April, 1949
In which it is Steve's turn to take care of Peggy.
It was days like this that Steve missed the convenience of things like cell phones and the internet. If he'd had a cell phone, he could have gotten the phone call while he was across the street helping Mrs. Markle plant her snapdragons. If he'd had the internet, he could have gotten an Uber. But no, instead, he had to pick up the phone when he got back home to discover a relieved Rose Roberts declaring she'd been trying to reach him for an hour, then he had to go digging for the phone book which wasn't where it should have been so he could call a taxi to take him to the hospital.
He arrived in the waiting room at the same time Peggy was coming in from the opposite door, gingerly holding the plaster cast on her arm against her chest. "Peggy!" he exclaimed, rushing across the room. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine," she assured him, hugging him with her unbroken left arm.
"You broke your arm," he said.
"Yes," she agreed. She kissed him on the cheek. "But it's hardly life-threatening."
"I'm sorry it took me so long to get here," he said, wishing he'd been there to hold her hand as the doctor set her broken bones and plastered her arm.
"I was actually going to say I was surprised you'd gotten here this quickly," she said smiling up at him. "I suppose Rose called you?"
"You suppose?" he repeated. "Were you not going to tell me?"
"No, I was," she assured him. "I was just going to wait until it was all fixed up so I could give you a proper report. I didn't think there was time for you to have done much beforehand anyway."
"I could have been here with you," he insisted. "I've broken bones before, Peggy; I know how much it hurts. I could have been here and helped you, and—"
"Steve," she said, cutting him off with a fond smile. "I appreciate that, I do." She slid the fingers of her good hand through his. "And I very much would have liked to have you here to hold on to, but I didn't think you'd be able to get here before it was all over. I wasn't trying to tough this out." She kissed his cheek. "But we lived through a war, you and I. We've both had worse than this. What's really bothering you?"
Steve rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand. "You're hurt," he said. "I know we've both had worse, but…" He reached down and gently lifted her casted arm. "I know we weren't ever actually together during the war, but whenever you had worse, I…" He shook his head, remembering the sick knot of terror that had coiled in his guts when the words, "Carter's been hit, Captain," came over the radio. "It scared the hell out of me," he told her. "Every time. And I know this isn't a bullet, or shrapnel or anything, but you're still hurt. And I hate that you're in pain and I couldn't do anything about it."
"It scared me too, you know," she told him softly. "Whenever you got hurt." She sighed and leaned into him, and he wrapped his arms around her. "But we've got each other now, whatever happens. In sickness and in health." She hugged him quickly, then looked up at him with a cheeky grin. "And if you want to be able to do something to help me with my arm, I suspect you shall have multiple opportunities over the next six weeks."
Steve smiled at that. "You bet I will." He rubbed a careful hand over the cast. "I'm guessing the first thing you want me to help with is the paperwork?"
"However did you guess?"
Steve sat down with the clipboard of paperwork, and one of the nurses came over to give Peggy a little bottle of pain medication to take home. "You should go ahead and take some," Steve told her, noticing the pained little furrow across her forehead.
She shook her head. "It's just going to make me sleepy."
"You're not going back to work this afternoon," Steve pointed out. "Go ahead and take it. I can drive you home."
"Did you come here on your motorcycle?" Peggy asked curiously.
"No," he said. "I didn't think that was the best way to get you home after breaking a limb."
"Probably not," she agreed. "The car is at the office, though."
"Then I'll call another taxi." Steve tapped the medicine bottle in her hand. "Stop stalling and take it."
She smiled at him fondly, then shook two out into her hand. "It does hurt," she admitted. Steve got her a cup of water and called a taxi from the nurses' station, and by the time he had finished with the paperwork, she was leaning heavily on his shoulder.
"Feel better?" he asked, guiding her out to the taxi.
"Mm," she agreed. "Those pills work marvelously."
She was drifting in and out in the back of the cab, toying with the buttons on the front of Steve's shirt. She wasn't particularly pleased about being made to get up when they got home, but she allowed Steve to help her inside, then veered away from him inside the door and collapsed facedown on the couch.
