Wait for Me

Peggy popped her bright red lips together with a bop, bop, bop, as she leaned into the shoddy vanity mirror in the church's sacristy. Or, as a layman like Peggy would have called it, a priest's closet. That wasn't entirely inaccurate as the thing was filled with "priestal" apparel and "ye olde" church props for Christmas and Easter. It also featured the wretchedly broken-down vanity mirror Peggy was attempting to perfect her wedding makeup in. However, the thing was practically broken in half with a large crack skating straight down the middle of the old mirror, brittle and glazed with age. The reflection that looked back at her was riddled with black-spots and embossed with dusty glass. I look like a bloody ghost in this, she thought to herself as she looked into the ghastly mirror.

Around her, on the floor, were buckets upon buckets with rainwater dripping down from the broken, cracked ceiling into them. The cool, icy rain of New York spring wasn't supposed to come until tomorrow, but trust her wedding day to be blessed by the inopportunity of unfortunate weather conditions. Rising from her seat on the stool, she glanced around to the half-full tin buckets that were ringed around her like a prayer circle. She sighed heavily and crossed her arms with a 'tsk.' Hopefully, the actual church would fare better than the priests' closet.

But they had had to get married here – it was the church that Steve had gone to as a child. Steven, you don't mean to make me a Catholic housewife, do you? Her fiancé had chuckled as they lay in bed months ago when he had originally suggested the location. Peg, I haven't been Catholic in a long time…and if you don't really want to get married there, then that's fine with me, doll. As long as I get to marry you somewhere, anywhere's fine with me. What a bloody selfish arsehole. He then had proceeded to grin at her with that sweet, lovable smile of his she couldn't possibly say no to (unfortunately). So, six months later, she was getting married…in a church.

Natasha came in through the door just then, dressed in the pale gold bridesmaid dress that Peggy had handpicked. She hadn't minded what "type" of dress each girl wore, but the color had to be proper and suited. This, of course, had led to a rigorous approval process that left each of her bridesmaids with very little patience leftover in return. What do you mean that's pale gold? That's obviously dandelion – look at the bloody colour palette! Peggy didn't understand why that was so surprising – she was picky, stubborn, and knew exactly what she wanted – why was that so complicated to understand?

Natasha, having been friends with Peggy for years, had known better than to find something on her own. She had just given Peggy a glare and demanded she pick out something for her. Smart girl. Besides, Peggy knew what looked best on everyone anyway.

Oh, Natalia. She was a sight. With her hair done up in a complicated braided updo that was reminiscent of some kind of Russian czarina, she looked as if she was ready for a grand espionage mission in some elite estate in Monaco. "Alright, your bridal highness," she gestured to the Brit with a large clothing bag hung over her shoulder, "you ready to get married to that dinosaur?"

Peggy grinned at her old friend with an affectionate smile. Mirthful brown eyes bright as they were lovely, met hers. "He's a particularly cute dinosaur, though, you do have to admit that."

"I don't have to admit to anything." Natasha smirked, turning to hang the dress' suit on the hook near the door.

The door broke open then to reveal four-year-old Honour, dressed and ready for her debut as the premiere flower girl, alongside the tired-looking Rogue. Twenty-three and in-training to become a full-time Avenger, Rogue had, unfortunately, been put on Honour duty for the couple's wedding. She looked over to Peggy, rising to her full height with an apologetic expression on her lovely face. The older woman gasped at the sight of her. She's really grown up…hasn't she? She was dressed in a pale-gold jumpsuit with subtle green flowers laced through her thick, red hair. She looked so much older than that scrappy Mississippi sixteen-year-old who Logan had found all those years ago.

"Darling, you look—" Peggy began, her head cocked with her eyes still trying to take on Rogue's intimately astounding beauty.

"Pegs, Ah'm so sorry about this lil' chickadee. She just wanted to see her Mama one last time, Ah guess." She looked to Peggy, a small guilty smile creeping over her face.

