful you chose me to be one of them."

He drives silently, and she starts to worry she's overstepped when he turns to her and looks at her seriously, "I don't like talking to people. They're not wrong. But… I'm nothing special. It's not an honor to be around me. I'm nobody. I'm just a kid from Brooklyn, so don't let them saying those thi—"

"Steve." She cuts him off. "What are you saying? You're not nobody. How cruel of you to say that about yourself. You're one of the kindest, most interesting and enjoyable people I've ever met. I'm glad you were willing to speak to me."

She watches his knuckles turn white as he grips the steering wheel, and she can almost feel an internal battle happening.

She reaches out, resting her hand on his thigh. He stiffens and she pulls away, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't hav—"

"No it's not that." He sighs, "I'm just not used to it."

"Not used to being touched?" She asks, feeling like she's getting dangerously close to a boundary line.

"Not used to anything. Being touched, having friends, being talked about by a group of people who discuss who I hang out with, having girls stare at me from a porch like I'm a zoo animal."

She winces, okay, she's gone too far. She shouldn't have said anything.

"I'm sorry." She says honestly, "I promise they didn't mean any harm. They all had wonderful things to say about you."

He scoffs and it's a painful thing, "how can they have things to say? They don't know me!"

"And whose fault is that?" She asks gently. He clenches his jaw and it's the first time she's ever seen such an intense emotion from him. "You've kept yourself quite hidden from what they implied." He's silent again, and her heart pangs at the thought of him going silent. "Talk to me." She asks desperately, "please don't shut me out." She watches as his body goes rigid. Shoulders and face turning to stone.

He pulls into the parking lot of the coffee shop they'd agreed to go to this morning. He parks the car and they sit in silence.

"Did you know?" He asks finally, and she's quiet. He turns to her, his eyes sharp. "Did you know I was going to be at that pool all those weeks ago?"

Oh shit. Oh no. Oh no. She's pushed too hard.

"What?" She asks, trying to stall, "what do you mean?"

"Talk to me." He mimics, eyes showing pure agony. "That's Bucky's line." He takes a deep shuddering breath and she watches as he curls into himself. "Did Bucky send you to me?"

Oh, she wants to lie. She wants to lie through her teeth.

But his eyes pin her to her seat and she finds herself whispering, "yes."

His knuckles turn translucent on the wheel, "did he—" he sucks in a shaky breath, "did he tell you about my dad?"

And when she doesn't answer, his eyes close and she hates the way his face reflects anger and then shame and embarrassment.

It's deafeningly silent as he pulls the keys out of the ignition and opens the door. He drops the keys on the front seat and shuts the door. He's gone before she can take off her seatbelt and scramble out her car door. She stands there, hand on the doorframe, looking at the empty parking lot and feeling her lungs stop taking in air.

—-

She somehow makes it back to the house and Wanda eyes her curiously as she walks numbly back into the house.

"Peggy?" The girl calls after her as she walks in.

But she can't speak either.

—

She drives silently to the airport, remembering her half of the deal. When he steps into the car and sees that Steve's not there, he swears and asks what happened. But she doesn't have an answer and just shakes her head.

He offers to drop her off but she refuses. Driving to the Stark House. She steps out, hands him the keys, thanks him and walks over to the other house.

She steps up to the porch and knocks.

Morita answers and when he sees her he steps out, closing the door behind him. "What's going on?" He asks, "what happened with Steve?"

She grimaces, "is he okay?"

"You mean is he locked in his room and we're pretty sure he has his headphones on because he's ignoring us?"

She shoves her head into her hands.

"What happened though? All we knew is that he was getting more talkative, opening up a bit, and Bucky said it was you, and suddenly he's locked up like it's freshman year again. Not speaking to any of us."

"You think he would talk to me?" She asks desperately, "let me explain?"

"I don't even know what happened, why is he mad at you?"

"I—" she starts, looking up, "I can't explain, is James here?"

"Bucky? No, not yet, his train doesn't get in till 9."

She curses and sags, "does he know something is wrong?"

"I don't know, you want me to text him?"

"No, I can. Sorry to bother."

"Wait, you're not going to give up are you? You should have seen Steve these last couple weeks, I've never seen him so relaxed and open. Not that he was a fountain of words or anything, but he- I don't know, he tried a bit more. Don't give up."

She shakes her head sadly, "I think that's up to him. And I don't have the feeling he'll let me in again."