"Don't you want to go to bed?" Steve asked.
"'s too far," Peggy complained. "Here is good." She fell asleep before Steve got both of her shoes off.
Steve chuckled, draped a blanket over her, then called Rose to let her know that Peggy was home and well, but would not be coming in tomorrow, as per doctor's orders. He set dinner going in the kitchen, then, since there wasn't much room on the sofa with the way Peggy's limbs were sprawled out, he sat down on the floor with his back against the couch and a book in his hands.
Peggy woke up for dinner—Steve had made soup, so she wouldn't need to worry about using both hands for silverware—and she told him about the series of events in chasing a suspect today that had led to her breaking her arm. There had been lots of running and shooting involved, and Peggy had been the one to tackle the runner to the ground and handcuff him.
"Officially, my arm was broken in the fall when I took him down," Peggy said, dunking a piece of bread into her soup. "He was a very large man."
"And unofficially?" Steve asked curiously.
Peggy's cheeks reddened slightly. "My heel caught in a grate and I fell down the last six feet of the fire escape and landed badly."
Steve smiled and reached across the table to squeeze the fingers sticking out of her cast. "The fact that you took him down after you broke your arm only makes it more impressive." He smirked. "And I'd like to see Agent Kowalski try running anywhere in heels."
Peggy snorted gleefully at the image.
Steve helped her wrap her cast up after dinner so she could get a shower without getting it wet, then they snuggled in bed together for a while to read a book before turning in. Peggy took some more of her medicine and leaned contentedly against his chest as he read to her. After a little while, she started playing with the buttons of his pajama top. Steve chuckled.
"Are you trying to tell me you're done with the book for tonight?" he asked.
"They're just so lovely and round," Peggy said, running her finger in a circle over one of the buttons that was evidently more interesting than their book. "So nice and smooth."
Steve smiled and set the book aside. He couldn't recall a time that he'd ever seen Peggy drunk, but if the way the medication seemed to be hitting her was any indication, evidently she was a very tactile drunk. "You like the way they feel, huh?"
"Mm," she agreed. "And the way they sound. Listen." She started tapping a fingernail against the button, quite pleased with the soft clicking sound it was making.
"Well, I'm glad my pajamas are so entertaining," he said, still smiling. He reached over and clicked off the lamp, then rolled onto his side, looping his arms around her gently. "But I think it's time for you to get some sleep."
"Very well," she said, as though she were indulging a childish request. She snuggled down into his arms, taking a few minutes to find a position that was comfortable with her arm. She sighed happily. "You feel nice too," she said.
Steve smiled and pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head. "Thank you. Now, go to sleep."
"Alright." Silence for a moment, then a whispered, "I love you, darling."
"I love you too, Peggy."
Her arm was hurting again by the time she woke up the next morning, though Steve bringing her breakfast in bed did make her feel better. At least until she got to the sausages, with which she struggled for some time before acquiescing with bad grace and allowing Steve to cut them up for her.
"Sorry," he said. "I should have thought of that and made something you didn't have to cut."
"Don't be ridiculous," Peggy said. "I'm not going to eat soup and oatmeal and sandwiches for six weeks just because I can eat them one-handed." She set down her fork and rested her hand on his arm. "I'm sorry for snapping. I really do appreciate your help. It's just…difficult not being able to do things for myself."
"I can understand that," Steve said. "That was always the worst part of being sick. I used to drive Bucky nuts trying to fend for myself."
Peggy chuckled. "I heard you were quite the terror."
Color rose in his cheeks, but he smiled. "If you're going to be a difficult patient, it's probably some sort of cosmic justice for me," he said. Bucky would certainly put it that way, and would no doubt encourage Peggy to give him a hard time. "But if you're going to be a difficult patient," he said, leaning in and kissing her cheek. "I can handle it."
"I'll try not to be," she said with a smile.
