February, 1954

This one fulfills both the Favorite Family Day of Steggy Week 2021, and also a request by penny4alittlehope that she made a long time ago that I told her I would write and I finally did!

In which Michael Carter is surprised by a great many things.


On the scale of days that Michael Carter had seen in his lifetime, this was far from the worst. Truthfully, most of Michael's days lately (that he could remember, in any case), had flown directly past 'worse' to land rather firmly in the 'abysmally hellish' category. Laid up as he was in a hospital, a proper hospital with proper doctors instead of mad Nazis, rated far closer to 'heavenly' than it would have prior to this mess. Even if said hospital was in America.

Truth be told, Michael knew he was lucky. Yes, he had been captured by Nazis, and yes, he had been handed over to their secret science division to be treated as a human guinea pig, but Michael was lucky. He remembered torture, pain, illness, and starvation, but he remembered months of it, not years, as his fellow prisoners did. The luck of the draw had seen him become a candidate for something called cryogenesis—Michael had spent most of his time unconscious and frozen in a metal box, free of the horrors Hydra had seen fit to bestow upon their other captives. They would wake him periodically, have their fun, make some adjustments to the box, and put him back. They were quite keen on the process, evidently wanting to improve upon it for something that wasn't Michael Carter.

It came with its own set of nightmares, of course. He still didn't feel as though he were properly warm, and he slept uneasily, memories of his time awake not far from the surface of his mind. But he could sleep. He could speak. He still had his wits about him. That was more than could be said of many of the others who had been rescued alongside him. So, yes, aching and emaciated and frozen and frightened, Michael Carter was lucky.

He still wasn't entirely clear on how he'd ended up in America, nor on how long he'd been gone. The base where he had been held had been attacked by some military group—S.H.I.E.L.D., they called themselves. It stood for something rather cumbersome, but as they had rescued him, Michael wasn't complaining. They seemed to be based out of America, and the last time Michael had asked, he had been in Germany. Evidently, Germany was no longer considered enemy territory, because they spent a bit of time there in a field hospital before getting on a boat, and now they were in the States. It had been two weeks since the rescue, and Michael had slept for a good deal of that. It was amazing how tired being frozen in an icebox could make one.

So now he was in America. He was promised to be allowed to go home once he was recovered and had been debriefed by S.H.I.E.L.D. He supposed he couldn't begrudge them that. They had rescued him, after all. It seemed only polite to supply them with whatever information he could. He wondered if the war was still going on. (He kept meaning to ask, but until recently, he'd had a great deal of trouble staying awake for very long.) He'd been suspicious at first of their promises, but no one had tried to hurt him, everything he'd needed had been cheerfully supplied, and he was currently sitting in a sunny, private hospital room, not chained to the bed and no guards at the doors. He really was free.

He'd fallen asleep again, and as he came awake, he sensed that there was someone beside him. Instincts honed by his time in captivity made him tense up, but the only movement that was forthcoming was a gentle hand coming to rest on his forehead. Michael remembered then where he was and relaxed, opening his eyes curiously as the hand resting on his forehead began carding its fingers through his hair. He'd yet to have one of the nurses do that.

As he blinked open his eyes, the hand in his hair stilled. The person beside him slowly coalesced from a blurry figure into a familiar face he'd often thought of during his time in captivity.

"Peggy?" he breathed.

His sister was sitting beside him, smiling down at him happily. She looked just as he remembered. Well, no, that wasn't quite true. Her hair was longer. She looked a bit older than he remembered. But it was his little sister, alive and well and sitting beside him. She grinned widely, though moisture sparkled in her eyes. "Hello, you," she said.

"Peggy," he said again, too happy to say much else.

She kissed his cheek warmly, then leaned in to adjust his pillows and help him sit up, and he got his first proper look at her. Her hair hung long and loose in curls that danced around her shoulders. She wore a red cardigan over a patterned dress that—his eyes boggled a bit at the very noticeable swelling underneath her dress that distorted the floral print. A gold ring shone on the fourth finger of the hand she pulled away from his pillow, and Michael suppressed a sigh. Non-regulation hair, civilian clothes, married and well along in a family way…It seemed as though Fred Wells had made a proper housewife of his sister after all. He was so happy to see her, truly and without words to express it, but his heart ached at the realization that Peggy had given up on the life of adventure she'd once craved.

