Chapter 6

It was late morning when Belenko returned with food, more firewood, and a few cots. Steve's shield had proved no more useful at jogging his memory than she had, so Peggy dragged one of the cots to an empty room and lay down. Despite sunlight filtering through the dirt-encrusted uncovered window, it didn't take long for exhaustion to claim her.

"I can try and force it down."

The nightmare was always the same.

"I'll get Howard on the line. He'll know what to do."

Except it wasn't actually a nightmare.

"There's not enough time. This thing's moving too fast and it's heading for New York. I gotta put her in the water."

The worst moment of her life played over and over in technicolor.

"Please don't do this. We have time. We can work it out."

Except in her nightmare, she could see Steve in the cockpit of the massive bomber. She could see the endless white landscape of ice that surrounded him.

"Right now I'm in the middle of nowhere. If I wait any longer a lot of people are gonna die."

She could see the bomber hurtling towards the ice, and there wasn't a damn thing she could do to stop it.

"Peggy, this is my choice."

Peggy bolted awake with a gasp and nearly fell out of the cot. The nightmare always ended the same way, with the crackle of static on the radio. She wiped a tear from her face with the back of her hand. Today was different. Steve Rogers was alive, and she was going to do everything in her power to bring him back.

For a brief moment, she wondered if she'd imagined finding Steve alive. She rushed to the other room, disregarding her rumpled clothing and tangled hair. She found Parker and Belenko standing watch and dismissed them. Steve was awake but silent. Someone had given him a chair to sit on, and he turned a curious look on her.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

Peggy shook her head, now feeling embarrassed by her overreaction. She raked a hand through her knotted brown hair and remembered why she kept it short during the war. Running her hands over her mussed clothing in a futile attempt to smooth the wrinkles, she felt a lump in her jacket pocket and pulled out the compass. She didn't know what possessed her to take it on this operation-for luck maybe.

"What's that?"

"This is yours," she said, placing it in his hand. She noted his ankles were no longer bound, just his wrists. Someone-probably Dugan-had decided he wasn't likely to attack again. He probably hadn't liked seeing his former squad leader trussed up like a turkey.

Steve opened the compass, and she could tell he was looking at her picture within. He looked healthier than yesterday, the pallor of his skin lessened and his eyes brighter. Almost half of the wires were gone, too-likely pushed out as he healed. Someone cut the rest of them short so they were less noticeable. He studied the compass in silence for a long time before speaking.

"You look different. Not bad different, just different. Not that you could ever look bad," he rushed to cover. "I like your hair long," he added sheepishly. It was the most Steve-like thing he'd said since they found him.

"I see you still haven't learned how to talk to a woman, have you?" She bit her lip to avoid crying or laughing or whatever overly emotional outburst was threatening to surface.

The Steve Rogers she knew years ago would have been staring at his hands out of embarrassment after that exchange, but he continued to study her. Peggy uncharacteristically ducked her head to avoid his scrutiny.

"I missed our date, didn't I," he said quietly. Peggy's eyes widened in shock as she looked up at him. "The Stork Club, eight o'clock. Do you remember?"

"Of course I remember," she retorted without thinking. "You remember?"

"You said you would teach me to dance." He paused like it took some effort to recall. "I was on Schmidt's bomber, and we were talking over the radio. I was going to crash the plane away from any people. That's the last thing I remember before waking up here."

Peggy closed her eyes as her mind involuntarily went to the nightmare that played over and over again. She took a deep breath to clear her thoughts. "You don't remember the Soviet lab?"

Steve thought. "There are flashes. A big warehouse. A bunch of guys in white lab coats. The worst headache of my life-and believe me, I used to have some doozies."

Peggy reached a hand into her pocket and pulled out a Swiss army knife, stepping closer to Steve.

"Peggy?" he asked in a concerned tone, standing awkwardly and taking a step away from the chair. "I don't have a shield this time."

She grabbed his wrists and sighed. "Will no one let that go?" she asked in exasperation as she cut through the rope binding his wrists. The small knife, though sharp, wasn't going to cut through wire, so she cut as much as she could and stepped back raising an eyebrow at him. Steve gave a sharp tug and the wire snapped, falling to the floor with a soft clatter.

They stared at each other, neither knowing what to do next. Four long years for Peggy must have felt like only days to Steve. She'd had far too much time to contemplate her regrets. Peggy quickly closed the short distance between them and flung her arms around his neck. After only a brief moment of hesitation, she felt one of his arms circle her waist and his other hand tangle in her hair. Her bruised ribs protested, but she didn't care.

"You're very, very late," she whispered in his ear.

"I got caught up," he said flippantly before turning serious. "I'm sorry, Peggy." He moved far enough away to see her face but not let her go. "How late am I?"

"Today is the seventeenth of August." Steve let out a whistle of astonishment. "Nineteen forty-nine," she finished.

"Forty-nine?" he echoed. "You're not pulling my leg are you? Why can't I remember the last four years?"

Peggy perched on the arm of the chair. "We believe you were frozen for at least three and a half years. Howard found the wreckage of the Valkyrie last October. He went back in May with a team and the aircraft was gone."

"So that's how I ended up in Russia?"

"Precisely."

"And you, Howard, and the SSR came to find me?"

"More or less. A lot has changed in four years, Steve. You might want to sit down for this," she said, patting the spot next to her. He complied and watched her expectantly. She was reminded of the day of his transformation when he followed her like a lost puppy.

"The war ended not long after you went missing. Howard searched for you for months, and he found the Tesseract-the cube-but not the plane. We all went back to the US-"

"Even you?" Steve interrupted.

"Even me. I actually lived in Brooklyn for about a year while working for the SSR." She didn't mention why she chose his native Brooklyn over any other SSR post, and it didn't occur to him to ask.

"And after that?"

"I was offered a new position in Washington, D.C." She smiled at Steve's approving expression, like he expected nothing less from her. "The SSR was replaced by a new organization called S.H.I.E.L.D. That is where I work now."

"Shield?" he asked skeptically.

"It's an acronym for the most unwieldy name for which I take no responsibility. It was Howard and General Phillips. But I do think you may have inspired them," she said fondly with a nod towards his iconic shield sitting in the corner of the room.

Steve suddenly tensed, and seconds later Peggy also heard the raised voices that put him on alert. Howard was berating the agents outside for leaving her alone with Steve.

"Peggy, what the hell are you doing," Howard yelled as he barged in. He saw them sitting close together on the chair and stopped so suddenly that Dugan nearly ran into him.

"Calm down, Howard," she said soothingly as she stood up.

"Careful Stark, she's knocked men out for less than that," Steve quipped.

"Rogers, you're...you again." Peggy couldn't help but smile at smooth-talking Howard Stark being at a loss for words.

"Cap," Dugan acknowledged with a nod. "Nice to see they didn't turn you into a homicidal maniac."

Steve looked from Dugan to Stark to Peggy. "Was that a possibility?"

Stark shrugged. "Almost anything is possible. Come on, your worker bees brought dinner."

"One more question," Steve whispered conspiratorially. "Whose shirt is this?"

For the first time in a very long time, Peggy laughed.