"I'll love you no matter how cranky you get," he assured her, and she grinned. "You need help getting dressed?"
She moved her arm experimentally, then sighed. "Probably."
Steve helped her maneuver her arm out of her pajamas and into a new shirt and pair of pants, then handed her a hairbrush.
"Oh, dear," she said, catching sight of herself in the mirror. She'd gone to bed with wet hair without setting it, and this morning it had a very wavy, flyaway look to it. Steve actually thought it looked nice—kind of like she ought to be sitting on a beach somewhere with the breeze playing through her hair—but he also knew the bed-head look was not going to catch on for several decades yet.
"Do you want me to tie it back for you?" he offered.
"Yes, I think so," she said. "At least it will have some semblance of order."
They went downstairs and Steve insisted that he didn't want help with any of the chores, and she shouldn't be doing them anyway with her broken arm, and she eventually settled on the couch with a book. Steve set up the table beside her with a cup of tea, a glass of water and plate of fruit, and swung through the living room frequently while he did the morning's chores to check up on her. He left for long enough to go down to her office and get the car, after she assured him multiple times that she would be fine. She reminded him that they would need the car for her to get to work tomorrow and threatened to throw her teacup at him when he continued hesitating in the doorway.
She refused her pain pills when Steve noticed the pained furrow in her brow and offered her some, but by the time he was putting lunch together, she asked for them quietly. "They work marvelously for my arm, but they make my head feel terribly fuzzy, and I don't like that," she said. "I feel like I've not quite got control of myself, and it's embarrassing." She sighed. "But it really does hurt."
Steve smiled at her warmly. "There's no one around but me," he told her, placing two of the pills into her hand, then holding out a glass of water. "All the pills have really done so far is give you a compelling interest in my shirt buttons, but you could be humming showtunes and talking to an imaginary friend, and I wouldn't give you a hard time about it." He rubbed a gentle hand up and down the cast on her arm. "I don't care if you get a little loopy. I just care that it helps you stop hurting." She smiled, and he grinned and kissed her fingers. "And the button thing is kind of cute."
She rolled her eyes, but chuckled and took the pills.
The medication was kicking in by the time they finished eating, and she started to sway tiredly, so Steve steered her gently back to the couch to lie down.
"Stay with me?" she asked, catching his sleeve as he started to stand back up. "I don't want to stay here alone."
There was no resisting that, and he smiled and stretched out on the couch beside her, lifting up her casted arm to rest on his stomach. "How's that?" he asked.
"Much better," she said, snuggling into his side with a yawn. Her good hand snaked up and started tapping at one of the buttons on his chest, and Steve chuckled and kissed the top of her head.
She stilled as she grew sleepier, and Steve let his own eyes drift shut. He must have fallen asleep, because he was awoken rather suddenly by a very clumsy hand smacking him in the face.
"Sorry," Peggy said. "I missed."
"What?"
"I was trying to reach your hair," she explained as she pawed at the side of his face. "You've got lovely hair. I wanted to stroke it. But I can't reach it," she pouted. She continued petting his face.
"What happened to the buttons?" he wondered.
"The buttons are nice, but your hair is even nicer," she told him. "It's so soft. But your face is very nice too," she continued. She accidentally poked him in the eye as she ran her hand across his face. "All of you is nice," she declared. "You're terribly lovely."
"Thank you," he said, smiling as he caught her by the wrist to avoid another finger in the eye.
"Even," she continued, pulling her hand out of his grip and tapping him on the nose. "Even when you were small. Did you know that?" she asked. "I would think about how graceful your hands were, and I wanted to do this to your cheekbones," she said, running a finger along the aforementioned cheekbone before stretching up enough to kiss his jaw.
Steve blinked down at her in surprise. "Really?" He'd known that she'd had feelings for him back then, though it had taken him far longer than it should have to realize that, but he'd never realized she'd found his skinny self physically attractive.
"Mm-hmm," she said. "I fancied you awfully. Of course, your cheekbones are very nice the way they are now, too," she assured him, kissing his jaw again. "A bit different. But just as lovely."
