Chapter Eighteen

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"Pepper, do you have a sewing machine?"

Pepper looked up in surprise as Peggy leaned in through the open door. The CEO was supposed to be resting, but instead was tapping away on a work tablet, arm in a sling. The wound wasn't severe, and the plastic surgeon Tony had hired was confident that it would heal without even a scar, but Tony was still overprotective. He had been popping his head in all morning to see if she was okay.

The bewildered look on Pepper's face must have answered Peggy's question, because the woman sighed and came in, leaning against the counter. A full shopping bag hung from her arm. "Oh, that's just wonderful. Have they gone the way of the typewriter and everything else?"

"No, they still exist," Pepper hurried to correct her. "I just - I don't think we have one. I'm sure we could buy one somewhere…" To be quite honest, she hadn't touched a sewing machine since her mandatory sewing unit in middle school, and it had been years since she'd even thought of such a thing.

"No need." Natasha's voice broke into the conversation, and there she was, lounging casually against the doorframe. "I have one, and you're welcome to use it." She strolled into the room, straddling the back of the couch. "What are you making?"

Pepper blinked, startled. Somehow she had never expected the Russian agent to own such a thing. After all, sewing machines weren't exactly deadly weapons, although she did remember the needle being rather vicious.

"Thank you," said Peggy gratefully. "I'm making a dress."

Natasha's gaze never flickered, even as Pepper's jaw dropped. "It's upstairs," she said cooly, flipping her hair toward the door. "Shall we?"

"Um, Peggy?" Pepper ventured, but the two women had already left the room. Raising her voice, she hurried after them. "You do know you can just buy a dress, right?"

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Pepper couldn't understand why a store-bought or tailored dress wouldn't do. Money was no object, she had insisted, but Peggy was firm. "I'm afraid I have something specific in mind," she explained, "and I very much doubt I could buy one like it."

Fifteen minutes later, Peggy was kneeling over a stretch of fabric on the floor of Natasha's room, slashing away with a pair of wicked-looking shears. Natasha herself had been called away, but Pepper stayed, fascinated.

"So are you like a seamstress or something? You're really good at this."

Peggy laughed through a mouthful of pins. "When you grow up after one war, and fight in another, you have to be versatile," she explained, voice muffled as she tried to keep from swallowing anything sharp. "I prefer shooting things, but this does come in handy. I've sewn more parachutes than I care to remember. Besides, rationing made it ridiculously hard to get new clothes."

A knock sounded at the door, and Pepper got up to answer. She wasn't particularly surprised to see Steve; Tony would have barged right in, and Clint would have probably just materialized somewhere.

"Is Peggy here?" asked Steve, looking a little uncertain. "JARVIS said she'd come up this way."

Peggy suddenly swung around Pepper's shoulder, blocking the visitor from entering. "I'm sewing, Steve," she told him firmly, but her eyes were dancing, and she didn't look half as stern as she sounded. "I'll see you tonight."

Steve leaned against the doorframe with a grin. "Do I get to see what you're doing? Making more potato sacks?"

"If you bring that up again, I will hurt you," Peggy threatened, brandishing her shears and trying not to smile. "Now scat, before I make you."

Pepper stood back and watched their banter with a smile. Steve was relaxed and smiling, still a little awkward but very happy. Peggy's eyes were sparkling and she stood closer to Steve than Pepper thought she realized.

"You know he's in love with you," she stated quietly, after the door had shut behind Steve's back, and Peggy was once more bent over her fabric. It wasn't phrased as a question; it was a statement of fact.

Startled, Peggy ran a pin into her hand. "I do," she answered after a long moment. "Is it that obvious to everyone else?"

Pepper almost laughed. "Peggy, a blind man could tell. I've seen the way Steve looks at you. He's never looked at anybody like that. Before we found you, he hardly ever smiled. When he's around you though, his face softens, his eyes soften; he's somehow more confident and shy all at once. He's the man I think he must have been before he went into the ice."

Peggy tried to hide her fond smile by pinning together two oddly-shaped pieces of fabric, but Pepper saw it and settled back in her seat, pleased. She was absolutely determined to help her friends find happiness together. Then she remembered something and sat up again.

"What was that about potato sacks, anyway?"

For answer, she got a dirty look. "That is one thing," Peggy told her primly, "that I am perfectly happy to leave in the past."

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The clock on the wall pointed to five-thirty, and Steve got to his feet and reached for his jacket. For the past hour he had been watching the minute hand of the clock, barely paying attention to the meeting.

