May, 1950.
In which Peggy is unwell.
"Nnnh," Peggy groaned, raising her head carefully. It had to weigh at least a thousand pounds.
"You okay?" Steve asked from where he was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, one hand resting on her back and one holding her hair back.
"A bit better," Peggy said, leaning away from the toilet with a sigh. This was the fifth day in a row she'd been sick.
"I don't think this is just food poisoning," Steve said. His hand disappeared from her back, then reappeared in front of her face with a cup of water. "Will you please let me take you to the doctor?" His hand returned to its gentle rubbing of her back while she slowly drank the water. "I know you were feeling better yesterday, but if this thing is back, we should get it looked at."
"I actually was sick yesterday," Peggy admitted. "After lunch at work."
Steve frowned down at her. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't want you to worry," she said. "And I felt fine afterwards, so I thought it was just a last lingering bit of whatever it was."
"We're going to the doctor," Steve said, and even though she felt rather dreadful, Peggy had to smile a little bit. She didn't think she'd heard it since the war, but he was using his 'captain voice', and it was a voice one didn't argue with.
"I think that's best," Peggy agreed. She didn't like to admit she was ill, and she had thought she was getting better, but whatever this was had returned with a vengeance this morning. She'd managed all of two bites of her breakfast, and had been feeling somewhat dizzy since she woke up.
Her agreement did nothing to soothe the worried look on Steve's face. Getting a hand under her elbow, he helped her to her feet, and if the furrow between his eyes was anything to go by, she hadn't hidden that dizzy little wobble very well. "Okay," he said once he had walked her down the hall and sat her down carefully on the bed. "If I leave you here while I go call the doctor's office and then call Rose to tell her you're not coming in today, can you get dressed by yourself, or do you need me to help?"
"I've got it," she told him. She did manage to shed her pajamas and slip into her clothes, though she cast a longing look at her bathrobe as she did so. She just wanted to wrap up in it and fall back asleep. She sighed. Alright. She was officially ill.
She brushed her hair and tied it back, deciding to forgo pinning it up or bothering with makeup—once they were finished with the doctor, she was going to have Steve bring her home and just go back to bed.
In the car, she closed her eyes and leaned back against the headrest, though it was very hard to get any sort of rest with the looks she could feel Steve shooting at her. She opened her eyes and gave him an exasperated smile. "Yes, alright, fine, I'm ill, but I'm not dying. Please stop looking at me like that. It's probably just a stomach flu."
Steve blushed a little, but he nodded. "Sorry. We'll get you checked out, get some medicine, then I'll make you some nice chicken soup when we get home. How's that sound?"
Peggy considered. "It sounds like something I could eat."
Steve smiled. "Good. Then you're going back to bed. They've been working you too hard lately."
"Well, I certainly won't argue with that," Peggy said. Things had been incredibly busy of late, with lots of late nights and early mornings. She was probably just run down. A day in bed did sound like just the thing.
In the office, they didn't have to wait long before she was called back. Just as well. The chairs were dreadfully uncomfortable. She shot Steve a smile of sympathy as she followed the doctor into the exam room—he was already fidgeting like a schoolboy in the hard plastic seat.
She sat patiently as a nurse took a blood sample, then as the doctor checked her glands, took her temperature and asked her questions, dreaming of her bed the entire time.
She was sent home with some anti-nausea medication, and spent the rest of the day in bed. The next morning, she felt significantly better, and after eating all of her breakfast without vomiting, she convinced Steve to let her go back to work. She must have just needed a bit of a break, and the rest had done her good. She felt perfectly fine all day until three o'clock on the dot, then she barely made it to the Ladies' in time to throw up what felt like everything she'd ever eaten in her life.
"Peggy?" Rose asked timidly from behind her. "Are you okay?" Peggy looked up to see her friend's worried face watching her from the doorway. "I could…Well, I can hear you out at my desk, and you sound awful."
Peggy nodded. "I think my return to work was a bit premature. Can you please call Steve and ask him to come and drive me home?" She knew it might take a little while—she'd taken the car this morning, so Steve was going to have to catch the bus. He might come on his motorcycle, she supposed, if he felt too impatient for the bus, though he would have to leave it here afterwards. Either way, it would take him a bit, and she could use the time to finish throwing up.
Rose nodded and left, returning some minutes later with a ginger ale. Peggy managed a weak smile at that. She didn't think she could keep it down, but she appreciated the gesture.
Steve's arrival and transporting her home were a bit of a blur, but she was back in bed then, and she swallowed some more of that vile-tasting medication and felt hungry and awake enough by the time it got dark to eat some more of Steve's soup.
"You really are a good cook," she told him sleepily, shifting down more comfortably into her pillow as he took the tray and bowl away.
He smiled. "Thanks." He leaned over, resting a hand on her forehead and stroking her skin gently with his thumb. "Is there anything else I can do to help?"
"I could use a hug," she told him, and his smile widened just as she had known it would. He rounded the bed and stretched out beside her, looping his arms around her and pulling her close to his chest, and Peggy closed her eyes and sighed happily. Those warm, safe arms and the solid reassurance of his presence was just what she needed. She kissed his neck before nuzzling her face into his chest. "I do love you, darling," she whispered.