"Oh, Anna Marie, I promise you, Honour has no interest in—"

"MOMMY, IS THIS YOUR DRESS?! YOU'RE GONNA LOOK LIKE A QUEEN OHMYGOD." Honour had unzipped the dress bag to reveal the magnificent lavender gown nestled within.

Peggy turned to look over her shoulder at the elated four-year-old. Her tiny hands were covering her mouth as she twisted to look to her mother with wildly wide eyes. Chuckling, Peggy bent down to her daughter's level to take her hands in her own. "Well, you're going to have to help me get into it, my love."

Honour's large hazel eyes grew even wider in excitement. "MOM." She squeezed Peggy's hands tightly, jumping up and down with anticipated glee. "Mom, I will be the best at helping you. I promise."

With an adoring chuckle, Peggy reached over to cup her daughter's cheek. "I know you will, sweetheart." She reached over to plant a kiss on her cheek, before she stood to her full height, glancing to Natasha and Rogue. "Alright. Let's get this over with."

Natasha had just begun to undo the dress' trappings from its position in the bag, when the door burst open again to reveal another handful of bridesmaids – Wanda, Brunnhilde, Sharon, and Carol. "Are we late? We couldn't find the door. Apparently, lesbians can't read." The familiar-faced Valkyrie smirked at Carol who rolled her eyes with an exasperated groan. "It was one sign, Val. One sign."

"That's fine. I'm just saying – super-charged air force commander pilot here with sparkly hands, can't read a sign. Aren't you from Earth?" Val smugly grinned at her girlfriend with a flash of mischief in her powerful dark eyes.

Carol groaned and facepalmed. "I wanna quit."

When she was properly tied and knotted into the inordinately beautiful purple dress, Peggy turned to look at herself in the full-length cracked mirror at the edge of the room. As a strongly confident woman, Peggy Carter had always seen herself as beautiful. Not because she was, as societal standards would claim, "beautiful," but because she saw the beauty within herself. It was what caused her to hold her head a little higher, her chin tilted up, her back straight, and her walk to more or less take the form of a strut rather than a hunched-over mess as most people did (well, that was just her opinion). Peggy, in knowing her own beauty over the course of her life, had come to know how to hold herself.

But seeing herself in that mirror – strikingly gorgeous, lavishly adorned in creamy, lavender fabric, she couldn't help but see the heartbreakingly beautiful woman she was. Her hair was scooped, braided, curled, and elegantly twisted in a million different degrees by the skillful hands of Wanda. Her dark eyes were cast out like brilliant orbs that contained thousands of stars up against the dark, but subtle purples of her eye makeup. Every angular, strong feature of her jawline was highlighted and accentuated in the pale light of the room.

Honour had been right, she did look like a queen.

"Wow. I don't usually cry at weddings and stuff, because, like, I don't believe in the culture of marriage because it's, like, so patriarchal, but you look really pretty, Aunt Peggy." Sharon, her buoyantly feminist college-aged niece, was softly crying to herself next to Brunnhilde. With only a hint of a teasing smile, Val placed a comforting arm around her Sharon's shoulders.

"You're gross." She grinned at her, before turning back to Peggy. "She is right, though, you do look astounding." She eyed her friend with a suggestive look. "Are you absolutely sure you want to marry Steve? Carol and I would be open to sharing."

Peggy grinned to herself, before turning to face her team. "Yes, Brunnhilde, I would finally like a chance to marry the man that I've loved for a lifetime."

Carol scowled at her response. "Ugh. Why do women marry men? I mean don't get me wrong, if you're gonna marry a dude, it might as well be Steve…but just… Really a tragedy when it happens."

"Marriage is a scam sold by the patriarchy to own women..." Sharon, sobbing into Valkyrie's shoulder, shook her head hysterically. Brunnhilde raised a sharp eyebrow as she looked at the ridiculously emotional teenager who had taken her broad shoulder as hostage for her own comfort.

"Is it that upsetting?" Val asked with a smirk.

"No…" Sharon admitted dejectedly. "It's just…" Sharon raised her head, giving her aunt a teary smile. "Aunt Peggy… I'm just really happy for you."

