A/N HALT: Not the first chapter out today!
1945, July, SSR Outpost:
Peggy started out of sleep as a knock on her door rebounded around her small room, and she dragged herself out of bed, quickly dragging on her army jacket to put over her nightgown before walking over and briskly opening the door. There, on the other side, was a tired-looking Steve leaning against the doorframe, weariness apparent in his every bone. He looked much less urgent than she had been expecting for this hour, but a moment's thought was all it took for her to step aside a little, inviting him in. "Steve. Are you alright?" She asked quietly, and as he stepped in past her, he sighed, just loud enough for her to catch.
"Not really, Peggy," he admitted, turning around once he'd hit the center of the room and standing there looking dejected. After what he'd lost, she couldn't blame him. When she'd figured out that Steve's affections had been split two ways, and neither of those ways had seemingly been directed towards her, it had stung a little. But then she'd seen them, the three of them, for that brief time, and she'd had to admit to herself that a love like that wasn't worth being jealous of for the wrong reasons. But then Kat had disappeared, save for leaving behind a lot of blood and half an arm, and Bucky had fallen off the train. Within the span of a year, Steve had lost both of the most important relationships in his life. He'd carried on in front of his men as best as he could, but during his planning sessions with her and Colonel Phillips in the war room, she could see that he wasn't handling it well. Which was why when Steve took a step towards her, she lifted a hand a little. He stopped in his tracks.
"Steve..." she started, and he looked away, his cheeks reddening a little. "I know why you're here, but that... That's not going to make you feel any better. That's not going to make anything go away. You have to know that." She adjusted her jacket around her shoulders, and watched Steve's face cycle through shame down to guilt, and she sighed, stepping forward a little, and reached to take his hand. "You can stay awhile, but not..." she cleared her throat, "Not for that. Okay? Maybe one day, under different circumstances..." If things between her and Steve were to ever have a chance, her being a rebound was an even worse idea than it would have been otherwise.
He nodded, though his massive hand stayed limp in hers until she squeezed it once, and he met her eyes again. This time, they were shining with tears. "Sorry, Peg. I don't know what I was thinking," he managed surprisingly steadily, and her heart twisted for him.
"I do. You were thinking that maybe I could make it all farther away for you. I'm sorry I can't. I don't think anything but time can do that for you," she said quietly, and tugged at his hand slightly, towards the bed. "Come. Sit with me. Just sitting." He nodded, and she towed him to the bed and sat, and he sat beside her, though by the way her bed creaked, it was not used to having a man the size of Steve on it. "Tell me what's going on, Steve. I know, but it will help if you can get it off your chest. Okay?"
He nodded again, and cleared his throat in the manner of a person who was struggling not to cry before he took a deep breath. His eyes were on their joined hands between them. "I miss them," he said, in barely a whisper. "And I can't sleep without having a dream about one or both of them. Mostly it's nightmares. I feel like I watch Bucky fall again every night - hear him scream every night. Sometimes, I'll dream that Kat's being taken from the next tent over but all I can do is listen to her cry and fight, even though that's not how it happened, but..." he shook his head, and Peggy saw a tear fall from his cheek, and his breath shuddered. "The worst are the good dreams. Memories, some of them, but others are just... things we never got to do. Me and Bucky, getting to meet Kat's parents. Bucky and Kat showing me how to dance more than a four-step. Showing Kat around New York, taking her to the movies. Bucky spending his time with us instead of chasing every passing skirt." He half-chuckled, though by the way his voice shuddered, the amusement wasn't the primary emotion. "And then I wake up, and it hits twice as hard that they're gone. They're gone and it's my fault."
Peggy frowned as his posture buckled inwards and he lifted his free hand to cover his face as his shoulders shook, and she pulled him closer by the hand to wrap an arm around him, resting her cheek on his shoulder. "It wasn't your fault, Steve, I promise," she whispered, arm tight around him - what she could reach, anyway. "I told you - don't take their choices from them. They chose to stay, to help, because they believed in the cause. And in you. But war doesn't discriminate, Steve. It takes what it takes, and no one man can be blamed for it."
"Except Hitler. And Schmidt." Steve said quietly, though his breath didn't shake this time. He let his hand fall from his face, and they met eyes again. His were red and glassy, but held more steel to them than she'd seen in a while. "I can't bring them back, but I can stop more people from getting hurt. Maybe one day I'll.. I'll even think it wasn't my own damn fault." He stood suddenly, though carefully enough not to wrench Peggy's arm, and he took a deep breath. "Thanks, Peggy. I'm sorry that I came so late. I hope you fall back asleep alright."
She stood, too, and leaned up to kiss his cheek, squeezing his hand one last time before letting go, a sad smile on her face. "It's alright. If I helped at all, that's all that matters. Try to get some rest, Steve."
He nodded, giving her a grim sort of smile. "I'll try, Peg. Thanks, again."
With that, she sent him on his way, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click, and rested her forehead against the door with a sigh, shutting her eyes. She hoped he didn't do anything reckless. Knowing Steve, though? That hope was probably going to go unanswered.
A/N One more today!