Dear Amazing Artist,

I hope this is alright… I was at an Art Gallery the other day and a pair of portraits of yours were hanging that captured my attention so fully that I stood there for almost an hour just staring at them. In case you have multiple artworks on display around the city, the ones I am referring to are the 'The Russian Ballerina and the Siberian Soldier' at the Brooklyn Art Gallery down on 62nd. The way you captured the soul of the figures you painted, their eyes… Oh, I was enraptured!

It took me a while to convince the young curator (a delightful Miss. Potts) to part with your email address. And even then she wouldn't give me your name, just the email address. But I was hoping to request—

Peggy pauses, her fingers stretched over the keyboard. She's been searching for the perfect Christmas gift for ages, and when she saw the painting she just knew.

—a portrait from you. A commission. My brother, Michael, was killed in action just two years ago. We have a photograph of him in uniform that was badly burned in a house fire. We lost many photos that day but my mother was most torn up about losing most of this particular photo.

I promise I do not tell you these things so that you will take pity and paint these for us, I just wanted to fully explain why I am requesting your talents.

I was hoping you would be willing to paint her a portrait of my brother. I really apologize for this email from a complete stranger, but I have never been so drawn to a piece of artwork before and I knew once I saw those portraits that I had to at least contact you to tell you what seeing your portraits meant to me.

If you would consider my request please email me back here at this address.

Thank you for your time,

Peggy Carter

—-

The email surprises Steve. He'd given strict instructions that he wanted his artwork to remain anonymous and that he didn't want his name or any identifying features on it.

The fact that Pepper had given out his email address was strange. But reading the woman's story gave him insight into why Pepper may have agreed to let her have his information.

A nondescript e-mail and no name is still quite anonymous.

He clicks reply and begins.

Dear Mrs. Carter,

I am ever so grateful to hear about your appreciation of my work. Of course every artist hopes their work will touch someone in some way and it is nice to hear a confirmation of that.

While I don't usually take commissions I am intrigued by your story.

First, I would like to say that I am sorry for your loss and for the devastating fire. Each one of those incidents would be heartbreaking to go through and I am ever so sorry that you had to go through both.

Second, I would be willing to consider your request. However, as this would of course be an incredibly personal piece, I would need to make sure I could accomplish it correctly. Would you be willing to send over scans of the partially burnt portrait and perhaps any other surviving photos of your brother? I like to see my subjects in different lights, angles, and scenarios so I can capture them correctly.

Once I have seen those, I believe I can give you an accurate assessment as to whether I am the right artist for you. And If I am not, I would be happy to direct you to perhaps another artist I know that could help.

Kind Regards

—-

The email pops through and she clicks on it instantly.

She reads it through several times and takes a deep breath. His request makes sense but it means sifting through the charred and painful remnants of their memories.

But she'll do it. She'll do it for her mother.

Dear Artist,

Of course I can send you photos. I appreciate someone who takes the time to do their due diligence, so I can't thank you enough for even considering this.

I will send them to this email as soon as I am able.

Thank you again,

Miss Peggy Carter.

—

There's no response but Peggy doesn't fret. Whoever this artist is seems to value their privacy in spades. She can't blame him or her for that. Artists have their ways and if it means a beautiful portrait of Michael for her mother then she really doesn't care what their name is.

She sifts through the boxes of photos and albums they were able to save, even if they still smell like smoke a year later.

She ends up sending over two dozen photos. The first being the portrait of him in his uniform. Half his face is burnt off, and only the top part of his uniform collar is showing, but she scans it carefully and sends it anyway. The rest are a mix. Michael at all different ages and angles. Some close up, others far away. A few include her or her parents but she makes sure each photo shows a different physical or personality aspect of Michael.

—

Steve clicks through the photos and is drawn into the family immediately. He assumes that the beautiful young woman in several of the photographs is the sister, Peggy who is emailing him. He can't help notice how attractive she is, but he focuses on the subject of the photos. He looks, studies and sketches Michael's face. Testing to see if he could do an adequate job.

In the end he decides that he can. And it surprises him more that he wants to.

Dear Miss Carter

I have studied your brother's photos and I do believe that I would like to take on this commission. I hope I can do a satisfactory job. Is there a specific date you need this completed by? If it's soon I can't make any promises, however I will attempt to have it ready for you as soon as possible.

Let me know.

Kind regards

—

Dear Artist,

This is to be a Christmas gift for my mother. Anytime up until December 24th I would be eternally grateful! I hope the two months will be enough time, however if you need more time than that, I am a patient woman and I know my mother will love it, whenever it's received.

Thank you,

Peggy

—

Dear Miss Carter,

I will most certainly have it done for you before Christmas Eve. Once it is finished I will request what address you would like it to be sent to.

Kind Regards

—

Dear Artist,

You have no idea how grateful I am! Thank you again for this. I will attach the address below and also, I am not well-knowledgeable in the world of the arts. And I assure you money is no object, what would be the commissioners fee? I want to make sure you are well compensated for your time and talent.

Look forward to hearing from you.

Peggy

—

Dear Miss Carter,

It is my pleasure. We can discuss the fee once you've seen the basic proof of the portrait and you are satisfied with it.

Kind regards

—-

She doesn't respond and there's about a two week gap in between communications. She's not concerned though. Art takes time.

It isn't until an email pops up from the artist's address and it has an attachment that she feels her heart leap to her throat.

There are three attachments. She clicks through and her eyes are instantly misty as she looks at the sketches. She goes back and reads the email.

Dear Miss Carter,

I hope you don't mind that I was so enthralled with capturing your brother's portrait that I ended up with a three set collage instead of a single portrait. I hope that is not too forward of me and I promise it will not affect the price. Each sketch is just that, a sketch. The finished portraits will be full color in oil paints on premium canvas and sealed or framed depending on your preference.

I hope these meet your expectations. It was a pleasure to draw your brother, he is a handsome gentleman with a kind face and wonderful eyes. Something I noticed he shares with your entire family.

Please let me know your thoughts.

Kind Regards

—

Peggy wants to show them to her mother immediately, but she restrains herself. She can't ruin her own surprise. But she finds herself clicking back to the email attachments multiple times that day. Studying the three beautiful sketches that are already so enrapturing that she would be happy to frame these and call it a day.

When the work day winds down she types her response.

Dearest Artist,

You have no idea the emotion I felt just looking at the sketches. They are incredibly beautiful and perfect. My mother will love the collage and I am so grateful for you taking the time and effort to create something so beautiful for my family.

I cannot wait to see your finished paintings!

Sincerely,

Peggy

P.s. If it's not too much, could I also pay you to receive those sketches when you've finished? Since the portraits are for my mother, I would love to have the sketches to keep as my own. If not, I understand. Thanks again.

—-

Steve smiles at the email, relief that she loved the sketches enough that he can solidify his plans.

Dear Miss Carter,

I will happily include the sketches at no extra cost. The joy you expressed at seeing them is payment enough already.

I will have the paintings shipped to you as soon as possible.

Kind Regards

—

Steve nods at the man in front of him, signing his name as he checks off the paintings and pieces that are being carried into the gallery.

"Steve?"

He turns to find Pepper walking up to him, her sharp heels clicking on the gallery's stone floor.

"Hello, Pepper. How are you?"

"I'm doing well, how are you?"

"I'm doing fine…" he trails off his eyes following the motions of the delivery men as they cart his artwork into the gallery.

"Nervous about all this?"

Steve huffs, Pepper can usually read him pretty well. "I've never had a full gallery opening for my artwork. It feels…" he gestures weakly with his hands. "Inadequate. My work is just…"

"Steve." Pepper says firmly, calling his attention. "I have never heard Tony come home from an art gallery actually interested in something he's seen. And 7 months ago, when he came home from what he'd left calling 'the most mundane fundraiser on the planet', talking about the sculpture work he'd seen at the gallery, and how I should look into it for this gallery, I knew there was something special about it." Pepper smiles. "Have I ever told you the truth about how we figured out who you were?"