Peggy chuckled and shook her head, before she pulled her niece into a hug. Giving her a quick kiss on the cheek, she wiped away her tears with a grateful smile. "Thank you, my love. Believe it or not, I'm even a bit happy for me, too." She winked at her. The grand, rousing, and epic smile that came to her face was true. Peggy may have been happy in her life before, but the expression that chose to blanket her face then, was untouched joy. Nothing could soil it. She was marrying the man she loved more than anyone. The father of her child, the "right" partner, the man she would've died for. That look, not just for Sharon, but for everybody else, made the room feel so much closer, softer, as if pale, pink light had been filtered in through the glazed, barred windows of the church's basement.

That's when they knew – it was time to get Peggy married. The two of them deserved each other. Glancing at Honour who was fiddling with the flower petals she was supposed to be throwing down the aisle in a few minutes, Peggy chuckled. Turning to look at her three-year-old, she dropped into a squat. Her dress folded out around her like glittering clouds and puffs of lavender and stars. "Alright, my little flower girl, are you ready to lead mum down the aisle?"

Honour turned sharply to look at her mother. Her eyes wide and filled with excitement. "I'm so ready, Mom." Even then, at the age of three, it was easy to tell that remarkable things coursed inside of her. Her eyes, which would flash from hazel to blue to brown to hazel again, were clockwork of brilliant and star-dusted colors. Her smile glowed with an audacity that could have mirrored that of her mother's. She would do great things in her lifetime, but for right now, her "greatness" was narrowed down to throwing some petals around for her mom.

Laughing, Peggy stood to her full height and took Honour's hand. "Alright, let's go see Daddy." She offered a secret grin to Rogue, who had been watching the mother and daughter with a sweet smile on her face.

As the group of women began to walk out of the sacristy, Peggy glanced back into the room to make sure she had everything. She really didn't need to; she was just being silly and – no. She had forgotten something. The pearl-lined hair piece that had belonged to her mother was resting on top of the vanity. Out of all the things she had so precariously attached to herself out of symbolism, this was the one thing she really cared about. "Oh, bollocks. Go on without me, ladies, I'll be there in two ticks!" She called to her bridesmaids as she turned back to the vanity.

Walking back inside, she stuck the clip into the back of her elegant updo. The shimmering pearls and small Waterford diamonds reflected back at her through the dusty glass of the mirror. She frowned slightly at the stunning version of herself that looked back at her. Did she look 'pretty,' as Sharon had said? Yes. But did she need to? No. Don't get her wrong – the dress was beautiful, the hair was impeccably done to perfection, and she had outdone herself with that eyeliner. She liked looking like this, but… It was Steve, she was marrying, not some affluent English lord like Fred, her ex-fiancé had been.

Well, perhaps that's why she was marrying him inside a broken-down church. She was extravagant, he was simple. It worked, right?

She swallowed a lump in the back of her throat. Alarmed at her own emotion, she took a deep breath in. Why was she crying? She could not afford to cry with this much expensive makeup on her face. She gathered herself, closing her eyes and taking a few moments to recover.

It's fine, Peggy.

You're fine.

Everything's fine.

You look – "Holy shit, Peg."

Spinning around at the sudden presence of someone else, Peggy found she was face-to-face with the last man she thought she would ever see at her wedding. Logan Howlett. Her face broke open with a uniquely special grin, one that only ever manifested in the presence of Logan. A roguish exuberance, perhaps. Severe, but bright. Half on the edge of some great, boisterous laughter, half on the edge of smug sobriety. While Logan had lived many years before he met her and the other Howlies, there were times where she felt she had known him, known that face, known his old soul for centuries.

Long before either of them had ever been at all.

Within three steps, she was standing in front of him, laughing with shaky, expelling joy. While some may have hesitated to hug the rough-around-the-edges Canadian before her, Peggy wasted no time. She hugged him – arms wrapped tightly around his back, hands grabbing fistfuls of his jacket. Two friends reuniting after years of being apart. "You came." Pulling away only so her eyes could search his, it was easy to see the disbelief and caught-off-guard unexpected happiness that was filling her expression.