"What happened?" He asks, "what happened?"

But she just shakes her head and backs off the porch. It's cold but she doesn't care, she runs home, racing through the front door and falling onto her bed, crying angry tears at herself and at Steve and at the whole bloody situation.

—-

There's a knock on the front door, but she just lays in bed, knowing one of the other girls will get it.

A minute later a quiet Natasha walks into her room, "hey, uh… James is here? And he needs to talk to you."

She slides out of bed, eyes red and puffy from crying. She plods down the stairs and stops at the last step. Looking at the man who stands just inside the front door. His eyes are red too and his face is anguished.

They stare at each other for a minute and she sinks down, sitting on the bottom of the stairs, crying again.

He lurches forward, sinking to his knees, "what happened? How did he find out?"

"He asked."

"Why didn't you lie!" He says angrily.

Her head snaps up and she seethes, "oh, so easy for you to say! I've gotten to know him, I-I couldn't just lie!"

"Why not!"

"Because I'm not a liar, James!"

"Well that's great. Just fucking great!"

"You can't be mad at me!" She shouts, "I would never have hurt him on purpose!"

"Neither would I!" He shouts back, "that's why I asked in the first place! I just want Steve to—"

"To what!" She snaps, "is him existing not enough?"

"NO!" James bellows, "It's not enough! He deserves so much more! He deserves to be happy! And to have friends! He deserves a full life!"

"Maybe he had that! He—" and she chokes off, anguish crushing her chest because she remembers his words.

Everyone I've ever loved has left me.

He will. He'll marry Natasha and I'll be alone. Again.

James is right. He wasn't- isn't really living. "I know he does. You're right." She rasps out. "He deserves so much more. I didn't mean for him to find out, it was an accident."

The fire goes out of him and he leans back, closing his eyes. "It's not your fault." He whispers, his throat tight. "I shouldn't have tried to pull his strings." He grits his teeth and slumps to the floor, leaning against the banister. "He's so hurt, Peggy—" he cuts off, his voice cracking. "He wouldn't even speak to me. The only people he's ever trusted to always speak to were me and his ma. That's it. The only people he's never had a qualm talking to. And she's gone and now I've gone and fucked this up." He covers his eyes with his palms, "all because I was too impatient. Because I thought I knew what was best for him."

"I don't know what to do." Peggy whispers, "what can I do? I can't let it end this way."

James just sits there, staring at the entryway rug. "I guess… we have to be patient. Hopefully he'll give us another chance."

She shoves her head into the crook of her elbow and they cry together for a long time.

—

She goes to the pool at 5:25a.m and waits. He doesn't show.

She goes to breakfast and is there for a few hours until her class. He doesn't show.

She tries to go to the 107th but Monty informs her that he's not there. She asks where he might be and he gives her a few places to try.

Peggy walks to the art gallery, slipping quietly through the separate spaces and hoping to see his face. No luck.

The architecture building is next and she finds herself searching hallways and opening classroom doors hoping to run into him, but to no avail.

Art studios and the library are next, and while she looks diligently, there's no way to search everywhere and she sinks down into a library chair after a while.

She pulls out her phone and texts his number. She's tried to text and call a few times but no response. She tries again.

Steve? I know you don't want to talk to me, but would you be willing to listen? I want to explain. It's not what you think. Please.

She waits and is disappointed but not surprised that there is no answer.

—

Finals approach and Peggy buries herself in work. The other girls in the house try to get her to cheer up but she can't. She still participates fully in all the house events and puts in her fair share of work. But her heart is just not in it anymore.

A few glimpses of him from afar are all she's managed to see as the Christmas Clash approaches. She tries to go to his house, text his phone, and call him, but she receives no answers. When she asks the other guys in the 107th, they just shake their heads and shrug. "He's like a ghost." Dugan says quietly. "He's completely changed up his schedule, so I don't know when he's here or when he's gone and his door is always locked."

She wants to scream at Steve, to shout that he's being dramatic and that he needs to just listen for one fucking second so that he can understand what really happened.

And yet… She knows what he's gone through. How traumatizing and hurtful his childhood was, and she knows that the sting of betrayal runs deep. That trust once lost is not easily regained.

And she hates that he avoids her.

She still swims. Every morning without fail. Even Saturday's. Hoping against hope that he'll change his mind and show up. But he doesn't.

The most hurtful blow is when she opens Spotify to see the playlist he made for her is gone.