"How are you feeling?" Peggy asked him, sitting back in her chair.

"Well enough," Michael said, not sure what she'd been told about what had happened to him. "More tired than anything else."

She gave him a smile. "Well, you've got plenty of time to rest now." She reached over and tucked a strand of hair back behind his ear. "I've let Mum know you're here. She'll be arriving next week—she had a bit of trouble getting a plane ticket."

Michael nodded. Even if the war was over by now, he imagined travel was still restricted. Which did beg the question… "So, you weren't at home, then?" he asked. "When they told you about me? How did you end up over here?"

"You mean in America?" she clarified. He nodded. "I live here," she told him. "Since after the war." Right, so the war was over, then, but it did surprise him that Fred had transferred over here, having been so keen on the Home Office. She smiled, carrying on. "I'm afraid there's rather a lot for you to catch up on."

He did have to smile at that. "Yes, I can see that," he said, nodding in the direction of her bulging midsection.

She shot him a look that was very familiar. "It takes a brave man to comment on a pregnant woman's appearance," she told him. "I should smack you for such cheek, but I'll save it for later as you're in a hospital bed."

He chuckled. "You look lovely, Peg," he told her. "When can I expect to be an uncle, then?"

"Well, you already are," she told him. She fished down into her purse and pulled out a snapshot. In it, Peggy was in front of a laundry line, an empty basket at her feet. She was holding up one leg of a pair of men's trousers hanging from the line and laughing at the small, dark-haired boy who had clearly just jumped out from behind them waving his hands. "This is James," she said. "He's three. But this one," she said, patting her stomach. "Should be along in May. Plenty of time for you to get back on your feet again."

She smiled at the photo. "He does love helping with the laundry. He's dreadful at it, of course, being three, but he's ever so willing. He's just learned how to roll up the clean socks, so letting him do that allows for everything else to be folded in the meantime." She chuckled. "He once managed to tie a tea towel into a knot somehow while he was 'folding' it. We never worked out how."

Michael nodded, studying the photograph for a moment. It was a lovely little scene, Peggy and the boy both laughing, and him looking so much like her. It was just so…domestic. She did look happy, but the thought of her spending her days at home washing Fred's trousers and rolling his socks was rather cutting.

"He's a good-looking lad," Michael said, handing the picture back. He gave her a teasing smile. "Looks rather like me."

She laughed. "Well, that's just blatantly fishing for compliments, but, yes, he does."

Michael laughed. "And what does Mother think of you keeping her only grandchild so far away?"

Peggy smiled. "I think Mum was just so happy to finally have grandchildren, she doesn't complain much."

Michael nodded. Their mother had always been after Peggy to 'act more like a lady'. He supposed it didn't get more ladylike than settling down and starting a family.

"But that's enough about me," Peggy said. "I came here to see you."

He smiled. "Peg, I'm alive and well enough. I would much rather hear about how you've got on since I've been away." And though she was a doting mother and housewife now instead of the adventurous fighter he remembered, it was true. She was still his sister after all.

She smiled at him softly, though there was something a bit sad in it. "Alright," she said, and the way she said that made him suddenly think she might have been told more about what happened to him than he'd thought. "Where would you like me to start?"

"Seeing as you didn't invite me to the wedding," he said, and though he was teasing, he saw a flash of pain in her eyes that made him regret saying it. "Why don't you start there?"

"Of course," she said. "I'm afraid it isn't very glamourous to tell—the whole affair was small and a bit rushed."

"I thought you had something rather grand planned out?" He remembered hearing some details on that front during the engagement party.

"Oh, well, that had all changed by then, of course," she said. "And there was the job to schedule around, and…" She shrugged. "It was just as well. A small wedding was really what I'd wanted all along, and as long as the right man was waiting for me at the altar…" She smiled fondly. "It was lovely. I've got some photographs somewhere that I could bring if you'd like to see them."