Steve's mouth parts in surprise, "What do you mean? I thought we… you just found me at that art muse..." He trails off as her eyebrow rises in amusement. "You didn't just find me at an art museum?"

Pepper laughs, "Oh Steve, you are too trusting!" She puts a hand on his arm and leads him into the gallery to supervise how the pieces will be set up. "Since this is your very first full gallery opening, let me tell you a story that I think will help settle your mind about whether you think your pieces are adequate enough. Okay?" The uncertainty on Steve's face is clear but he nods. "When Tony came home talking about the actual artwork that was at the fundraiser instead of the food or the other inane gossip he usually spews, I knew it must have been something. So I went to that gallery and studied the pieces he'd specifically mentioned." She glances at Steve who is staring at her with a stunned expression. "When I asked the curator, I believe it was a… Sam Wilson?" Steve nods, "Yes, when I spoke to him, he informed me that the artist in question was not well-known and was preferring to keep their anonymity."

She smiles at him and calls out to one of her workers, helping them straighten a painting. She turns back to him with an amused grin. "Tony did not like that as you can imagine." She rolls her eyes good naturedly and Steve scrunches his nose. He and Tony were polar opposites but they got along relatively well now. "So, Tony decided to study your work, and follow it down the rabbit hole."

"What do you mean?"

"He created a program that analyzed artwork and matched your newest pieces to older pieces that had been catalogued online."

"You're kidding—" Steve stammers.

"I can assure you I am not." Pepper's facial expression is serious, but there's a glint of amusement in her eyes. "He was able to find pieces from various galleries, and he kept updating his program until we worked all the way backwards and found some of your very first pieces from your time at Auburndale. That led him to your teachers who, when he asked very nicely with a large donation, gave us your name."

Steve chokes out a disbelieving scoff but Pepper continues, "Once we learned your name, Tony had an easy enough time tracking you down at the art museum you were working for. I just happened to bump into you one day asking about an art piece and you were so helpful that I asked whether you did your own artwork to which you blushed," Steve ducks his head and blushes again, "yep, just like that- and you told me how you did a few things here and there. I asked if I could see some and the rest is, as they say, history."

Steve's eyes are wide and Pepper swears there is the tiniest of mist in his eyes. She smiles and puts a hand on his shoulder, "If my well-meaning but horribly nosy and incredibly snobby billionaire fiancé likes your work… then I think it is probably a good sign."

Steve's eyes close as he takes a deep breath. Then he shakes his head and a bit of amused annoyance colors his face. "I think I should feel violated about how much effort he went through to track me down. But… you were right. It does make me feel a little better."

"Steve I haven't even seen most of these pieces, I am so assured of your work I gave you a full gallery opening sight unseen. I mean, if I had been questioning it, the young woman in here a month ago basically begging me to give her your contact would have settled the argument." She chuckles but catches Steve's cheeks color. "Oh my— Steve! Did she contact you?"

"Yeah, she did…"

"Oh! I am so thrilled! After she told me her story I knew I had to. I know with your experience in the—" She cut herself off, knowing he doesn't like to talk about himself much. "I just knew you would understand. So I should have warned you, but I used your preferred anonymous email account."

"It's alright Pepper. I don't mind. I'm doing a commission for her, and I'm happy to."

"I can't believe you accepted a commission in the middle of working on your first gallery!"

He smiles, eyeing one of his favorite new sculpture's he'd created for the gallery. An incredibly detailed and painted metal sculpture of a hawk in flight with a bow clenched in it's talon and an arrow clamped in its beak. "I just felt like it was something I should do."

"I wish you would let us put your name on this gallery. I'm going to be fielding questions all night." Steve flinches for a moment and she holds up her hands in surrender, "I know.. I'm sorry. I know why you don't want that. But just know… Your work truly is amazing. You're sure you don't want a say on pricing?"

He grimaces, "No. Nope, definitely not. You're the expert on art and I trust your decisions. Just… for my sake will you keep them reasonable?"

She smiles at him genuinely and he smiles softly back. Tony was always rolling his eyes at 'Steve goody-two-shoes-Rogers', but they both had such a soft spot for the decorated soldier turned artist that Tony refused to admit to. The past 6 months of getting to know him had been a real point of joy for both her and Tony. They'd been so entrenched in the corporate snobbery that meeting Steve was a breath of fresh air. And he'd introduced them to some other wonderful down to earth folks as well. Their friend group was now a highlight of her week when they got to get together.

"Hold on a moment." Steve says, holding up his finger for her to wait. He walks over to a worker and picks up four smaller boxes that are set at the workers feet. There's a small exchange and soon Steve is walking back towards her.

He takes a deep breath. "I… I took your advice. Or.. I tried to. It was very difficult. But…" he looks up at her and a self-deprecating smile crosses his lips. "I did a variation of that self portrait you said I should."

Pepper almost lets out a gasp. "You did?"

"Yeah.. here." He sets the four boxes down on the floor and kneels next to them on a canvas sheet that's been laid down to protect the floors from the workers' boots.

He carefully unwraps four square canvases. He lays them out in order and gestures for her to look.

Each one is a portrait of hands. Steve's, she assumes since he'd called it a self portrait.

The first is a small set of hands, too thin, with bony wrists and pale skin pulled tight. The right hand is holding a charcoal pencil and sketching something, the beginnings of a face, while the left hand is gripping the sketch pad. The hands are resting on what looks like bed sheets on his lap. There's a cup of tea, a few tissues, and part of a book visible around the edges of the painting.

The next one is a slightly larger set of hands, still bony and frail but clenched in fists. Bruises and even blood, that looks like the hand had wiped away from his face, are in view. Asphalt is beneath the hands as if Steve is leaning on his elbows facing the ground.

Her eyes are drawn to the third. A much larger set of hands, thick and muscled forearms, wrists, and palms are in view. One hand has a beige fingerless glove, gripping the muzzle of a rifle and the other is holding the leather strap of something. She can't see what it is exactly, it's just rounded metal but the hand that holds it looks scarred and rough. The background is barely visible but it looks like sand.

The last one surprises her. The painting shows one hand, the left is still thick and muscled, matching what his arms look like to her today, and it rests, palm up, on his lap. While the other looks thinner and more like what his arm used to look like, just the adult version of them. The thinner hand is holding a paintbrush with different color paint swatches coating his skin. It should look strange, seeing two different sized hands but it doesn't, somehow it portrays the unusual story of Steve's life.

Pepper doesn't know much, Steve doesn't like to talk about himself hardly at all. She looks up, ready to tell him how extraordinary she thinks they are, but he's gone.

—

Dear Miss Carter,

Would you like the paintings framed? With glass? Or in bare canvas? Please let me know.

Kind regards

—

Dearest Artist,

I would love to know what you recommend?

Sincerely,

Peggy

—-

Dear Miss Carter,

I would recommend them to be framed but with no glass. I have sealed them, so they shouldn't degrade under normal living conditions. I do find glass can hide the texture and other aspects of a painting. However, that is just my suggestion. I would be happy to oblige whatever you think your mother would like.

Kind Regards

—

Dearest Artist,

I take your suggestion happily. Please tack on the cost of the framing to the final cost. I would be happy to receive whatever framing you think best.

Also… I went back to the gallery to show a friend your paintings that I loved so much and I saw that it was closed because they are changing all the artwork over for a new art showing. I emailed the delightful Miss Potts to ask where your lovely paintings were going to end up and she informed me that they would be included in the new art opening because the show is made up entirely of your work! I must admit I feel guilty asking you to take on an additional project in the middle of your other work.

Please know I am eternally grateful for your willingness. And I will be a devoted attendee to your opening!