She and James meet up once and she asks if he's made any progress he just looks at the ground and says, "he hasn't spoken to me once. As far as I know, he hasn't spoken a word to anyone. I even asked his professors if he talks in class and they said he communicates with them through email."

"Bloody hell." She snaps, her chest constricting. "This can't continue! We have to force him."

"I tried." James answers, "I waited outside his doorway until he came out to use the bathroom or something and I tried to force him to talk to me. I told him everything, the truth, and I told him that I was sorry and that he could yell at me and blame me, but not to throw away the friendship he'd gained with you and he just looked at me. Not saying a damn word. Just empty eyes on an expressionless face. He's been a ghost ever since. He's changed when he leaves the house, and slips out at varying times during the day. I don't know what else to do."

Peggy feels the frown on her face in combination with a tightening throat and watering eyes.

—

Everyone finishes up their finals and the night of the Christmas Clash arrives. Each house has a designated time for the judges to come around and watch as the lights are turned on. True to her word, she's helped decorate the house in retro-futuristic Christmas fashion and they stand outside the house waiting for their turn.

She hears the cheers from the next house over as it lights up. The girls stand in the cold anxiously as the judges make their way over.

"Is it ready?" Pepper whispers.

"Yeah, I set the extension cord this morning. It just needs to be plugged in." Angie whispers back.

"Ladies!" The judges say cheerily. It's a small panel of alumni and they wave hello. "Are we ready?"

The girls nod and the judges smile. "Okay, we'll see the lights and then we'll judge inside, sounds good?"

They nod and Natasha walks around the side of the porch to plug in the lights.

They hear a gasp and the girls look at each other.

Peggy and Angie meet eyes and then scramble around the corner.

Natasha stands there, something shiny in her hands.

"Nat?" Angie asks, "what is it?"

The girl whirls towards them, hiding the object behind her back.

"Natasha?" Peggy says curiously, "what's going on?"

"Nothing!" The girl says too quickly, "uh—"

"Then turn on the lights." Angie huffs.

"Um." Natasha says nervously.

"What's going on ladies?" They hear Pepper call.

"On it!" Angie calls.

Angie steps forward and Natasha lurches to the side, blocking the outlet. "Don't!"

"Natasha? What the hell, just plug in the lights."

"I need a new extension cord." Natasha says. "Go grab me one."

"What do you mean you need a new extension cord? I attached one just this morning."

"Yep." Natasha says, "it's old. Doesn't work."

"I bought it yesterday, Natasha." Angie growls. "It worked this morning!"

Natasha looks at a loss and Angie shoves past her. Peggy hears a gasp and Angie whirls around, holding the cut off end of the extension cord.

Angie's face goes red and she shrieks, "someone sabotaged us!"

"NO!" Natasha shouts, panic on her face and eyes wide.

"Someone clearly cut this, Natasha!"

"Ladies?"

The three of them whip towards one of the judges who now stands behind them. "Did I hear you shout that someone sabotaged you?"

"Yes!" Angie shouts, at the same time Natasha shouts "no!"

Angie huffs and stares at Natasha's hands behind her back. "What are you holding?"

"Nothing!" Natasha squeaks.

Angie lunges for it and they tussle, fighting over the object until Peggy hears Angie cry out, "ow!"

"Oh shit!" Natasha says, dropping the item and holding Angie's hand. "Ang, I'm so sorry!"

Peggy reaches down and picks up the item.

A pair of scissors.

She furrows her eyebrows. "Natasha, why would you hide this? Someone clearly sabotage us."

She turns to the judge and hands her the scissors.

The judge takes them and sighs, "I hate when this happens. Any clue who these belong t—" she's turning the scissors over in her hands and pauses. "Oh…" the judge looks up surprised, "not a very smart saboteur. There's a name written on it, hold on let me get my flashlight." She starts digging in her pockets when Wanda comes around the corner.

"What's going on?" She asks.

"Someone cut our extension cord." Angie snaps, cradling her cut hand.

"Oh. You want me to grab the other one?"

They pause.

"What other one?" Natasha asks, but her voice is already brittle, like she knows where this is going.

"The one I found on our porch just an hour ago." Wanda explains, "I figured Angie left it out by accident. It's right inside. You need it?"

Peggy feels the air get sucked out of her lungs and she doesn't even know why.

The judge squints in the dim light of the flashlight and Peggy's heart stops as it illuminates a name. Written in clear block letters.