"Where do you think you're going?" barked Fury. He had called this impromptu meeting two hours ago, and Steve was willing to bet that the sole reason was to see if the Avengers were still willing to work with SHIELD after the recent standoff.

"I got a date," Steve announced, shrugging on his jacket. His voice sounded more calm than he felt; he could have sworn a whole herd of butterflies was rampaging up and down his insides. He had a date with Peggy Carter.

Fury's eyebrows did something fierce. "You're just gonna walk out of a meeting because you've got a date?"

Steve picked up his notepad. "With all due respect sir, I am. This was an unscheduled meeting, and I already had plans. Barton can fill me in on what I miss." At the end of the table, Clint snapped to attention and tried to look as if he hadn't been doodling trajectories and floor plans on his data screen for the past hour and a half.

Fury shook his head resignedly as Steve turned toward the door. First they revived the girl, and then Cap went and got all batty over her.

"It's Carter, isn't it?" he asked, voice perhaps a little more acidic than he'd intended. Steve swung around with a defensive glint in his eye, but Tony cut in.

"Yeah, uh-huh, and speaking of Agent Carter, she's going to be our liaison with you guys, so we won't have to come to as many of these boring meeting things. Fun, huh? Pep's going to contact you about it as soon as she draws up the papers."

The news promptly distracted Fury from the captain's departure. With a thankful nod at his friend, Steve turned to leave once more. Tony's parting farewell drifted through the closing door behind him. "Have fun, Cap. Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

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Steve knocked at the door of Peggy's suite at seven-thirty on the dot. For some reason, he was incredibly nervous, and he had to remind himself not to crush the flowers in his hand. He was about to take a girl - the girl - out dancing for the first time in his life, and for a minute he was suddenly, unreasonably afraid that the whole thing had been a dream.

Then Peggy opened the door, and everything else fell away.

She was beautiful, bright and glowing and alive, dressed in the red dress she had worn so long ago in a pub in London, the night she had all but told him that she cared for him, that she would wait for him until the war was over. Common sense would have told him that it couldn't possibly be the same dress, but at the moment common sense was very, very far away.

Peggy met his eyes, and the warm light and respectful appreciation she saw on his face reminded her of the same night, when he had first seen her in red. They never could have dreamed where their lives would take them, that long-ago night, but somehow it felt as if things had come full circle.

At last he came to himself, handing her the flowers and then blushing all over his face when he realized he was supposed to pin them on her dress. She took pity on him, pinning them on herself, before smiling up at him.

"They're beautiful, Steve."

"Yes," he agreed fervently, never realizing that she was talking about the flowers. "Peggy, you look like a million bucks."

The dance was held in a small public dance hall with a worn wooden floor - a throwback from older days that had somehow escaped modernization or destruction. Most of the couples at the dance were from their own generation, and two or three actually recognized Steve as Captain America. He graciously spoke a little with each, but kept Peggy's arm tucked in his own, unwilling to let her go, unable to keep his eyes off of her.

Sudden shyness had seized them both, and neither had anything to say. He got her some punch, and she sipped it demurely, reveling in his care for her, his intense pride at having her on his arm. There were only a few young people there, but Peggy felt every girl looking at her, envying her place at his side. She held her head high, very aware that Steve had eyes for no one but her.

True to their agreement so long ago, they waited until the band played something slow, and then Peggy set aside her glass and pulled him out on the floor. He came nervously, swallowing hard, but with a trust and eagerness in his gaze that made her smile giddily back.

She had to show him how to hold her, and he obeyed, large hands incredibly gentle. He had touched her before, tackled her, bandaged her wounds, shielded her with his body, even carried her to safety the time she'd been shot in the back, but this was different and he was hesitant, worried that he might offend her.

"Is this okay?" he asked, eyebrows furrowing cautiously as he looked up from his hand on her waist.

She nodded breathlessly. "Yes."

Even though the music was slow, he stepped on her feet several times until he got the hang of it. For such a skilled athlete, he was surprisingly clumsy until she got him to forget himself. It wasn't until the middle of the dance that he suddenly came into his own. The steps came more easily, and he watched her with a reverent, tender light in his eyes that took her breath away as she spun into his arms and out again.

Peggy's cheeks hurt with her smile, but she simply couldn't stop. Dancing with Steve was everything she had ever dreamed of, ever hoped for. She leaned into his shoulder a trifle closer than before, and felt his hand carefully tighten at her back, daringly pressing her just a little nearer.