Sincerely,

Peggy

—

Before he has a chance to respond, another email from her pops through.

Dear Artist,

I checked the dates for your gallery showing and saw that opening night is just three days away! I am already looking forward to it and bringing a friend! I know you prefer to remain anonymous… but I would be happy to meet you in person if you are there.

Sincerely,

Peggy

—

Dear Miss Carter,

I am honored that you will be attending the gallery's opening.

I will frame the pieces and they will be sent to the address you provided as soon as possible.

Kind Regards

—

Peggy doesn't miss the fact that the artist in question doesn't respond to her desire to meet them. She's not surprised but she can't say that she isn't the tiniest bit disappointed. Just the month and a half of emails have already felt a little like a friendship.

—-

Steve studies the invitation held in his hand.

The Iron Studios Art Gallery

Cordially invites you to the opening

of a brand new mixed media gallery show:

Along the Line

By the up and coming artist known as:

Nomad

Please join us to celebrate on December 15th at 8:00p.m.

Steve sighs. He should go. She'd want him to go. He looks over at the picture on his mantle. A little skinny 8 year old Steve was looking at the camera with a goofy wide mouth grin and his mom was hugging him from behind, looking down at him with love and contentment. He'd found the picture on her nightstand when he'd gone to clean out her little apartment.

He'd been overseas when it happened. Tuberculosis. A violent strain. Too quick for him to get proper leave. She was gone and buried before he even landed in the states.

He'd enlisted to get help with college. He was only going to be in the army just long enough to earn tuition. Bucky was doing the same thing. But she'd died the year before he was going to get out. So… he didn't come home. Bucky tried to convince him to get out, but he didn't want to go back yet. He fought for a few more years, earning medals he didn't want and becoming a Captain which was never his plan. He was about to sign up for another 4 years when one of his commanders had taken him aside and told him there wasn't anywhere he could run from grief. Might as well go home.

So he had. He'd finished his contract and went back to Brooklyn. Moved in with Bucky and promptly moved back out when Bucky had proposed to his girlfriend Natasha.

They insisted he could live with them, but he politely declined. Being alone was hard enough. Being alone while constantly surrounded by people in love? Much worse.

He'd only been home about a month before he'd landed the job at the museum. Originally they had him in security. His army record and size helped him there. But soon they discovered that he actually knew a lot about art and art history and they offered him a position as a guide. He'd happily accepted and with his new raise in pay had started creating and selling his works anonymously online. He took art classes at Auburndale and earned a BA in art history and a Masters in Fine Arts.

Then almost a year ago, a redhead had approached him asking an innocuous question about some art piece in the museum. The rest was history.

He glances at the photo again and sighs. He picks up his phone.

I'll go. Just… No acknowledgement, okay?

She replies as if she'd been waiting for this text all day

Steve! Yes, of course. I've already told Tony that he can't talk to you (which he's pissed about by the way even though he pretends he doesn't care) and Sam knows to keep his distance too. Nothing that will draw attention to you. Thank you, Steve! You'll love it, I promise.

He slides the invitation back into its envelope and places it in a desk drawer. He paints for a while before biting at his cheek. He walks back to his phone, grabbing it and dialing a number. "Hey, Hill? Yeah, it's Steve. I need help with something. Uh-huh, yeah. Do you know where I can get a suit? No, I don't want to wear my dress uniform. Because— No, becau— Maria, I swear I don't remember you being this annoying when we were fighting a literal war together— Oh, really? Well technically I'm still— No, nope. Okay. Geez, I— Just something nice, but not attention grabbing. Ooohkaay… thanks for that. You know what, never mind I'll call Nata— No, I don't want to ask Tony—" His head snaps up as his apartment buzzer goes off. "Hill? I gotta call you back. Or maybe I won't, bye!" He ends the call and rolls his eyes at the phone, walking the few steps to his intercom.

"Hello?"

"Whats up, Rogers. Got some duds for you."

"What? Tony?"

"Uh, yeah, who else? Buzz me in."

Steve does and waits the few minutes it takes for Tony to knock on his door.

"Hey, there's the star of the show." Tony quips, breezing into his apartment, a garment bag hanging over his arm. "Pep let me know you are actually going to finally show up to one of these things."

"Yeah, I guess so."

Tony deadpans, "Don't look so excited."

"I'm just—"

"I know, the shy and retiring old grandpa."

"Tony."

"Gramps?"

Steve glares at him but Tony just smirks back.

"You watch that show I told you about yet?" Tony asks, walking towards Steve's bedroom door and hanging the garment bag on a hook.

"I haven't yet, but I will. Maybe the night of the opening instead."

He finally gets a reaction out of Tony, narrowed eyes and a grouchy tone, "Don't you dare, Rogers. Pepper was over the moon when you agreed to come. Don't you make her sad. I'll fight you myself."

Steve lets a half smile quirk up and Tony rolls his eyes.

"Not funny, Rogers." He responds flatly.

"Tony, you know I'd never make a promise to Pepper and then not keep it. I value my life. And I'm more afraid of her, than of you."

Tony growls in annoyance, flipping him off. "She is a force to be reckoned with. Even your ridiculously large muscles wouldn't stand a chance against Pep."

"No arguments there."

"So you'll be there? You promise?" Something about the way he asks this makes Steve realize that both he and Pepper are afraid he'll back out.

"I don't really know why it matters that much." Steve says, shrugging his shoulders, "but yes, I'll be there. But as a guest, not the artist."

"Whatever you say, Nomad."

"You can't make fun of the name that you picked out for me, Tony."

"Actually Steve, I can." He gestures at the suit and then starts to waltz out the door, "I'll bring by some shoes tomorrow."

"Tony, I don't need you to give me a suit or—"

"Steve." Tony snaps, cutting him off, "wear it for Pepper, okay?"

Steve rolls his eyes knowing he's being played. "Fine, Tony. Whatever you say."

"Good." The door clicks shut and Steve eyes the garment bag, reluctantly walking over to inspect it.

—-

Peggy pulls Angie along.

"Geez, English, what's got your panties in a twist?"

"I don't want to be late."

"For an art gallery? I don't think it's like Broadway, sweetie. They're not gunna make us wait til intermission."

"Hush." Peggy pouts, "I just.. I don't want to miss anything."

"I swear I've never known someone so over the moon about an art piece, it's wild."

"You haven't seen them, the dual paintings I saw here are gorgeous. And the curator said there will be more than paintings tonight!"

"Whoever this lucky lad or lady is has no idea what an avid fan they have."

"I can't explain it, Angie. You'll know what I mean when you see them."

They stop at the line to get in the door. Peggy looks at the crowd to get in and hears Angie whistle. "Well, geez. Color me wrong. This place is hopping!"

"I'm so glad we got here when we did." Peggy glances back at the line that is already stretching behind them.

"I heard that Tony Stark is going to be here tonight. That and the holiday crowd are really going to drag people in. They must be making bank on the entrance fees alone!"

"Entrance fees?" Peggy asks.

"Yeah…" Angie looks at her questioningly, "All these fancy art galleries always have an entrance fee to get in." Peggy's eyes widen. "Oh no, English… Tell me you paid the entrance fee!"

"I didn't know there was one! There was nothing about it on the website!" Angie huffs and strides away to the large security man at the front of the line. Peggy can hear her speak.

"Excuse me, Mr…" She sees Angie read his name tag. "Hogan? Is there an entrance fee? My friend says she didn't see anything on the website."

"No," the man responds calmly. "There's no entrance fee. We will only stop letting people in once we reach capacity or 15 minutes before closing."

"Oh… Is that normal? Don't these things usually have a fee?" The man quirks up an eyebrow but Angie stands firm. Peggy cringes, Angie's never been shy.

"Usually we do have an entrance fee for gallery openings such as this one. However the artist whose work is being showcased tonight requested that the entrance fee be waved."