The judge reads the name.

His name.

"Steve G. Rogers."

No. He wouldn't.

"It's not what you think!" Natasha breathes out in a rush.

Angie's face has gone pale and Peggy can't breathe.

The judge looks at her clipboard. "He's in the 107th, correct? He'll be disqualified ladies, don't worry. He'll also be removed from his house too. Don't you fret. He'll receive the consequences he deserves for violating the rules."

"No." Peggy rasps, "you can't. Please."

The judge looks at them in confusion, "excuse me?"

"He's doing this on purpose." Natasha says quickly, "don't disqualify him, we're not mad. He even brought us another extension cord. It's fine. Everything's fine!"

"Sorry ladies." The judge says, stepping back, "rules or rules. If he wants to be disqualified, he's going to get what he wants."

Peggy feels her heart crumbling.

—-

Peggy, Natasha, and Angie sit on the porch steps. Ignoring the rest of the judging. Wanda had quietly grabbed the other extension cord and replaced it. The lights on the house blinking on with a cheery ambiance that did not fit the mood.

The judges bid them farewell after having looked inside and Pepper, Maria, Hope and Wanda all come and sit on the steps.

"Okay." Pepper sighs, "what the hell happened?"

They turn to Natasha who holds the cut extension cord in her hands.

"I went around to plug in the lights and saw that it was cut. That's why I gasped. But too late I saw the pair of scissors resting under the outlet, name facing outwards, clearly left for me to find. I knew instantly what he was trying to do. James said he's been avoiding the rest of his housemates and James was getting real suspicious that Steve was going to try to find some way to get out of the house. So, when I saw his name on the scissors I knew this was it. Rules are very strict about this. No sabotage allowed. But he didn't put the 107th. He put his name. Not disqualifying his house. Just himself." She frowns, her fingers playing with the frayed edges. "And then Wanda says there's an extra cord and I—" she huffs and glares at the cord, "he sabotaged us enough to get himself in trouble, and still provided a cord so our house wouldn't be out of the running."

Peggy stands. Unable to hear this right now.

Pepper looks at her phone. "Um, guys?"

They turn to look at her and she sighs. "Tony says the 107th is just decorated normally."

Hope waves her hands, "what the hell does that mean?"

"Tony's saying that they have some lights up, and a few decorations about, but that it looks like just a normal house decorated for Christmas. He says the judges weren't very impressed."

Peggy leaves, walking into the house and up the doorway and into her room.

—

Pepper, Maria, and Natasha are in charge of the New Year's Eve party since they live the closest. Peggy goes home with Hope for Christmas and they all plan to meet back on December 30th.

Christmas break is enjoyable, and Hope's parents are a lively couple with science jokes that go right over her head, but it's a pleasant time and Peggy is grateful.

She attempts to ignore the ache in her chest everytime she sees a unique house or listens to a song she thinks he'd like.

—-

Peggy and Hope drive onto campus on the 30th and the house already looks spectacular. Gold and silver decorations, with the retro futuristic touch make the house shimmer with excitement.

"He's out of the house." Natasha whispers. "James said they woke up the morning after the Christmas Clash and his room door was open. All his stuff was gone, his room was clean, and his key was on the desk."

She can't think of a single thing to say.

—

She celebrates New Year's Eve with her friends and she smiles as the ball drops, but inside just aches, wishing he was there. Wishing she could talk to him.

—-

Their house wins the Row Competition and they cheer and shout and celebrate and gush over what they should pick as their prize.

Peggy engages, participating and putting in her two cents, but her hands grip at her phone.

She'd texted him Merry Christmas with no response.

And now she's texted him Happy New Year.

The day wears on, and she receives no response.

—

When school starts back up again, she spends the first afternoon waiting in the student housing offices to see if they know his address.

She's promptly informed that they're not allowed to release information like that to another student.

The next day she finally manages to figure out which architecture advisor he had last semester. She tracks him down and knocks on his office door.

"Come in!"

She walks into the neat and cozy office and smiles. "Hello, I'm Peggy Carter. I'm looking for a student you advise? His name is Steven G. Rogers? Do you happen to have his class schedule or a way I can reach him?"

The man blinks at her, "Oh, he requested his transcripts. I'm afraid he doesn't attend school here anymore. It's too bad really. He was an excellent student."

She's stunned, she stumbles out of his door and goes racing back to the Row.