"I'd like that," he told her. He took her hand. "I'm sorry I missed it."

"I am too," she said softly. "If we'd known you were still alive—"

"Now, don't," he told her. "I'm here now."

She smiled. "You are." She squeezed his hand. "And I'm very glad."

"So, go on, then," he said. "You were—"

They were interrupted by a tentative knock at the door. A man's head poked in, then smiled. "Oh, good, this is the right room."

"Hello, darling," Peggy said, rising from her seat as he came in. Michael watched, confused, growing even more so when she reached the man and kissed him warmly. "What?" Peggy asked, turning back and seeing the look on his face.

"That's not Fred," Michael said. Admittedly, he'd only met the man once, and a lot had happened since then, but he remembered well enough to know that this was not Fred Wells.

Peggy laughed. "No, of course not! Have you…Were you thinking this whole time I had married Fred?"

"That was who you were engaged to when I left," Michael pointed out.

"He makes a good point," the man said, evidently not put out about the confusion. He stepped forward, leaning in to shake Michael's hand. "Steve Carter. I've heard a lot about you. Nice to finally meet you."

"And you," Michael said automatically, looking the man up and down and trying to take in this new development. He was tall and broad, a blond-haired, blue-eyed American who carried himself as though he'd been in the military. And if she'd dumped Fred, and this man was a soldier…

"Did you go through with the S.O.E. job, then?" Michael wondered. "Is that how the two of you met?"

"In a roundabout way," Peggy said, sitting back down. Steve pulled up another chair and sat down beside her. "But I left the S.O.E. a long time ago," she went on.

Anger churned in Michael's gut. This was worse than if she'd gone through with marrying Fred—she'd got away from him and started to find herself again, only for some over-sized Yank to snatch her up and cart her off to the States as a war bride. He kept his face carefully neutral, looking up at his new brother-in-law. "Not keen on her work there, then?" Michael asked him.

"Oh, no, what she did there was great," Steve corrected. "But I don't think we would have gotten very far if she'd stayed there."

It bothered him to see Peggy smiling at the comment, almost as if she was pleased!

"It sure would have made my job more difficult," Steve went on, and Peggy actually laughed at that. Michael was seething. Was that all his sister was to this man—someone to keep his house and mind his children and make his life easier?

"Well, I would say you flatter me, darling, but you're entirely right," she said, still laughing as she got to her feet. "How you would have survived without me, I shudder to think." She kissed his cheek. "I've got to pop to the loo, but as it's just by the cafeteria, would anyone like me to bring back a cup of tea?"

"Tea would be lovely, Peg," Michael told her. "Though I've had trouble getting a decent cuppa here."

"I know where to find the good stuff," she told him with a smile. "And I suppose your usual heathen beverage for you?" she asked, looking at Steve.

Steve shook his head in exasperation. "If you don't mind, sure," he said. "Do you want me to come help you carry it?"

"No," she said, moving for the door. "I've got it." She waved in Michael's direction. "Get to know your brother-in-law."

Steve chuckled, turning back to Michael as she walked away. "You know, I can't say I ever thought I'd have a brother-in-law."

"Well, you've got one now," Michael said firmly, letting the man know he meant business. He may have been too late to stop his sister making the mistake of marrying him, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to do his bit as older brother.

"Yeah, I guess I do," Steve replied, either missing the bite in Michael's tone or ignoring it. "It's nice. I always came from a real small family before—no aunts or uncles or cousins or anything."

Michael wasn't sure what to do with that. "What did Peggy mean by 'your usual heathen beverage'?" he wondered.

Steve chuckled. "I don't take milk in my tea. She calls me all kinds of names for it. I think my favorite so far has been when she called me a 'benighted colonist'."

Michael couldn't quite suppress a chuckle at that. "She does have a way with words, doesn't she?" He looked Steve up and down. "So," he said, pulling the conversation back on track. "What brought the two of you together, then?"

"Well, the short answer is the Army," Steve said. "I fell pretty hard for her almost the second I saw her. Probably took her a little longer to come around to me," he added with a self-deprecating chuckle. "But we worked together for a while, and by the end of it…" He smiled. "I knew there would never be anyone else."