Leaning against the old threshold, he chuckled at her with a hint of that secret smile of his. He was wearing his everlasting brown leather jacket (a piece of clothing that was probably older than Peggy), a black t-shirt, and jeans. His riding boots suggested he didn't plan on staying long. He's just stopping by…he's not staying… This observation, while ridiculous and uncontrolled, sent a shockwave of disappointment through her bones. She wanted him to stay.

"Well," he reached into his jeans' pocket and pulled out a crumpled invitation to show her, "I was invited, wasn't I?" He raised a shaggy eyebrow, his smile grew then – not by much, but Peggy noticed.

"I just…" Her smile deepened across the grooves of her face as she felt tears well in her eyes. "I didn't think I would see you… You had holed yourself up in Alaska and…" She stopped talking when she saw the way Logan was looking at her.

A piece of fine art, perhaps. No. That was much too simple. It was as if she had been the muse of some great piece of art and he was just seeing the real object of the piece. Muse to craft to maker. A masterpiece incarnate. His eyes were tracing every part of her face, taking in every curve and finite curl of her hair, while his hand, almost instinctively, reached up to touch her cheek.

"C'mon, darlin', you know I had to see ya'. I uh… There's something I just…" The admission was rumbling, deep, and came from within his broad chest. His strangely heartbroken eyes stayed on her face, conflicted and strangled, fighting and losing, until finally he dropped his hand. It was as if he had come to a decision, in that moment, he had been at a tipping point, a point of entry…before deciding to let it go. Drop it. Leave it. Move on. "No, I uh… I just had to see ya' one last time before you marry Captain Moron out there, anyway."

With brassy laugh, Peggy rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Be nice. That's my Captain Moron out there," she raised a teasing brow with a cheeky, mischievous grin coming to her face. "But if we're quick, Logan Howlett, there's still time for you to sweep me off my feet. We could make a break for it – Bonnie and Clyde style." She booped him on the nose before she dramatically threw her hand over her forehead as if she was prepared to be "swept" off of her feet.

Logan laughed at her antics – a heavy, rumbling sound like a distant crack of thunder. "Only you, Carter."

For a moment, the two of them stood there, staring at one another, smiling. There was something there, something unnamable and undefinable. It had probably always been there, between them.

Even when they first met, there was something. Peggy had found Logan, alongside Steve, on a patrol when they found a German cabaret that had been decimated. Every Nazi had been brutally slaughtered, the bar was in ruins, the walls sprayed with blood… Everything was so…terribly graphic, but in the midst of it all, smoking on a cigar and nursing a glass of scotch, was a blood-encrusted, scruffy Logan.

Peggy had taken a look around the room, and much to Steve's horror, suggested he join the Howling Commandos. You must be terribly good at killing, if you've done all this, yes?

Logan had given her a glare – those blue eyes were dangerously dark and not at all forgiving. He wanted nothing to do with the U.S. Army, especially not the blue-eyed, golden-haired savior named Captain America. But Peggy wasn't Captain America, not by a long shot. Not that it's any of your business, English, but they killed a kid. So, you and Captain Dickhead over there, can be on your way. He snarled at her, threatening, dangerous, deadly.

Peggy felt his anger – it weighed heavy in the air, thick and palpable. Just as some people may have felt at funerals, when the atmosphere was somber and grave, and grief was rife and heavy, the air around the destroyed bar was filled with heated, bloodied anger. Logan's rage was practically an organism that thrived in the space around them. It was alive, just as it was dangerous. And while some may have been discouraged, threatened by his rage, Peggy felt something else within the air – there was no control in the action around them. The enraged creature that killed these men, that destroyed the cabaret, had been angry, but more than that, he couldn't stop once he started.

And it exhausted him. Isolated him. Separated him from the world. Sure, he knew what was wrong and what was right…but he never learned how to stop himself. Better to be alone, when all you really wanna do is burn the world down.