She slams up the porch steps of the 107th and bangs on the door.

Monty opens it and before he can speak, she's asking, "is James here?"

He nods and leads her to the kitchen. He's sitting at the table, staring at an engineering textbook.

"He's not even attending here anymore?" She asks, huffing from the exertion of running here, "at all?"

James' forlorn eyes look up at her. "He can't afford to go here anymore."

That doesn't make sense. "But he's a junior. He's been paying to go here—" And suddenly it hits her. "The prize?" Her voice ratchets up an octave, "he used it for his tuition?"

James nods. "He took out loans that he really couldn't afford to take out to get in the first semester his freshman year. Dugan's a senior now, so he knew about the competition when we first moved in and we planned to win every year so Steve could afford to go here without taking those crazy high interest loans. The prize money didn't cover everything, but it covered enough. He could manage with a job or two."

"And no one told us!" She shrieks, "that would have changed everything!"

"What," James huffs, "you think guilting you guys into losing was high on Steve's list? You think if he'd known people were throwing the competition for him he would have accepted that? Hell no! He would have been furious! He wanted to win fair and square."

She groans and sinks into a chair near him. Resting her head on her arms. "I'm so over this." She snaps. "He can't just disappear like this. It's not fair. It's not fair to you and it's not fair to me. We're his friends. We're allowed to care about him!"

"Try telling him that." James snaps and she looks at him.

"You tried?"

"Tried?" James huffs, "yeah, you could call it that. He wouldn't even come over for Christmas! He spent all of break in his shithole apartment. Only leaving when he knew I wasn't sitting outside the door!"

Peggy sighs. "You're kidding." She moans. "Why is he taking this so hard?"

James eyes snap to hers. "You mean, why is the kid who was told he wasn't worth listening to his whole life by his father, who then abandoned him, upset that the only friend he thought he had tricked him into talking to someone else who he thought might be willing to listen, only to find out the whole friendship was contrived and that I told you about his greatest trauma to guilt you into doing it? And especially horrible betrayal because he started to actually trust and possibly even like you?" James cuts himself off and slams his textbook closed.

Her fingers are clutching at the edge of the table. "What?" She whispers.

"Yeah." James snaps. "He may not be talking to me, but he sure can write a note just fine. He slipped it under the door when he knew I was sitting there. You know what it said at the end?"

She shakes her head weakly.

He reaches into his pocket and Peggy feels sick as she watches him pull out the note. The despair that he's carrying it around too much to think about.

He opens the note and his face gets pinched as he reads the bottom:

"If you ever actually cared what I've had to say, then listen to this. Please leave. And don't come back."

She chokes out a sob as he folds up the note and stuffs it back in his pocket.

—

She goes through the motions and does fine. February approaches and she watches as a few girls get ready for valentine's dates. She's happy for them and she's made new friends in her classes.

She still swims.

She still eats breakfast in the cafe every morning. If she studies hard enough, she can pretend he's sitting across the table from her.

March helps distract her with midterms, but all too soon, Spring Break approaches.

She's walking through the student center when a piece of artwork stops her in her tracks.

She steps closer, and she gasps as she takes it in. It's a sketch of a breakfast tray. She knows it's his because the cut up grapefruit sits in the corner. And… she can see the shadow of her hand at the top, like it's in the background. She glances down and sees his signature. She looks around and spots a worker at a desk.

"When did this artwork get put here?" She asks forcefully.

The boy looks at what she's pointing at and yawns, "those are the pieces that were submitted by students last semester. They get changed out every semester."

She says thanks and runs out the door.

—

"I want his address."

"What?"

"His address." She growls, "to his shithole apartment."

"Peggy—"

"James Buchanan Barnes, if you do not give me his address, so help me, I will go shouting through all of Brooklyn."

He sighs and writes it on a slip of paper.

The day Spring Break starts, she's on a train.

—

It's even shittier than she could have imagined.

The stairs are littered and the walls seem perpetually damp.

She keeps her hands close to her as she walks up the 7 floors to his apartment.

She knocks on the door and stands there, waiting.

She hears footsteps and she moves out of view of the tiny peephole. He must try to look through, because there's a pause before she hears the footsteps start to recede. She knocks again quickly and steps back out of sight.

The door opens slightly and he peers out. Her breath catches on her first sight of him in what feels like forever.