Michael found it difficult to keep up his anger at the man when his face made it so clear that he was absolutely and ineffably in love with his sister. But then he recalled how he'd said they'd worked together in the Army—how he would have seen Peggy's fighting spirit—and still seen the need to bring her back here and make her settle down anyway, and found he could stoke that anger back up after all.

"So, you worked together," Michael said. "Up along the front lines?" he clarified. Steve nodded. "And then?" he asked.

"Then I came home," Steve said, sounding suddenly so old and tired that Michael found himself sympathizing. "It was time for a quiet life."

Michael really wanted to take umbrage at Steve's deciding for the both of them that the fight was over, but the man was so sincere, it really was hard to be angry at him. That didn't mean he wasn't going to try. "So, the home front, then? A quiet house, kids in the yard, nine to five in the office…And Peggy was alright with that?" He may as well ask it outright.

Steve was picking up on some of Michael's hostility now, and though he looked a bit puzzled by it, he didn't rise to the bait. "I think Peggy certainly wishes it was just nine to five sometimes, but, yeah." He looked Michael over, no anger, no pity, just…compassion? "This probably feels really weird to you, coming back after so long away. You know with your head that things will have changed, but it's still a shock to see it. It can be hard to get used to. I'm sorry if I'm throwing too much at you."

Must the man sound so understanding? Michael suddenly felt as though he could tell Steve everything that had happened to him, and he wouldn't just listen, but that he would understand, truly understand. He was making it very difficult to hate him.

"Tea's on," Peggy said, coming back into the room with a tray. Steve got up to help her distribute the cups and the biscuits she'd come up with from somewhere. Before Steve sat back down, he crossed the room and picked up a blanket from the top of one of the cupboards, folding it in half and draping it over the end of the bed where Michael's feet were, as though he knew how hard a time he was having staying warm.

"We'll see if we can't scrounge you up some good socks," Steve said, sitting back down. "Warm feet will go a long way to helping the rest of you stay warm."

Michael eyed Steve curiously—there was that oddly understanding tone again.

"What have you two been talking about?" Peggy asked, sitting back down.

"I was telling Michael about how we met," Steve said. He smirked. "I left out the part where you shot me."

"Bringing it up now is hardly leaving it out, darling," Peggy sighed with fond exasperation. "And I didn't shoot you, I shot at you."

"The difference being?" Michael wondered.

"I didn't hit him," Peggy said matter-of-factly, taking a sip of her tea.

Michael considered this. "Why did you shoot him?" This was…The conversation had taken an odd turn.

"Shot at him," Peggy corrected. "There was a misunderstanding. Had he been better at communicating in the first place, I would not have needed to take such drastic measures, but it was cleared up eventually."

Steve chuckled. "I did kind of bring it on myself. I was terrible at talking to girls," he added, as though that explained anything at all.

"You've gotten much better at it," Peggy said fondly, leaning in to kiss him.

Michael looked down at his tea as they took their moment of affection, trying to work out what exactly was going on here. It occurred to him to wonder if Steve had picked up on Michael's displeasure more astutely than Michael had thought, and this story was a way of pointing out that he was well aware that Peggy would not be pushed into anything that made her unhappy.

"So, are you feeling more caught up, then?" Peggy asked him.

"You know, I'm not sure," Michael said, suddenly feeling he was missing some pieces of the puzzle.

"What else do you need?" Peggy asked, leaning in a bit closer. "Anything at all." She picked up his hand again. "Even without everything you've been through—"

She was interrupted by a knock at the door. "Deputy Director Carter?" an uncertain voice asked as a man's head peeped around the door.

Peggy sighed. "What is it?" she asked, turning in her seat to face the door.

"Um, Mr. Stark was hoping—"

"No," Peggy said, interrupting the man. "It is my day off. I am in this hospital to see my brother who has been presumed dead for the past fourteen years, and Howard was explicitly told not to interrupt unless he was actively on fire or S.H.I.E.L.D. was being attacked by an actual Hydra. He bloody well knows better, and he will wait until Monday. Tell him those words exactly."

"Yes, Ma'am," the man said, then disappeared.