The first dance broke the ice, and suddenly there was so much to say to each other. Between dances, they talked about everything under the sun: Howard, Tony, aliens, Leviathan, their respective coworkers, and the end of the war. Peggy's eyes filled with tears as she told him of the Howling Commandos' last toast, held spontaneously before she had left with the SSR for America. "To the Captain," Dugan had proposed. "The Captain," the rest had rumbled softly, and then they downed their drinks and separated without a word.

Steve offered her his handkerchief, and they both pretended to ignore his glistening eyes as she wiped her own. He was deeply touched by the evidence of his men's affection and loyalty. Peggy slipped her hand into his, and they sat quietly for a long time, listening to the music. When they talked again, it was of happier things.

The last dance of the night was a slow one. They danced silently, very close to one another, savoring the wonder of being together again. Peggy laid her head briefly on Steve's shoulder, and he smiled against her hair, dizzy with happiness. Dimly, as if from a great distance, Thor's words from earlier echoed in his mind as they crossed the dance floor. "Do not squander your second chance."

Steve held Peggy closer as the dance ended, and locked every moment into his enhanced memory forever.

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As they neared the door of her suite, Steve's steps slowed. "Do you want to go dancing again next Friday?" he abruptly asked. "They have a different band come every week."

Peggy tilted her head to look up at him, and suddenly he was absolutely certain he had said the wrong thing. "Only if you want to, though," he tried to clarify. "You don't have to. I just - I hoped that maybe you'd be willing to dance with me again."

It sounded more awkward the further he went, and he could tell his cheeks were flaming. Peggy's mouth pursed with amusement.

"Just next week?" she asked.

He didn't even have to think about his answer. "Every week. Every week that you'll have me, anyway."

Peggy's arm slipped free from his, and she stopped in front of him, studying his face. "Captain Rogers, are you asking me to go steady with you?"

"Yes," he said, and he had never meant anything quite so much. "I am."

Instead of replying, Peggy suddenly stood on her toes and brushed his cheek with her lips, so briefly that it was over before he realized what she was doing. He stared at her, eyes wide in surprise. "Then yes," she whispered softly. "I will." For a heartbeat her hands lingered on the lapels of his jacket, and then she slipped into her room with a starry smile. "Goodnight, Steve."

Steve stood in the middle of the hall, staring dumbstruck at her door for a full minute, fingers to his cheek, heart racing wildly in his chest. The unbelievable truth rebounded through every fiber of his being.

He was actually going steady with Peggy Carter.

Blindly he headed for the elevator, completely unaware of the ridiculous grin on his face.

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Peggy's heart sang as she got ready for bed, gently laying the red dress over a chair. The look in Steve's eyes when he saw her had been worth every minute of the time she had put into it. Humming a few notes from the last waltz, she stood at the window for a long time, looking vainly for the stars through the haze of smog and city lights.

Steve had looked so earnest out in the hallway, stumbling over his words. He was obviously determined to court her properly. It was sentimental and sweet, and she found herself absurdly gratified that he thought she was worth the trouble.

She had lost so much, but through that loss she had gained immeasurably more: the love and respect of a good man, the man of her dreams. He recognized her value and treated her as a companion, a true partner, an individual who was equally strong and inexpressibly precious.

Heart too full for sleep, Peggy wrapped herself in a blanket and watched the sky.

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Stark was still up, muddling around in the common kitchen when Steve floated through, barely touching the floor. Tony took one look at the captain's elated face and groaned, throwing his hands up. "Oh, you two are so disgustingly cute, I'm not sure I can stand it." Passing Steve on his way out, he slapped the captain on the shoulder. "Nice lipstick," he commented, grinning evilly. "Not sure it's your color though."

Steve flushed heavily and wiped at his cheek, giving Tony a half-hearted dirty look when his hand came away clean.

"Oh-ho, so she did kiss you!" Tony crowed triumphantly. He skillfully dodged the playful swing at his head and snickered all the way back to the lab.

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I've been looking forward to posting this one for a long time. So happy!

Yesterday I celebrated Thanksgiving with my family. It's a holiday where we focus on the things we're thankful for. I am very thankful for all of you who read this. Your support means an awful lot to me, and I've been astonished at all the reviews, favorites and follows. Thank you.

Well, folks, we're winding down. As the story currently stands, we've got two chapters and an epilogue left, though I may expand the two chapters into three. We'll see. I've also been asked about a sequel. While I do have a rough draft of one that would carry through Age of Ultron, I don't know if I'll ever polish it up. Would anybody want to read such a thing?

Have a fabulous week, everybody!

Thoughts?