He hears her gasp and his eyes go wide. She can see him trying to decide whether to shut the door or not, but she jolts into action, shoving her foot in the doorway so he can't close it.

He stiffens at the aggressive gesture and steps back from the door. She pushes inside, watching as he backs away from her, silent.

She closes the door, hearing the click. She doesn't take her eyes off him. Afraid he might disappear.

"Please listen to me."

His eyes are part hurt and part accusatory and she takes a step towards him. He reflects her motion by taking a step back and the distrust on his face is physically painful.

"Yes. James told me you were going to be at that pool. And yes, he may have told me a bit of your background. But he left the choice up to me." She huffs, speaking quickly, not wanting this chance to slip away. "He took a chance. He said that because you'd been willing to talk to me before, you might be willing to do so again. That's it. He didn't even say we had to be friends. In fact his exact words were 'forced proximity friendliness'." She puts her hands on her hips and sighs. "At first I'll admit, I wanted to do it because I thought it might help you. That was my reasoning initially. But you know when that changed? When I realized I needed a friend like you too." He's not speaking, but he's not kicking her out or plugging his ears, so she'll take what he gives. "You're mad at James for betraying your trust and you're mad at me because you think I faked my friendship. But James did what he did because he wants what's best for you, misguided as it may have been, and I never, not ever, not even for one second felt my friendship with you was fake. It was real to me. From the moment I asked you about music and you responded, it was real for me." She steps closer and she wants to cry when he doesn't step backwards, but she doesn't, she keeps talking, "and then you actually started opening up to me. Little by little and I was lucky enough to get to know you. Your voice, your laugh, your opinion, all things I began to look forward to each day. You became an integral part of my life and I looked forward to seeing you, swimming with you, talking with you. When we spent those days together over Thanksgiving break? I was…" she chokes off, the emotion constricting her throat.

She looks up at him and his eyes are sad but still wary. So she takes a deep breath and says everything she's wanted to say.

"I have missed you. Every single day since that stupid Sunday when I pushed you too hard. I'll never stop kicking myself for ruining that day. I'm glad you know the truth. It's honestly a relief in the grand scheme of things that you know now. But I'm furious at myself because I thought we'd spend finals studying together. I thought we'd bicker about whose decorations for Christmas were better and we'd spend part of Christmas break together and we'd get each other presents. I wanted to ride your motorcycle with you. I wanted to spend New Year's Eve with you and—" she stomps her foot, "I wanted to kiss you at midnight, dammit! I wanted to shout 'Happy New Year!' And hear you shout it too, and then I wanted to pull you down into a kiss so I could start the new year off right, and I wanted to swim with you. Every day. Listening to the playlist you made me and being breakfast buddies. I wanted all that. I still do. I don't care how it started. I don't care that James told me where to go, I'm just grateful that I actually went! Because in case you didn't realize, I actually was the one who benefited out of the two of us because I got to know you."

His eyes are wide and in disbelief and she takes another step forward. "No matter what anyone else has said to you. I want to hear what you have to say. Everyday, for as long as you'll let me listen. I want to hear your wonderful music opinions, and your fascinating trivia about houses and your incredibly unsubtle dark humor and your bad jokes about England. I want to hear it all. I won't relent. I won't take no for an answer. Please, Steve. Please. I can't change how we met, but I refuse to not tell you the truth about how I view our friendship. I never faked it. Not for a second."

She's breathing heavily at the end, her adrenaline crashing through her and threatening tears. But she waits. Now it was the moment of truth. Would he turn her away without a word?

He stares at her, looking lost.

"What can I do or say to make you believe me?" She asks, "tell me, what can I do to prove it to you?" When he still doesn't speak she takes a deliberate step forward. "Steve." She says softly, "I'm going to prove it to you." She continues to approach him, and even though he does step back until he's against the counter, just like he did on that fateful night in the kitchen, she doesn't relent until she steps directly in front of him.

"Happy New Year." She says softly, looking up into his eyes expectantly.

There's an excruciating amount of pain and hope mixed in his eyes as he looks down at her.

She waits, holding her breath as he blinks slowly and his voice is barely a whisper as he says the first words she'll hear since November. "Happy New Year…"

The crushing relief and overwhelming flood of tears do nothing to stop her from reaching up and yanking his face down to hers, kissing him so eagerly that he stumbles forward, knocking them off balance. They tumble to the floor and she doesn't miss the way his hand flies up to cradle her head, stopping it from hitting the floor.