"Sorry about that," Peggy said, turning back around as though something normal had just occurred. "I knew it was too much to hope I could be on site for more than an hour without someone needing something. What?" she asked, catching Michael's expression.

Michael was gaping at her. There had been so much packed into that exchange that he wasn't even sure where to start.

"Michael, are you alright?" she asked.

"Fourteen years?" he finally managed to say. Might as well start with the biggest question.

"Yes," Peggy said slowly. The penny dropped. "No one's told you that, have they?"

"No," he said quietly.

"Oh, Michael, I'm so sorry," she said. "I thought you knew." She sighed and rubbed her hand across her forehead. "That was hardly the way you should have found out."

"How long did you think it had been?" Steve asked gently.

Michael shrugged. "Three or four years. Perhaps five. I knew some time had passed, but…"

Steve nodded. "You lose a lot of time on the ice," he said. "And Hydra…Well, they're interested in how long they can keep someone frozen without damage. They could have had you in there for years at a time." The sorrow in his voice told Michael that he was not Steve's first encounter with this process of Hydra's.

"It's really 1954?" Michael asked.

"It really is," Peggy replied.

"And that man called you…" he began, pointing to the door and thinking of what the man had said when he came in. "Do you work for S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

"She pretty much runs it," Steve said.

"I don't run it; I'm the Deputy Director," Peggy said.

"They'd be in shambles without you," Steve insisted.

"Wait, so you…When you said you left the S.O.E. behind…" Michael said, trying to keep up.

"It was because I moved to the S.S.R., which eventually became S.H.I.E.L.D.," she said. She looked at him curiously. "What did you think I meant when I said that?"

Michael felt color rising in his cheeks. "Ah…"

Steve chuckled, though he appeared to be trying very hard not to.

"What?" Peggy asked.

"I get it now," Steve said with a nod. Michael half-expected him to be upset, but the look he gave Michael was amused. He turned back to Peggy. "I think your brother may have been under the impression that I made you quit the Army to keep house after we got married."

Peggy snorted. "That's ridiculous."

"No, it isn't," Michael said, feeling his cheeks going redder. He was in a bit of a hole, but he was going to own up to his mistake. "He's right; that's exactly what I thought."

Peggy crossed her arms. "Why in the world would you think that?"

"In my defense," Michael said. "You were ready to give up on the S.O.E. and marry Fred last time I saw you. And, you know, the hair, the clothes, the…" He waved a bit awkwardly at her stomach and she arched a dangerous eyebrow. "It's all very domestic looking," he hurried to finish.

"Michael Edward Carter! I—" she began furiously.

"I'm sorry!" Michael said, raising his hands in surrender and wishing he wasn't sitting down so he could back away.

"Well, you had better be!" she snapped, looking very much like she wanted to hit him. He suddenly had no trouble at all imagining her taking a shot at Steve in a similar mood, and he wondered what he might have done to invoke such ire.

"I am!" he insisted. "Truly, Peg."

She continued to glare. "And all the things Steve and I have said so far? That didn't set you straight?"

"I might have been misinterpreting them through the lens of my assumption," he admitted, earning a snort of amusement from Steve. Peggy turned her glare on him.

"I'm glad you think it's funny," she said.

"No, I just…" He leaned in and kissed her cheek, which Michael thought either made him a very brave or a very foolish man. "I'm just realizing how what I said would have come across if he was thinking that. I can see how he might have gotten there." He kissed her again, then picked up her empty tea cup. "Why don't I go get us some more tea and give you two a moment?" He gathered up his cup and Michael's and left.

They sat there in silence for a moment after Steve left.

"You're an idiot," Peggy said at last.

"I know," Michael agreed.

She gave him a sideways look. "Did you really think so little of me?" she asked, not entirely successful in keeping all the hurt out of her voice.

"Peg," he said, reaching over and taking her hand. He took it as a good sign that she didn't pull away. "I have always thought the world of you," he said, squeezing her hand warmly. "And I do hope you know," he went on. "That it wasn't the thought of you being a housewife that upset me. If that was what you wanted, then there would be nothing wrong with that, and I would be happy for you. I could never be disappointed in you—I was just disappointed that it looked like you'd been forced to give up on your dreams."