"Oh." Angie contemplates this as she walks back towards Peggy. "There's no entrance fee…." She looks completely puzzled. "I'm shocked. As a member of the art community I know how much entrance fees can save a night if the artwork doesn't sell. I'm surprised."

"He said the artist didn't want a fee?"

"Yeah. Must be being bankrolled by Tony Stark."

"Hmm. Maybe."

They stand, rubbing their hands together to stay warm. Only 2 minutes till 8.

—

Steve stands in Pepper's office. His hands fiddling with his cufflinks, little silver stars. The deep blue velvet suit with dark red silk lining and crisp white shirt clings tightly to his body. He'd tried it on and immediately called Tony saying he couldn't wear it. But Pepper had answered and he'd caved before even getting a real protest in.

But now… His nerves were making his hands fidgety and he kept running his hands through his hair. He hadn't gotten a haircut in months and it was much longer than he usually wore it. He'd considered shaving the beard he'd been growing but decided to keep it. Maybe it would help him blend in.

"Steve?" A voice from the hallway calls.

"Yeah, Buck, I'm in here." He turns to find his best friend standing there, with a grin on his face.

"Holy hell, Rogers. I thought you said you didn't want to attract attention? Could that suit be any tighter?"

Steve immediately felt sick. "Oh geez, you're right. I shouldn't have let Pepper talk me into this. I'm just going to go." Steve starts to reach up to rip at his tie when Bucky's hand stops him.

"Hey, hey, wooah." He pushes Bucky's hand away and tries again, "Stop-hey Steve, STOP." Bucky's grip on his hand makes him look down to see genuine concern on Bucky's face, "Steve, I was just kidding with you."

Steve grimaces, stepping back, "No, you're right. This suit is way too much. I tried to tell her no but she really wanted me too and you know Pepper... Will you tell her I'm sorry? I have to go." He takes a step but Bucky puts his hand on Steve's chest halting him.

"Oh, hell no, Steve. You are not leaving. You've been holed up in that apartment for too long. You have no idea how excited everyone is for you to actually be attending one of these things!"

"It's not a big deal, Buck."

"Not a big deal?" He shakes Steve's shoulders and taps his cheek to get him to meet his eyes. "Steve. You're an amazing artist! Everyone is here to celebrate you—"

"Not everyone." The words slip out of his mouth before he can stop them and he instantly regrets it. The knot in his throat makes it hard to swallow and he takes a step back.

Bucky frowns, "Steve. She'd want you to be happy. You've got to stop beating yourself up about that."

"I wasn't there, Buck! My mom needed me and I wasn't there." Steve screws his palms into his eye sockets and laughs a brittle laugh. "You wanna know why I haven't come to any gallery openings that have been showcasing my art?"

"Why?"

"Because when I was 17 and I told her I was going to enlist so that I could pay for art school, she smiled and said she couldn't wait to be first in line to see my artwork in a gallery. That she couldn't wait to see my name displayed proudly on my work."

There's a beat of silence where something clicks in Bucky's head, "that's why you won't put your name on your work?"

Steve chokes out a bitter scoff, "why put my name on it if the one person I want to see it won't ever get the chance?" Bucky's eyes bore into his and he looks down at his shoes.

"Oh Steve." A new voice startles both steps into the room, her expression so full of concern that it makes him look away. "Steve, you've got to stop torturing yourself."

Bucky clears his throat and steps towards Steve, reaching his arm out to grasp Steve's shoulder. "You know she would never have wanted you to feel this way. She knows that you were trying to get home to her. You can't let this guilt of not being there control your life."

Natasha's soft hand slips into his and she reaches out to Bucky who takes her other hand. Steve lets out a deep sigh. "It just feels wrong that I am still here when she's the reason I'm even alive in the first place. All that I've done… It was to prove to her that I was worth her time, her effort… now I don't have that chance."

Bucky's hands tightens on his shoulder painfully. "Steven Grant Rogers." Bucky snarls, "Don't you ever, EVER say something like that again! If your mom—" he pinches the bridge of his nose, breathing deeply, calming himself. "If you ever insinuate that because you were sick you somehow had to earn back your mother's—" he can't finish, he's glaring at Steve and Steve glares back.

Natasha opens her mouth to speak but is cut off by another voice from the hallway. "Steve?"

"In here." His voice is gravelly, and Bucky is still staring at him furiously.

Pepper appears looking stunned, "the doors have opened and we're already at capacity! I've never reached capacity so quickly! Although there's no entrance fee. That may be a new thing. I love the crowds!" She smiles and waves at herself as if she knows she's talking too quickly, "I promise it's very busy out there and you can mingle unnoticed."

"Not in that suit he can't." Natasha says with a sly grin, her eyebrows wiggling.

Steve groans and Bucky looks affronted, "Hey! I'm the only one you should have eyes for here."

"You are dear," Natasha says gently, patting his shoulder, "of course you are." She smiles at Steve and taps her nose. "I know you were thinking of shaving the beard but you shouldn't."

"Oh, definitely!" Pepper jumps in, her pursed lips turning up in a smile, "you should definitely keep the beard, and the longer hair."

"Absolutely." Natasha agrees.

"Well I think he looks stupid." Bucky says huffily, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Thanks, Buck." Steve responds flatly.

"Anytime, Stevie." The glare at each other, but their brotherly affection wins out and Bucky pulls him into a hug before shoving him. "We're gunna talk more about that crap you spewed later." He threatens before waving to the two women.

The three of them leave him, walking out the door back down the hallway and into the main gallery space. Steve takes an extra minute before taking a deep breath and walking out to join the crowds.

—-

Peggy and Angie stare in awe as they work their way through the different wings. The first had been sketches, charcoal drawings of buildings and landscapes mostly. But the most captivating was a bound book that when you flipped through had page after page of faces, rough outlines of jaws and noses and mouths, but the eyes were fully detailed and drew the onlooker in with the wide range of expressions that the artist was able to portray through them.

Angie pulls her to the next wing of the gallery where there are sculptures. A painted metal hawk seems to be the major draw of attention. And it is indeed beautiful, but Peggy is drawn to a small wolf sculpture, about the size of her forearm, made out of metal that has been painted so delicately that it looks like it has fur. It's muzzle is pointed to the ceiling letting out a silent howl to a moon that isn't there. Peggy looks at the description and sees that it is titled "Free".

Something about it's joyous silent howl is so touching that she reaches out her hand and just barely touches the cool metal.

"Peggy!" Angie hisses, waving her over, she looks at the sculpture one last time before following Angie into the most crowded room.

"What is it?"

"Oh my lord, he is so handsome!" Angie squeals, dragging Peggy to a corner and pointing towards the opposite side of the room.

"Who is?" Peggy asks, following her finger. But the question answers itself as she sees him. A tall man, his head decently above the rest of the crowd, thick beard and what looks like soft hair gently swooping beck from his forehead. His wide shoulders are tucked tightly against the handsome blue velvet of his suit and Peggy catches him fidgeting with his tie. "Oh heavens." She breathes as Angie giggles.

"I'm going to go talk to him!" Angie grins, taping her fingers to her lips, "I saw him first."

Peggy laughs, "You did, don't screw it up though, I call dibs next." She winks and Angie laughs, disappearing through the crowd towards the man.

She turns and walks slowly back towards the sculpture wing. She stops at the nearest display. Drawn in by the incredible rendering of a heart that looks like it's made out of engine parts. She looks at the title: Proof and even though she doesn't understand what it means, she feels like she's part of an inside joke.

—

Steve's standing awkwardly, trying to blend in and not draw attention to himself when a small brunette appears before him.

"Hello!" She says cheerily.

"Hello," he says quietly, his fingers which were tugging at his tie go still and fall to his sides.

"I'm Angie."

He swallows nervously, "I'm Steve."