He blinks down at her in shock as they both breathe heavily from adrenaline. But she's too preoccupied to worry about the fact that they're tangled up on the floor. She reaches out, pulling his face down to hers and kissing him again. This time slower and deeper. Not letting him go until she's desperate for air.

His face is flushed and she places a hand against his chest which is expanding and contracting rapidly with his adrenaline charged breathing.

"I've been wanting to do that since the day before you got sick." She explains, looking at him seriously.

His eyes flutter closed and she watches as the corded muscles on his arms from years of swimming keep his weight propped off of her. She angles and adjusts her legs so that way he's free to sit up, which she does as well.

"Do you believe me?" She asks, "do you believe that it was real between us?"

He looks away and she watches as his Adam's apple bobs, "I want to."

"I'll spend every day proving it to you."

"Not when you go home."

The fever-induced conversation rings in her mind and she feels something settle in her chest, a decision she knows she wants to make.

She moves, sliding in front of him, looking him straight in the eye, "then I guess I need a good reason to stay, don't I?"

His eyes widen at her insinuation and she hears his quiet voice again, "you'd stay for me?"

Oh, the question breaks her heart. But she just tackles him, pressing him back against the floor and kissing him, threading her fingers through his soft hair and leaving them both breathless.

"I would stay for you." She breathes out, laying against his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

She feels his arms slowly wrap around her and hold her tight.

The smile she presses against his chest practically glows.

—-

The next Sunday, they take the train back together and she kisses him often and thoroughly. For not having much experience (he claims), he's a hell of a kisser and she plans to take full advantage.

—

When she brings him up to the door of the 107th, she waits for him to be ready.

"I don't think they'll want me back." He says quietly, "I wasn't the best when I left."

"Only one way to find out." She says softly.

He rings the doorbell and they wait.

Dugan opens the door and stands there stunned. Before Peggy can register what's happening, Dugan rushes forward, crushing Steve in a hug and making a horrifying howling noise. She hears thunderous footsteps and the men of the 107th appear, shouting and stomping and taking turns crushing Steve in their hugs.

She steps back, letting them enjoy the reunion, but then a hand grabs hers and she looks up to see James looking at her with such grateful eyes that she feels her eyes prick. He pulls her into the circle and she allows herself to be crushed in their joy along with Steve.

—

The Next Year

Peggy feels more than hears his arrival. She finishes her lap and then rests on the edge of the pool as he steps out of his shoes and sets down his towel.

He slips into the water, moving closer to her and she smiles as he ducks under the lane divider.

She pulls him closer, pressing a kiss against his wet lips and relishing in the familiarity of chlorine kisses.

He smiles against her, his fingers grabbing at her waist and pulling her close.

"Do you knwo what today is?" She asks, adjusting the strap of her goggles.

"Hmm.." he says, thinking about it, "I don't know. What?"

She huffs sadly, "you can't recall?"

He shakes his head and she pretends to pout. "Sad."

He rolls his eyes at her and takes off, making his way across the pool and back.

They swim for a while before she feels him tug at her ankle and they get out.

"May I?" He asks, gesturing for her phone. She hands it over and he taps through to something. When he passes it back, she looks down and gasps.

Swimmer's Ear - Vol. 2 - for P.C.

By: SGR

"You remembered!" She shouts, pulling him into a hug.

"Of course I did." He laughs, "I don't think I'll ever forget the day I worked up the courage to show you the playlist I made for you."

They walk to breakfast together like they do every day.

It had taken some convincing, and about 10 personal testimonies in Steve's defense for the school to allow him to regain his spot in the house. But eventually they caved and he was allowed in for his Senior year.

Steve went to work with his financial advisor about options for tuition, only to discover his bill was paid in full.

Peggy watched as Steve accused Anthony and the man just laughed and said "duh!"

"I can't—" Steve had started to say.

"Think of it as a down payment. You're going to design my house. I need someone dedicated. So here I am, buying your loyalty. You in?"

And it had been pretty hard to argue with that.

—

She lays still, listening as he mumbles something in his sleep. His arm is wrapped tightly around her and her head lays on his chest. The TV plays in the background of the living room and she feels herself begin to blink slower.

"Peggy?" She hears him ask.

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

And she snuggles closer to him, running a finger up the sensitive skin on his stomach and making him shiver.

His dazzling blue eyes look into hers and she smiles, "I love hearing you say that."

—