Cocking her head and leaning against the bar top, despite Steve's silent disapproval, Peggy looked Logan right in the eyes and fixed him with a look that he would remember for the rest of his life. You did all this, because you were angry?

Spitting out his cigar, he tossed it into the half-broken ash tray in front of him. Turning to look at her, blood smeared across half his face, he didn't seem to have the most welcoming appearance. What's it to you?

Peggy offered him a hint of a smile, her eyes both curious and probing. Oh, nothing really… But I know these men didn't just die from a gunshot. She looked around at the massacre around them – complete with guts, limbs, half-opened bodies, etc., etc. They were slaughtered. Gutted. However, you want to describe it. No simple man could have done this.

Logan whipped his head around. A growl from low and deep in his throat crawled from within him. Suddenly, he was standing over her, blue eyes aflame with a white-hot rage. And what kinda man do you think, then? He was standing so close to her, she thought she could smell the musty, day-old smell of alcohol leaking from him.

Peggy! Steve was just about to throw his legendary shield, when Peggy shot her hand up to stop him. Save it, darling, he's not going to hurt me. A small, amused smile came to her face. She wasn't afraid of Logan. Not one bit. It was as if something had opened up inside of her, when he looked down into her eyes. An unopened valve, a jar of dried flowers from a thousand years ago, or some long forgotten relic…was remembered, all at once. There you are. She found herself thinking as she smiled at him. She felt found; recovered or discovered, or maybe both.

I don't think you're any kind of man. I think you're someone much better…and if you're brave enough to see that for yourself, you should come with us. Her brown eyes were filled with a thousand different colors – violet, black opal, bronze, hazel, gold. They held onto Logan's with a fervor, an energy, a lightness that he hadn't seen before. No one had ever dared to look at him as she did. Or, if they did, it wasn't always with the brightest of intentions. This little British spitfire, she had both – intention and light.

And why would I do that? He backed away from her. There was a scratchy, angry look that crossed his face as if a subtle conflict was occurring behind the thinly veiled mask of his strong jaw. So, I can be one of 'Captain America's Howling Commandos'? He sarcastically laughed, shaking his head.

If that's what you want… She offered him a small smile as she walked past him, patting him on the shoulder as she went to meet Steve by the door. Before she left, she turned and whispered into his ear: But I think you want something more. Her eyes flashed, meeting his in a collision of space and time, brilliant and restless. A comeuppance as well as an opportunity. He could do great things, if he only wanted to stand by her side…and it was her side he wanted to stand by. No one else.

For the first time, in a long time, maybe since he was a kid, Logan believed in something.

And now, a century later, and here he was…still looking at Peggy Carter like she could have fundamentally changed his world in the snap of a second. Because she could. She did. She pulled him out of whatever hole he had been living in and shook him free. She had that power. And maybe… Maybe, a part of him fell in love with her right then and there. But he knew it wasn't so simple, he fell in love with her in degrees, with years, with time. Every smile, every laugh, every wink, every goddamn crack of a joke – she pulled him under…and he tried to move on, but…

Peggy reached out and brushed some of his thick hair out of his face. A small, pained smile crossed her features. "Can you stay?" She asked him softly, her brown eyes were as bright and unparalleled by any star.

Of course, Peg. I'll stay. I'll do anything for you. Just ask. "No, I…uh… I gotta go see Charles at the Mansion. That's why I'm really in town."

The disappointment was raw and cleft across her face. She wouldn't hide it, not from him. "Well," she swallowed it down – the disappointment – and shifted her eyes to his in a brave moment of hope and benediction, as if looking at him would change the outcome of where they stood. "I'm so happy I got to see you…" Her voice broke over 'happy,' her eyes suddenly darting away from his.

Why was he here? Well, believe it or not, he thought he would – I don't know – ask? Ask if she wanted to come with him? Leave? God, it sounded fucking ridiculous. She would just leave Steve and Honour, her own kid? No, why would he ever think he could ask that of her? He couldn't. But there wasn't anybody else for him…Peggy was it. He had tried that with Jean or Nina or even Ororo…but none of them had made him feel anything like Peggy had. So, had he been willing to risk it all, just to ask?