"It's nice to meet you Steve, are you an art fanatic?" She glances around and he chuckles a bit at the question.

"I do love art, yes."

"I'm more of a theatrical arts girl myself, but I will say I have been majorly impressed by this gallery."

Steve uh-Hmms and smiles politely, unsure of what to say.

"Are you here with someone? A girlfriend maybe?"

Steve looks at her with wide eyes, "No, I'm just here with friends."

"Oh, me too!" Angie stands on her tippy toes and looks about, she spots Peggy walking across and points her out, "There's my friend, hey, English!" Steve winces at the loud shout, many people turn towards the shouting confused, but it gets the girl's attention and she turns towards Angie who waves her over.

Steve takes one look at her and knows. He's seen her face constantly in the last two months as he's studied her brother's photos. It's her.

"Angie!" The woman hisses, "You can't be hollering across a gallery like this. It's like a library!"

"Oh, they can get over it. English— I mean, Peggy? This is Steve. Steve, this is Peggy."

Peggy reaches her hand out, smiling at him. His mind goes blank at her red-lipped smile and deep brown eyes. He robotically reaches his hand out and shakes hers, trying not to squeeze too hard.

"What brings you to this gallery?" Peggy asks slowly, noticing his awkward pause.

"Um." He starts, glancing around, "I was invited."

"You were?"

"Yes, I know the curator." Okay, not technically a lie. Steve shakes his head, clearing the haze left from realizing that the woman he's been emailing is here in front of him.

"Oh, Pepper Potts?" Peggy asks, "I've met her just a few times but she seems divine."

"Yes, she's quite the lady." Steve says weakly. And something in him is surprised when he hears himself ask the next question, "how are you enjoying the gallery so far?"

Angie's eyes dance between them and she seems to pick up on something, smiling mischievously and pushing Peggy a step closer. "Oh, she's been loving it!' Angie offers. "Particularly smitten with the sketches of eyes."

Peggy watches as the man in front of her smiles a heartwarmingly soft smile. "Oh, yes the eyes, I love those too." He says, looking down at his shoes in such an endearing way that Peggy finds herself stepping forward.

"Have you looked at the whole gallery?" She asks, "I haven't seen the paintings yet, I must admit they are what drew me to this artist in the first place."

"Oh?" Steve feigns ignorance, he inwardly cringes at himself and this deception, "what about them do you like?"

"Truthfully?" Peggy asks, leading the way towards the painting wing while she glances back to see him following her, "I feel like I've never seen such life in a painting before. I was so taken with how the artist captured the essence of the person. I even contacted the artist to ask for a commission."

Peggy notices Angie following but slower, she winks at Peggy and makes a shooing motion. Peggy rolls her eyes but turns back to find Steve has caught up with her.

"Any particular piece you want to look at first?" She asks.

Steve glances around, and she watches as he slides his hands into his pockets, seeming nervous. "Wherever you'd like to start." He says, his eyes on hers.

She nods and leads towards the left, starting at the first painting there. It's a large landscape, crashing waves and a thunderstorm the main subject with a crash of lightning splitting the ship.

Peggy's entranced with how the waves seem to move and the lightning looks so real.

"I just can't get over the artist's use of color. I mean look at these waves, they look real!" She looks up to see Steve's eyes searching the painting. They walk through a few of the paintings. Discussing technique and what they like or don't like about the art. She finds that he lefts her talk most of the time, taking her thoughts about the art very seriously. She finds her stomach fluttering when he stares at her with those intense blue eyes, completely enraptured with what she's talking about.

She's about to ask what he thinks of the next painting when she sees them justa few paintings down. She gasps and surges forward, stopping in front of the pair of portraits she'd originally seen.

Her eyes fall on the title of it: The Russian Ballerina and the Siberian Soldier

The left portrait, the ballerina is leaning forward, extending a hand, her feet on pointe, and the other hand raised upward is graceful and elegant. The black ballerina skirt with red ribbon hanging down gives the painting a sense of motion.

The right portrait is a man who is laying stomach down on a snowy ledge, a rifle in his hand and eyes trained in the distance. Something about the use of angles makes it seem that the two subjects are looking at each other. She's about to turn and ask Steve what he thinks of the pair when she runs into an arm. "Oh excuse me, sorry." She says quickly, stepping back.

"No worries." A warm voice says, and she looks up into the eyes of the Siberian Soldier.

Her gasp is audible and it draws the attention of the woman standing near him, who turns, making her gasp a second time.

"Are you alright?" The ballerina asks.

"You-" she points to the painting behind her, "this is you!" They look at where she's pointing and smiles light up their faces.

"I actually feel famous. We just got recognized" The man says, then he turns back to her and smiles, "nice to meet you, I'm James and this is my wife, Natasha."

"I'm Peggy." She says, turning quickly to see if she needs to introduce Steve. She sees him a few paces away, leaning over to talk to someone, a dark man with a wide smile. He seems busy which is fine. She turns back to the pair and smiles. "So you two must know the artist!"

They nod, a bit more slowly, "yes we do." Natasaha says, eyeing the room.

"Are they here?" She glances around, trying to follow the woman's eyeline, "I'd be honored to meet them." There's a hesitation from the pair and Peggy realizes her mistake, "Oh, no, I'm sorry, I know they prefer their privacy." Peggy says quickly. "I shouldn't have asked! I got carried away. My apologies."

The two relax and smile at her, "so you like our portraits?" The man nudges, a sly smile crossing his features, "which do you like more?"

Peggy returns his grin, "oh the ballerina by far." The woman named Natasha throws her head back in a laugh and elbows her husband.

"I like your sense of taste." Natasha says, "It took forever to pose like that, I hadn't danced in ages, and holding that pose for long enough was strenuous."

Her husband scoffs, "don't whine, you got baked goods out of your session, I didn't."

Natasha rolls her eyes, "don't mind us, we hope you enjoy the rest of your time at the gallery." With that they take off and Peggy is left to wander the paintings.

She stops at each one, studying them. A picture of a skull, dripping red with blood, and octopus' tentacles slinking out from between the bones of the jaw has her shivering. She moves on to the next, an abstract piece utilizing every shade of green. Next is an iceberg, sitting alone in a vast ocean. Something about it makes her immeasurably sad. The next piece has her eyes darting towards the title.

Self

She steps forward, studying the four pieces. Angie takes that moment to reappear.

"Where did Steve go?" She asks, glancing around.

"I'm not sure, I got distracted with a painting and then he was speaking to someone."

"I'm sure he'll be back." Angie teases.

"Angie—"

"Peg, please. The man couldn't take his eyes off of you! You haven't dated since Daniel. And while he was sweet, he didn't light your fire if you know what I mean—"

"Angie!" Peggy hisses, smacking her friend's arm who just giggles in response. Peggy allows herself a small smile.

"You know I'm right." Angie smirks, looking around again, "I'd let that sweet hunk of muscle light my fire anytime." She glances towards the paintings. Peggy rolls her eyes but is not inclined to disagree. "What's this?"

"I think…" Peggy muses, studying the paintings, "I think it might actually be the artists' hands…" something clicks. "It's a man!" Angie looks at her quizzically. Peggy drops her voice, "through our whole exchange, and even with my conversations with the curator, I was never given a hint about whether it was a man or a woman. Now, looking at these hands, I can confidently say that the artist is a man."

Angie studies the portraits, her eyebrows raising. "Interesting. A military man turned artist." She points to the third painting, "that's definitely a military setting." Peggy's eyes slide to the fourth one where the dual hands are juxtaposed next to each other.

"You know I haven't seen a price on any of this artwork." Angie muses.

"I noticed that too." Peggy says, "I wonder—" her eyes land on Pepper and she grabs Angie's hand pulling her with her towards the curator.

"Miss Potts!" She says eagerly, "I was hoping to see you!"

"Miss Carter." The woman responds, shaking her hand, "nice to see you again, I'm so glad you came!"