She felt him press a soft kiss to the top of her head. "I love you too."
The next morning, she was feeling somewhat better—up to eating a bit, but not entirely steady on her feet. The doctor called halfway through the morning while Steve was hanging the laundry outside.
"Steve?" she said when he came back in. "The doctor called. He said he has the results of the blood test."
"What did he say?" Steve asked.
Peggy shook her head. "He didn't. He wants me to come back in."
Steve drove her back to the doctor's office, and she could tell he was trying very hard not to worry out loud and make her worry too. She imagined he was thinking that it must be bad news to need to be delivered in person, and the thought had crossed her mind too. The doctor hadn't sounded overly grave, however, so perhaps there was just another test they needed.
She did feel bad leaving Steve out to wait this time, knowing his fidgeting was more worry than discomfort. To her surprise, the nurse led her past the exam room and back into the doctor's private office. Peggy swallowed a bit nervously as she sat. Perhaps this was bad news.
"Good morning, Mrs. Carter," the doctor said, coming in and sitting down across from her. "Feeling any better, are you?"
"Not particularly," she said. "The medicine doesn't seem to have helped much."
He chuckled slightly, and that put Peggy more at ease. He wouldn't be laughing if he was about to tell her she was dying. "No," he said. "I suppose it wouldn't. It was designed to help with the flu, not…" he paused significantly. "With pregnancy."
Peggy's mouth dropped open. Had she heard him right? "I'm…I'm pregnant?"
He nodded. "About six weeks along, I'd say."
Peggy continued to gape. She'd…Well, she supposed she had been rather late, but that did happen from time to time when things got overly stressful. It had never occurred to her to think… "I'm really pregnant?"
"You are," he confirmed. "I take it this was unplanned, then?"
She nodded.
"Is it a happy surprise, or…?" he asked cautiously.
She and Steve certainly hadn't been trying for a baby, but they had talked about starting a family someday. A little tingle ran up Peggy's spine. Apparently, someday was now. "It is," she replied softly, smiling to herself.
The doctor nodded. "There are some things I think we should go over today, though a more comprehensive appointment can be set up for later when your husband can join us, and I can give you both all the details."
"Oh," Peggy said. Though she resented the implication that a more masculine presence was needed to retain the more comprehensive information, it was not a hill she felt inclined to die on at this moment. "No, we can do it now; he's here. Just out in the waiting room."
The doctor arched a surprised eyebrow, evidently having expected him to be off at work, but he recovered quickly. "Very good. We'll call him in, then."
Peggy nodded. "Wait!" she said as he moved for the door. The doctor turned and looked back. "Can I be the one to tell him? If we could just have a moment…" She didn't want Steve to hear it from a stranger. She wanted to be the one to share it with him herself.
The doctor smiled. "Of course. I'll send him in, then I'll give you two a few minutes."
The doctor left, and Peggy's hand drifted down to her stomach. It had to be her imagination, surely, but she almost felt as though she could feel the pulse of a tiny heartbeat, the brush of something small and alive reaching to meet her hand. She smiled. "Hello in there," she whispered.
Steve rushed in through the door, and the doctor clearly hadn't told him she was pregnant, but he could have told him something. The poor man looked like he half expected to find her dead on the floor. "Peggy!" he exclaimed, hurrying over. "Are you okay?"
Peggy got to her feet and threw her arms around him. "I'm fine," she breathed.
He hugged her back, then pulled away to look down in her eyes, leaving his hands on her waist as though he was worried she would fall over without it. "Are you alright? What's wrong?"
She shook her head. "Nothing. Everything's fine."
"Fine?! You've been sick for over a week!" Steve protested. "Then the doc calls me back into his private office and won't—"
"Steve," she said firmly, cutting him off. "I'm fine." She smiled. "I'm not ill. I'm pregnant."
Steve's mouth dropped open and he stared at her as though tomato plants had just sprouted out of her ears. "Pr…pregnant?" he whispered at last. She nodded. "You're pregnant?"
She nodded again. It was hard to tell if he thought this was good or not. His current sole emotion seemed to be shock.
"You're pregnant?" he asked again. His eyes went down to her stomach then back up to her face. "With a baby?"
"Yes, with a baby," Peggy huffed. "What else would I be pregnant with?"
"We're having a baby?" he asked softly. Then he barked out a laugh and picked her up, swinging her in a circle. "We're having a baby!" he exclaimed. He set her back on her feet and kissed her deep enough to make her go shaky in the knees. When he pulled away, he was smiling, that beautiful smile like sunshine, a look of absolute wonder in his eyes. "We're having a baby," he breathed.
Peggy smiled and kissed him again, suddenly struck by how amazing this was—Steve had been back for two years now, but sometimes she still had to catch herself and remind herself that this normal, happy life they'd built together—the one they both thought they'd lost the chance for in 1945—it was real. It was really real.
"We're having a baby," she whispered.