He smiled warmly. "Thank you," he said softly, incredibly touched by what her medicated rambling had revealed.
She looked up at him with a sleepy, happy smile. "Do promise me you won't grow a beard, darling?" she asked. "It would be so…" She pawed clumsily at the side of his face again. "It would be some sort of crime to cover up that jawline. And you can't commit crimes," she declared, poking him in the cheek. "You're Captain America."
He laughed. "I hate to break it to you, Peggy, but Captain America has quite the rap sheet."
"Well, yes," she agreed, huffing out a breath and waving her good hand as if to say that was inconsequential. "But they weren't bad crimes." She yawned. "They were saving-the-world sorts of crimes. That sort is allowed."
"Are they?"
"Mm." She grinned widely. "Treason for a reason."
Steve barked out a laugh, and Peggy smiled even wider, very pleased with her rhyme. "Well, I have no intention of growing a beard," he told her.
"Good." She yawned again.
"I think you woke up too soon," Steve told her, hugging her closer and kissing her cheek. "Why don't you go back to sleep?"
"Yes," she agreed. She closed her eyes and nuzzled her face into his chest. "I shall go to sleep," she declared through another yawn. "Right here on you. S'my favorite place to sleep."
"Mine too," Steve said, kissing the top of her head.
The next time she woke up, she was feeling much more clear-headed, and Steve, true to his word, made not a peep about her earlier declarations and face-pawing. They worked on a puzzle for a little while, then listened to the radio while he got dinner ready. After dinner, he wrapped her arm up again so she could shower, then he cleaned up in the kitchen and got a shower of his own.
"Something the matter?" he asked, toweling off his hair as he walked back into the bedroom. Peggy was sitting in front of her mirror frowning at her reflection.
"I'm going back to work tomorrow, and I can't go in with my hair looking like it did today," she sighed. "But I can't manage anything with my arm like this."
"I'll do it for you," Steve said.
"That's sweet of you, darling, but I'll work something out." She looked thoughtfully back into the mirror. "Perhaps if I got up earlier than normal, I could wet it again and blow dry it into something presentable. Being down an arm, I might need you to hold the hair dryer, but I think I could manage the rest one-handed."
"Peggy," he said. "I can help you with it tonight." She gave him a very uncertain look, and he smiled. "I know how you like to set it. Trust me."
She sighed and stared at him for a long moment before coming over with her comb and hairpins. "Are you sure?" she asked.
"I'm sure," he said. He nodded at the mattress, and she sat down. "Turn around," he said, nudging her hip. "I don't want you watching in the mirror and wincing at me the whole time."
"That doesn't inspire great confidence, darling," she said, but she shifted away from the mirror.
He sat down behind her and ran the comb carefully through her hair, making sure all the tangles were out. Then he started sectioning her hair with the end of the comb, taking each little bit and twisting it around his finger before curling it around itself and pinning it in place. "Let me know if I'm twisting it too tight," he said.
She considered for a moment. "It feels just right, actually." She sat there for a moment while he pinned another section of hair. "This feels like you know what you're doing."
Steve chuckled. "Thank you. I told you you could trust me."
"How do you know how to do this?" she asked.
Steve paused and leaned around to smile at her fondly. "I love watching you do your hair," he said. Nearly every night, Peggy would pin and prepare her hair before bed, and nearly every night, Steve would watch and admire the graceful way her hands moved, the long, silky coils of hair she twisted around her fingers, and the way she hummed softly to herself. He loved it.
She smiled at him warmly, and he kissed the tip of her nose and leaned back to return to his work.
"Your hands just seem very sure of what they're doing," Peggy said after a moment. "Are you really this good at doing my hair just from watching me?"
"Well," Steve said, working on the last section of hair. "No. The number of curls and the way you like the pins to be facing, yes, I learned that watching you. But the actual technique…" He gestured for her to go and look in the mirror to inspect the result. "The girls in the Star-Spangled Show had me help them with more than just carrying luggage."