"This is my friend Angie." They shake hands and Peggy continues. "I was wondering, is any of this artwork for sale? I haven't seen any prices."

Pepper smiles and rolls her eyes. "Yes, the artwork is for sale, however the artist prefers there not to be prices displayed as they believe it detracts from the art. Which—" Pepper's eyes glance around the room, landing on something behind them, her eyes softening, "I guess I would agree. And it hasn't kept people from buying."

"Oh?" Angie leans forward, "Some have sold already? Is the artwork popular?"

Pepper looks down at her watch. "We're an hour and half into a 4 week engagement and I have already sold 45% of the artwork. So… yes, I would say it's popular." Her eyes sparkle at Peggy and Angie's surprised faces.

"The artist must be very proud." Peggy says, looking around, "I wish I could meet him, but I am happy the gallery is going well."

Pepper's eyebrows raise at her use of the pronoun but she doesn't say anything. "Have you received your commission yet?" Pepper asks as a man with well maintained facial hair appears at her side.

"Hello dear." Tony Stark says, kissing Pepper on the cheek. "Who are these lovely ladies?"

They make introductions and small talk for a minute before a worker is pulling Pepper away for a catering emergency. Tony eyes them with interest and Peggy expects him to brush them off but he leans forward and glances conspiratorially at them.

"So, you're the one who asked for a commission from the artist, huh?"

"Yes." Peggy responds slowly, surprised by his knowledge, "I did."

"Hmm." The man responds, rubbing at his chin, "Tell me, how did the artist respond to your request?"

Peggy is puzzled by the question, "he responded very professionally, I suppose." She responds, not sure what answer he's looking for.

Tony's about to say something else when a woman, with dark hair twisted up into an elegant tight bun, appears and tugs on Tony's sleeve. "Hey, you said we would have a public bidding war over the hawk to mortally embarrass you know who, and I have yet to see you even step that direction." The woman looks up at them, "Oh, hello, I'm Maria."

For the 10th time Peggy finds herself exchanging introductions before the two disappear squabbling about how to start their mock bidding war.

Peggy and Angie finish studying the paintings and view the last few eclectic pieces before deciding to call it a night.

She sees Steve standing and talking to someone. Peggy gives him one last look, something about his heavy brow over eyes deep in thought, draws her towards him. She takes a step, like a magnet is pulling her, but she stops when Angie calls her name.

"Peggy, I got a cab, let's go!"

Her eyes land on him and as if he could sense her, he looks up and their eyes lock. A smile so tender crosses his lips that she finds herself smiling and giving a small wave in return as she disappears out the door.

—

The day the package is set to arrive, Peggy is anxiously waiting at the door. She'd received a notice alerting her that the package was out for delivery and she was jittery just thinking about seeing them for the first time.

A knock has her bolting out of her chair and throwing her door open. She signs for it and a large box is set before her. She brings it in and carefully peels the tape back.

It takes almost 10 minutes to fully unwrap each piece as the artist had double wrapped and secured each piece.

But soon she notices that there's not 3 wrapped packages there are 7.

She carefully begins unwrapping them to find two sets of matching portraits and a thick envelope encasing the sketches.

Before she can study the painting she sees a piece of paper taped to the outside of one of the boxes. She peels it off and sees her name written in simple and neat handwriting on the outside.

Dear Peggy,

I hope these portraits are satisfactory to you. I have included a separate set of portraits for you to keep as well, along with the sketches.

I know what it is like to lose someone dear to your heart and having something to remember them by is incredibly special. So I wanted you to have a set as well. I hope that is okay.

Your brother served honorably and I hope that I captured his spirit in the pictures. It was a joy and an honor to paint these for your family.

I wish you and your family a very merry christmas.

Kind Regards,

SGR

P.S. I hope you enjoyed the gallery opening if you were able to attend. I would love to know if you had a favorite piece?

Those three little letters send a jolt through her heart. SGR. She had his initials now. Something in her heart flutters at his willingness to share that information.

After tearing the packages open and laying the portraits on the floor, Peggy spends the next hour and a half unable to tear her eyes away from them.

The first, and the largest, is a perfect recreation of the portrait of Michael in his dress uniform. She has no idea how he managed to recreate it so perfectly, even the medals and uniform, as that had been burned out of the photo, but there it was staring at her. His serious face, but sparkling eyes had her running her finger along the canvas, careful not to let the tears that were falling fall on the painting.

The second surprises her. It wasn't just the sketch he'd originally sent, but a painting of Michael as a teenager, standing next to her parents' old car. She thought back and realized that yes that car had been in one of the photos. Michael had loved that car…

The last is the one she looks at the longest. It is her and Michael as children, standing next to each other. Michael's arm is wrapped around her shoulders as she stands on her tippy toes. She lets out a choked sob as that was something she had done so often as a child to try to match Michael's height. Her vision gets blurry with tears and she wipes at her face. The house, her childhood home, is visible in the background and so is their swing, hanging from the lowest branch. She's suddenly immensely glad at the myriad of photos she had sent to him. For him to create these cherished moments.

She clutches the painting to her chest and cries. Letting the grief of Michael's death roll over her like she hasn't let it in almost a year.

—

Dearest SGR,

I have received the paintings and even now I find that I can't stop thinking about them.

They are perfect. You are perfect. And so thoughtful to include a second set for me. I will cherish them forever.

I cannot wait to see my mother's face when she opens them on Christmas morning.

Thank you, thank you a million times from the bottom of my heart. I can never repay you enough. However I can pay you something. I realize now we were supposed to discuss pricing after the sketches and I apologize that I forgot. Would you send me an invoice? I would like to make sure you receive payment before the holiday begins!

Again, Thank you. Thank you.

Sincerely,

Peggy.

P.S. I thought every piece was masterfully done at the gallery. I'm sad to have missed you. However, I will say the wolf sculpture was my favorite. Something about its joyous howl of being 'free'. Your talent astounds me.

—-

He reads the email over and over. Her words ringing in his head all day. He'd taken an unusual step by including his initials and somehow it warmed his heart to see her use them.

—

Christmas morning comes and Peggy is more surprised by the tears in her father's eyes than her mother's. They cry over them, ooh and awe over them, and hang them up immediately in the family room after Christmas breakfast.

Peggy's mother begs to know more about who painted them but Peggy informs her of the nature of the transaction and how little she actually knows.

She shows them some of the emails and the sketches as well which Peggy has to strictly remind her mother that they are not for her.

Mrs. Carter pouts but lets it be.

They ask her about her love life and she smiles which sends her mother into a tizzy.

"Who is he? Where's he from? What does he do?"

Peggy laughs. "I only know his name. We met at an art gallery, actually this artist's art gallery. I'll admit he seems like that handsome stranger you meet once who disappears forever once the clock struck midnight."

They spend the day happily together. She leaves late into the night.

She arrives home late that evening to a small package on her front stoop.

She brings it inside and sets it on the counter. She sloughs out of her jacket, gloves, and mittens before getting scissors to open it.

A smaller version of the white wolf she'd seen at the gallery sits in front of her. It's somehow even more delicately detailed and it immediately earns a spot on her mantle. The note attached to it makes her heart want to burst.

Dear Peggy.

I hope this arrives on Christmas Day. And while it isn't the original, this smaller replica brought me joy to make and I hope it brings you joy when you see it.

I also hope your mother loved the portraits. I must admit I have been wondering about it. I hope that doesn't sound too much like an 'insecure artist'.

Merry Christmas,

Kind Regards,

SGR

She dreams of two things that night. Steve, the handsome stranger who she felt an immediate magnetic chemistry with, and wolves howling at the moon.

—

Steve stretches out on the couch, his legs propped up onto the coffee table.

The small christmas tree twinkles in the background and the christmas record he has playing spins lazily, crooning out Perry Como.