Yes.

But then he saw her… Standing there. Indescribably beautiful. For someone else. And he couldn't.

"I'm happy I got to see you, too, darlin'." That nickname just slipped right off the tongue, didn't it? He reached over and brushed a dark curl behind her ear, clearing that perfect space on her forehead. She was crying. With a small, gentle laugh at her tears – not out of humor, but out of sympathetic understanding – he leaned over to kiss her on that soft, open plain of skin. His lips lingered there as he felt Peggy relax against his touch.

Logan began to pull away, only for Peggy to pull him back into her arms one last time. Her face buried itself into the soft, fleshy molds of his neck. "You'll at least send a carrier pigeon once in a while, right?" She whispered into his ear – teary and soft-spoken.

With a pained chuckle, he rubbed the small of her back. "Once in a while." He agreed with a chuckle as he broke from her arms. His hands slipped around hers, rough and calloused up against the smoothness of her skin. "Don't forget to raise hell for Rogers, alright?"

"Oh, he doesn't know what he's signing up for, I'm afraid." She smiled at him. Sweet, heartbroken, and…timid? Was he seeing that right? Peggy Carter – afraid?

Yes, as a matter of fact, she was afraid. She was afraid of never seeing him again. She was afraid that Logan would walk out that door and never think of her again. Wait for me… She wanted to beg him to stay. If he could just wait, if he could just hang on… But wait for what? And why? Her fear of never seeing Logan again was not an excuse to hold off on marrying Steve. It just wasn't plausible. She loved Steve – she loved him so much…and defensively, over her own heart, he was hers.

But Logan… Logan was never really hers. He was a renegade, a wild spirt that wandered the Earth for centuries, looking for someplace to call home. And even then, no one really "owned" Logan. He couldn't be possessed, and she wasn't about to be the one who tried. Like water slipping through fingers, he pulled out of her hands. He took a step back and then another, settling the distance between them. A distance she could not cross.

Logan offered her one last smile – a sunset over a fading era of time, a goodbye of some kind or another, but really, as his mother used to say, it was a farewell. A wish for her own "faireness," as they used to say in his age. The faireness of life and order… The faireness to prosper and grow and love and be…happy… "You'll knock em' dead up there, kid."

I love you. They both thought. And then Logan was gone, and Peggy had to go get married.

"And do you, Steven Grant Rogers, take Margaret Elizabeth Carter to be your husband? Oh, sorry. I mean wife. Do you take Margaret to be your wife?" Sam Wilson glanced between his two friends with a smirk. He was pretty proud of himself for securing the minister spot the night before over an online class that took less than twenty minutes.

At Sam's intentional slip-up had caused a rousing wave of laughter through the church as the couple's friends and family gathered in the old, squeaky pews, began to chuckle at his remark. It was true, in some respect. Peggy wore the pants in the relationship, and to Steve, that was fine.

With a glowing grin, he chuckled at Sam, before his gaze shifted back to Peggy. "I do. If she'll have me as her wife."

"And Pegs, do you take Steve to be your husband?"

Peggy chuckled, tears glittering in her eyes like unmined diamonds, as she reached out to cup Steve's cheek. "I do." And she did. For the rest of her life.

"Well, then there's only one thing left to do – Steve, kiss that woman." Sam threw up his script, which had been fairly pointless anyway, and scattered the pages around the kissing couple with the crowd cheering and laughing with joy at the embrace of the two.

However, in the back of the church, leaning against the backdoor, was a scruffy, bulky man. His eyes, flashing in the dim sunlight shining in through the broken stained-glass window beside him, glittered with unshed tears. He stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets and turned to go.

He just wanted to see her one last time.

And as the couple began to walk back down the aisle, followed by their celebrating friends and family, that strange, heartbroken man with the soulful smile and the grand chaos inside his heart had slipped out the backdoor. Unbeknownst to anyone.

Wait for me. Always, darlin'.