She paused in her inspection of her hair to turn around and look at him. "You learned how to do hair from a USO dancing troupe?"
"I was pretty good at it too," he said with a smile. "I was very popular backstage." He chuckled. "First time in my entire life that I was popular with girls."
Peggy laughed and returned to her inspection of her hair. "I'm sure you were popular for more than just your hairdressing abilities."
"Nah," he said, shaking his head. "This was before I knew how to talk to girls, remember? I was tall and strong and everything, but I was awkward as hell. That's not to say none of them liked me—but there was nothing like that going on. Besides," he said with a warm smile. "There was this S.S.R. Agent I was really far gone on."
Peggy smiled widely and bit her lip.
"I wasn't necessarily subtle about it," Steve went on, and Peggy laughed at that.
"You certainly weren't," she agreed. "Though you remained quite a gentleman."
Steve grinned. "The Star-Spangled girls liked to tease me about my 'mystery girl'. I was the troupe kid brother, and nothing more." He leaned in to kiss her as she came back to sit beside him. "Great gals, all of 'em, but there was never a dancing girl in the world that could pull my eyes off of my best girl."
Peggy grinned and cupped the back of his head with her good hand and kissed him again. "You really have gotten much better at talking to women," she said with a smile. "And my hair looks perfect. Thank you." She kissed his cheek. "They taught you very well."
Steve smiled and kissed her back. "I can do makeup too, if you need help with that in the morning."
"You're just full of surprises, aren't you?"
They read for a while until Peggy's medicine kicked in, then Steve let her play with his buttons for a little while before turning off the light. He helped her dress and fix her makeup in the morning, then made himself presentable so he could drive her down to the office—she wasn't going to be able to manage the steering wheel and the gearshift with one hand.
"Do you want something for your arm before we go?" he asked her as he cleared up the breakfast dishes. "It looks like it's bothering you again."
"It is," she agreed. "But I can't take anything. No," she said as he opened his mouth to protest. "Even if I hadn't worked so hard to get them to take me seriously as the office chief, I can hardly go in there and spend the day playing with Kowalski's shirt buttons and trying to pet Abernathy's face."
"That's a good point," Steve agreed, having not entirely thought through that side of things. He hated for her to be in pain all day though. "What if you just took one? Or maybe even half of one? Enough to take the edge off, but not enough to make you loopy."
Peggy considered. "I suppose half of one would be alright."
Steve nodded and went to cut one of them in half for her, knowing that it must be hurting her pretty bad for her to be worried about it affecting her professionalism and still accepting it. "I'll put the other half with your lunch," he told her. "So you can take it if you need to when this one wears off."
She nodded. "Thank you." She took the half pill and swallowed it quickly. "By the time we get to the office, though, if you notice that I'm acting just the slightest bit—"
"I'll turn around and bring you home," he assured her. He knew there were places and times where you could let people know you were on medication and any little quirks or oddities would be forgiven. That would never be the case for Peggy, though, as a woman doing what so many insisted was a man's job. She had to be perfect or she would go down, and Steve hated that for her, but was so proud of her for standing up to it and conquering it every day. "You've got this," he said. "And I've got you."
She smiled warmly and hugged him tightly, resting her head against his chest. "Thank you," she told him. She sighed. "It's still such a relief," she said. "Knowing there's someone who has my back so completely."
"I always will," he told her.
"I know." She looked up and smiled. "Thank you."
"I love you," he said.
"I love you too."
He hugged her tightly and kissed her. "Ready to go?"
She nodded and slipped her good hand into his as they walked to the garage.
"I know you are more than capable of fighting your own fights," he said. "But if you need tips on punching people with a cast, just ask. I have some experience in that arena."
"Have you now?"
"I assume it was Bucky who told you I was a terror when I was sick?" Steve smirked. "You should have seen me getting into fights with a cast on my arm. I figured out how to swing it so the cast took all of the hit without hurting my arm any worse. There was a while there I had a right hook like a sledgehammer."