He gets a notification that the sculpture was delivered and he smiles.

—

Bucky and Natasha walk hand and hand through the snowy sidewalks, enjoying their tradition of a Christmas stroll to their favorite late night bakery.

"Barnes?" A voice calls out.

They turn to find Sam walking out of a restaurant with his sister and nephews in tow.

"Hey Sam, Merry christmas!"

"Merry Christmas!" They hug and exchange pleasantries before Sam shakes his head, "did Steve duck out on you guys early?"

Natasha's head tilts. "Steve?"

"Yeah, he told me he was spending Christmas with you."

Bucky's eyes narrow. "No… he's spending Christmas with Maria and Clint."

Sam frowns. "Oh.. I could have sworn he said you guys."

Natasha's dialing a number before anyone can respond.

"Clint? Yeah, is Steve with you? Tony's? Ah, okay. Thanks."

She hangs up, her eyes deadly. "I'm going to kill him."

"Not if I get to him first," Bucky snarls, grabbing her hand and hailing a cab.

—-

Steve hears a knock on his door and he freezes. He jumps into action, shutting his record player off and falling silent.

"Steve?" It's Natasha, and she sounds pissed but like she's trying to hide it. "Steve, you home?"

He doesn't answer. Just stands still hardly breathing. He'd told each friend he was going to be busy with someone else today. He hated imposing on their Christmas'.

"Steve, I swear if you're in there and you don't open this door right friggin' now I'm going to—" Bucky is cut off as Natasha says something quietly. He hears a phone's typing and his eyes train on his, sitting on the arm of the couch.

It lights up and begins ringing. He lunges for it, silencing it, but not before the first few seconds of his ringtone escape.

"Steven Rogers. If you do not open this door in the next five seconds." Natasha orders, leaving the threat open ended.

He sighs, walking to the door and opening it just a crack.

"Hey guys," he says calmly, faking a yawn. "What's up?"

"Oh, nothing." Bucky says with his teeth clenched, "how was Christmas with Maria and Clint?"

Steve swallows, inching the door closed, "It was good, I'm tired though. Meet up tomorrow?" He's almost got the door closed when Natasha's hand darts through the small space and snatches his shirt, pressing his face against the doorframe.

"Don't be a liar, Steve. We know you weren't with Clint. I called him."

She lets him go and he steps back, waving them in. "What's the big deal?" He huffs.

"Steve, you lied to us, to Sam! To Clint! Who'd you tell Tony and Pepper you were spending Christmas with?"

"Sam."

"Steve!" Bucky growls, staring at the impeccably clean apartment. "Why wouldn't you want to spend Christmas with one of us? I know you were invited to all of our Christmases."

"I wanted the day to myself."

"So why not just tell us that?"

Steve scoffs, rolling his eyes, "would any of you or our other friends have accepted that?"

He's got them there.

Natasha gasps. "Oh—" she stabs a finger at Steve, "when you told us last year that you were going over to your previous general's house for christmas where were you really?" Bucky's eyes widen at the accusation and Steve winces.

"STEVE, WHAT THE HELL." Bucky shouts, reaching over and smacking Steve's arm. "How many Christmases have you lied about?"

"Um.."

"Natasha, please remind me why I'm not supposed to murder this guy." Bucky snaps.

"I'm having a hard time coming up with a reason." She spits back.

"Listen," Steve says calmly, holding his hands up, "I'm allowed to spend Christmas whatever way I see fit." He switches his record player back on and points to his tree. "I'm perfectly content here on my own."

Steve watches as both Bucky and Natasha stiffen at his words, they give each other a quick look before Bucky walks over to Steve and places a hand on Steve's arm.

"Steve. When are you going to learn that you aren't on your own?"

Natasha's phone rings.

"Hello?" She says, her eyes like daggers never leaving Steve. "Oh, hey Pep. Yeah, merry Christmas to you too." She listens as Pepper speaks and her eyes grow wide. Suddenly a smile is on her face. "Oh she did, did she?" A pause. "He what?" Her grin is growing more wicked by the second and Steve feels his anxiety growing by the second. Bucky looks questioningly at her but she holds up her hand to wait. "Well, normally I would say to respect his wishes. But since he ignored all of our wishes today and lied about where he was going to be for Christmas, I say screw that and do what you just said."

Steve's stepping forward, confused about what's happening on the phone but he knows it has something to do with him.

"Yeah—" Natasha continues, her eyes still glaring daggers at him, "he lied. He wasn't with Sam. He told us he'd be with Clint." Another pause and Steve can hear Tony in the background saying some very choice words. "Yeah, tell Tony we found him alone in his apartment." Steve let's out an exasperated breath but Natasha's eyes challenge him. "I know, and— yeah, that's what I said— yep, he did it last year too. And the year before. It's downright insulting. Tell her. Or—" Natasha sighs. "Maybe just… lead her. Yeah… yeah, okay bye."

"What was that?" Steve asks.

"The winds of change, Steve."

—-

He's being dragged to a New Year's Eve party.

He'd begged to stay home, He'd even used some pretty petty tactics'

"It's not fun to be alone at midnight when everyone around me is kissing someone." He says it calmly but with enough of a pout that he hopes Natasha will take pity on him.

"Then find someone to kiss, Steve. You're going."

—-

The restaurant has been redecorated to look like a 1940's jazz club for the evening. New York is always wild on New Year's Eve, but Steve is relieved that while it's busy, it isn't unbearably packed.

They settle into a large circular booth.

"Steve?" Pepper asks sweetly, checking her phone "will you get me a vodka martini, dry with a lot of olives please? Put it on Tony's tab. Get yourself something too."

He nods, asking if anyone else wants something before heading towards the bar.

He's just placed his order when someone taps on his shoulder. He turns to find Peggy looking up at him in surprise. Her red skirt swirling around her legs and victory curls framing her face.

"Peggy?" He rasps, his throat suddenly dry.

"Steve?"

"Yeah, hi."

"What a coincidence!" She smiles and he feels himself returning it. "Of all the jazz joints in the world." She says in a fake New York accent.

Steve laughs, then looks around, "are you here alone?"

"No, I'm here with Angie, but actually… I am here to meet someone else."

"Oh." Steve says, his heart gives a tiny squeeze. It's not her fault. He'd had ample opportunity to tell her who he was, and now he's missed his chance.

She smiles a bit more sadly but shakes her head and looks him over. "You're dressed very dapper, are you here alone?"

He looks down at the 1940's suit Tony had insisted on. "No I'm at a table with some friends. You want to come meet them until your—" he bites at his lip, "until you need to go?"

"Sure."

He leads her over to the table, shocked to find it empty. He glances around, looking for them but there's no one in sight.

"Huh." He says, scrubbing at the back of his neck, "they were just here." He stands awkwardly, unsure of what to do, but then gestures to the booth. "Here, sit, I can introduce you when they return."

She sits and they get to talking. She tells him about her family, some of which he already knows, and he tells her about his mom. They discuss their highschool experiences and she's surprised to find out that he was a small sick kid.

"Yeah, I didn't expect to hit my growth spurt so late." He chuckles self-deprecatingly and she melts at the sound. Her phone buzzes and she glances down, it's past the time Pepper had said the SGR would arrive to meet her. Steve catches her looking at her phone and his face falls. "Oh, sorry, I'm keeping you, I shouldn't have taken up so much of your time."

"No, Steve, please, I've enjoyed our talk so much," she protests, "I was supposed to meet someone awhile ago but they seem to be running late. I was only checking my phone to make sure I didn't miss anything." She stuffs her phone in her jacket pocket. "Tell me about this best friend of yours."

—-

They talk for hours, the only part he leaves out of his life is art. It leaves a big gap, but he doesn't want to spring that on her now.