Peggy said nothing for a long moment, though her expression softened. "I've thought about it a lot, you know," she said at last. "The last time we saw each other. You were right—I'd just gotten tired and let other people drum my dreams out of me. I knew you were right, and that was why I got so angry with you." She gave him a watery smile. "And then you died, and—"

"Peggy," he said softly, stretching up to hug her. He patted her back as she buried her face in his shoulder. "It's alright."

"No, it isn't," she said into his shoulder. "That was the last we ever spoke to each other, and I was awful. I—"

He kissed the top of her hair. "Don't go thinking I've been rotting away in a Hydra prison despairing over our last fight," he told her. "You're my sister—we fight all the time. As evidenced by the last five minutes," he added, earning a chuckle from her. "It was all the good memories that got me through, not the bad," he went on. "I've never held that against you, and I'll thank you not to do so either. I don't take kindly to people who make my sister feel badly, you know."

She sniffled and sat up, but her eyes were dry and she was smiling. "I am glad you're home," she said. "And I'm glad that you were willing to say what you did back then. Fred was never the love of my life."

"Is Steve?" Michael wondered.

The look on her face told him the answer before she had even opened her mouth. "Very much so," she replied.

"I'm glad," Michael said.

"I think you would like him, if you gave him half a chance," Peggy said. "Rather than sitting here thinking he's been taking advantage of me." She shook her head. "He's done nothing but respect me and what I can do since the day we met."

Michael nodded. "Good. You deserve someone like that."

"I do," Peggy agreed. A smile quirked up one corner of her mouth. "You know he took my name when we married?"

Michael felt his eyebrows going up in surprise. "Really?"

Peggy gave an amused roll of her eyes. "Did you not wonder about his last name when he introduced himself?"

Michael did recall thinking it was quite a coincidence, but… "I suppose I did, but there were other, more pressing things on my mind at the moment."

Peggy laughed. "Yes, well, he took my name, and I will have you know that he's never once suggested I step back from S.H.I.E.L.D. He supports me in all of it, and he's actually the one who stays at home with James."

Lights were coming on in Michael's brain. "So when he said earlier it was time for a quiet life…"

"He meant for himself, you spoon, not for both of us," she finished for him with a playful smack to his shoulder. Some of the mirth fell away from her eyes. "The war was…We fought together for most of the war, but Steve…By the time it was all over, Steve had fought a very different battle than I had. When he finally came back to me…" She let out a sigh, then her smile returned. "The arrangement we have is certainly unconventional, but it suits both of us perfectly."

"Well, then I'm happy for you," Michael said. He shot a questioning look at her swollen belly, and at the purse where the snapshot of his nephew resided. "And motherhood and your job…?"

"It is certainly a challenge," Peggy agreed. "Had I not been able to prove myself during the war, I think I would have been sent straight home when James came along, whether I wanted to or not. But I've worked hard to get to where I am, and the men who work for me have learned that motherhood is in no way a handicap. Some of them have learned it the hard way, but still," she added with a smile.

Michael chuckled. "I should dread to be the man who tried to suggest to Peggy Carter that she was incapable of something."

"Well, that's because you're a clever lad," Peggy said, ruffling his hair. A thoughtful look crossed her face. "Speaking of people who work for me…I gather by your reaction that, along with not being informed it was 1954, no one told you about my job before I did, did they?"

Michael shook his head.

Peggy nodded. "I did think you seemed surprised to see me, never mind your surprise at my working for S.H.I.E.L.D." She shook her head again. "You were supposed to be briefed, and once I find out who dropped the ball, I shan't have to worry about having the weekend shift covered for quite some time, I should think."

Michael chuckled. "Not going to take a shot at anyone?"

Peggy grinned. "It's not an offense of that level. One must save being shot at for the more egregious transgressions."

That made Michael laugh. "I must say, I'm growing ever more curious at what the love of your life must have done to earn a bullet from you."

"Four," Peggy said primly, and Michael's eyes widened, as did Peggy's grin. "And wouldn't you like to know?"