She tells him about her experiences in the intelligence sector, she'd joined up with Michael but he'd gone to the RAF. They bond over some similarities in their military histories, and he feels more at ease with her than he ever has with a woman before.

"15 minutes til midnight!" Someone on the stage shouts into the microphone. A cheer goes up from the crowd and Steve rolls his eyes at the noise.

"Never understood the hype over New Years." He says wryly.

She studies him. "Oh?"

"Yeah, it's just like any other day."

"Hmm…" her face is thoughtful as she takes a sip of water. "I'm not sure I would agree. It's a new day. A day to start changing things for the better. A day to right wrongs and see the world in a new light."

His face is serious and sincere when he responds, leaning closer to her, "I think that should be everyday. Not just January first."

The magnetism of his sincerity pulls her closer, she looks at his eyes, so full of belief in what he's saying. "Maybe you're right," she breathes.

"Peggy!" Comes Angie's voice. "Finally! I've been looking for you for ages! Or… well… The last couple minutes." She stops, standing directly in front of the booth.

Peggy sighs, pulling back from where she was leaning closer to Steve. "Where have you been actually, I was wondering."

"I met this guy, real cute, super funny. And we've been chatting it up since you and I got separated. He approached me, can you believe it?"

"Oh? And where is this mystery suitor now?"

"Well we were talking and he said he would go get us some drinks, but the line was long so I thought I would scout out the place and find you! Oh, Steve! Hey! You're here?"

He chuckles, "hello, Angie, nice to see you again."

Angie gives Peggy a questioning look, "I thought—" She looks between Steve and Peggy and shrugs, "you know what? Doesn't matter what I think. Have fun!"

She disappears and Peggy sighs, "sorry about her, she's a bit… lay it all on the table if you catch my meaning."

"No worries, sometimes it's nice to have friends who give it to you straight."

"Indeed." Peggy agrees.

They talk, the time passing easily until they're interrupted again by another announcement.

"5 minutes til midnight!" Peggy watches as Steve blushes as the crowd let's out an even more intoxicated cheer.

"Sorry about your date not showing up," he says genuinely.

"Oh it wasn't a date." She says, dipping her head to catch his eyes, "I was told by Miss Potts that the artist from that gallery show we met at would be here." Steve stiffens.

"You…" he feels his throat go dry, "Pepper told you what?"

Peggy eyes him curiously. "Oh, you'll think I'm foolish but…" she sighs and takes another sip of water, steeling herself. "A couple months ago I saw these paintings that I fell in love with and asked to have a portrait of my brother commissioned from the artist. He and I began emailing back and forth and…" Steve watches as Peggy's cheeks color. "Well, he's refusing to answer my questions about payment. And I'm worried he's trying to get away with me not paying him for his hard work. So, I called Miss Potts and she informed me that she would introduce us tonight. I suppose I'm not surprised he didn't show up. He seems to like to avoid crowds."

She glances around as if the mysterious artist might pop up at any moment, not knowing that she was already at the table with him. Steve feels his heart rate pick up. A set up. His friends had tried to set him up. They'd purposefully led him here and left. He'd bet anything the guy distracting Angie was Sam.

She glances at him, "Steve, are you okay? You look a bit pale."

"I'm fine— I'm good. Sorry, It's just a bit warm in here. I'm good."

"3 minutes til midnight!"

He sits there a bit stunned. He's furious at his friends for putting him in this position now. He can't just blurt out a 'hey, it's actually been me the whole time!'. She'd be angry at him for lying. For deceiving her. If it was him, he'd be mad too. Something heavy settles in his chest. There's no way to rectify this situation.

"Peggy, it was a pleasure getting to know you. I hope—" He swallows, looking into her deep eyes which are furrowing in confusion at his change in tone, "I hope you have a very happy new year." He slides out of the booth. Looking at her one last time, her beautiful red lips are parted in surprise at his quick exit. "Goodbye, Peggy."

He's slipping through the crowd and gone before she can respond.

—-

Peggy sits there in surprise. Steve was already out of sight and she was sitting alone in the booth. Her fingers tap at the table, debating about the man over the emails, and the kind man who she just spent the last three hours talking with. Who seemed so sweet and caring about her family, who listened intently and was genuinely interested in what she had to say.

She'd wanted to meet him, the artist. But… maybe fate had other ideas.

She's up and out of the booth before she can talk herself out of it.

—-

"2 minutes til midnight!"

Steve pushes his way towards the coat check. He turns in his stub and waits, fingers tapping anxiously.

"Steve?"

He turns to find Sam staring at him, Angie on one arm, and her lipstick on his face.

"Hey, Sam. Hey, Angie." No surprises there.

Angie looks between them, "you two know each other?"

"Why aren't you with Peggy?" Sam asks, an edge creeping into his voice.

"Don't play dumb, Wilson. I know what you and the rest tried to do." He's handed his coat and about to bolt when Bucky appears in front of him.

"Hey, hey. Where do you think you're going?"

"Move, Barnes." Steve snaps, pushing past him.

Suddenly he's surrounded by all the people he'd originally arrived with.

"Stop." Natasha says, "go talk to her."

"And tell her what!" Steve shouts, his voice barely carrying over the loud music, "that I've known it was her the whole time? That I pretended I didn't know her because—-"

Angie's voice reaches his ears. 'Um, excuse me? What am I missing here?"

"I'm leaving." He pushes past Sam and Bucky and is almost to the when he hears Pepper's voice.

"STEVEN GRANT ROGERS GET BACK HERE THIS INSTANT." He flinches at the anger in her tone. He turns around to face her and is stopped in his tracks to see Peggy standing behind Tony, a wide-eyed expression on her face.

"Peggy?" He chokes out. The whole group turns in surprise to see her standing behind them.

She looks at him, something dawning.

"1 minute til midnight!"

"Steven Grant Rogers?" She says, her eyes trained on his. She steps forward closing the gap. His friends take a step back, trading furtive and nervous glances between them. "S. G. R." She says, a question in her tone.

He winces. His eyes cast down to his shoes. "I'm sorry, Peggy. I didn't mean to hide who I was from you. I—" He looks up and sees confusion and a bit of resentment on her face. "I have no excuse. When I saw you at the gallery, I recognized you instantly from the photos you had sent. But… I couldn't bring myself to tell you who I was. I never thought I'd see you after that day. Not that that's a reason to lie." He clarifies quickly, "But then, I see you here, tonight, looking—" his eyes close and he sighs, "looking so beautiful that I could barely think. And it's been weeks. How could I tell you now? I didn't want to embarrass you. I'm embarrassed of myself. I don't have any good excuse or reason. I'm just very sorry." He looks up at her, her face set in an unreadable expression.

"15 seconds to midnight!"

"I'm sorry, please forgive me." He says one more time before stepping backwards and turning to leave. He only makes it one step before he feels a hand on his arm, pulling him around to face her.

"You sent me the wolf?"

He nods.

"10 seconds to midnight!"

"You painted those beautiful portraits of my brother and me?"

He nods again.

"Is anything you told me about yourself a lie? In the emails or our conversation tonight?"

He shakes his head no.

"5 seconds til midnight!"

She grabs his hands, studying them for only a moment.

"3"

"I'm glad it's you." She says softly, stepping closer.

"2"

"Ever since we met at the gallery." She continues her approach.

"1"

"I wanted it to be you."

Shouts of Happy New Year erupt around him, but he isn't listening as she grabs his tie and pulls him forward, pressing her lips against his and wrapping her other arm around his neck. He's only stunned for a moment before he responds in kind, Running one hand up into her hair, tilting her head to deepen the kiss while his other hand holds her waist tightly.

They part breathless and Peggy giggles at the awestruck expression Steve is giving her.

Whoops and cheers from the group around them snap them back to reality.

Steve is blushing furiously but Peggy can't be bothered. She pulls him down for a second kiss as the strains of "Auld Lang Syne" ring out through the club.

—