Cherbourg, along with the whole Cotentin Peninsula, fell on the 29th of June.

Peggy's reaction to the news that the Germans have surrendered was twofold. She was both parts relived and uncertain – relieved that they achieved their objective and uncertain of what was about to come. The news from other sectors were slightly less positive – even though the British and the Canadians were making steady progress, Caen still remained in German hands, which meant the prospect of the fast capture of Paris was still far, far away. For now, they got withdrawn for a while to rest, awaiting what was to come.

The first few days of their leave were mainly spent on resting. A near month of non-stop combat took it's toll, especially on Steve, who, unlike the rest of the crew, did not see war before Normandy. The crew got quartered in an abandoned house in a small village – one of the few not scarred by artillery or bombs. While there was only one bed (that the crew decided to give to Peggy, even though she protested about it, calling it "excessive"), they were all already used to sleeping on unusual surfaces. So, while Peggy usually rested in the bed, Steve occupied the couch while the rest made use of either armchairs or the carpeted floor. And while the couch was quite comfortable, the nightmares that invaded Steve's dreams did not help at all to make him relaxed. He quickly found out a way to keep himself calm, however – sketching.

Steve always had a knack for arts. If not for his family situation and the Depression, he imagined he might have made a career out of it. Thanks to the military, his drawing skills and an admirably steady hand soon became useful as he soon lost track of the many maps he had to carefully copy or recreate. In his free time, he usually sketched things he remembered or what he saw in his surroundings. Soon, his pad started filling up with drawings, picturing his journey.

It was during one of such calm evenings that he found himself flipping through his works. They went back to his days in the bot camp, his journey from the US to England, his arrival to France and so on. Soon enough, he was looking at the sketches from his time on the front line – these were mainly drawings of different tanks, trucks, armored cars and even some aircraft, some drawings reflecting the landscape. However, he soon found a common denominator in all the pages he filled up since his reassignment.

Peggy.

It wasn't like he ever asked her to pose for him. He felt that proposition would be far too forward, and had already imagined Peggy shooting him down. He resorted to sketching her either from memory, or while glancing quickly while she wasn't looking. His "portraits" (he would hesitate to call them that had he been asked about them, though) showed her differently every time – sleeping inside the tank, punching someone in the face or looking into the distance. Some of them were not finished, some were just studies of her face, her lips or her hair. Steve soon felt the butterflies in his stomach fluttering violently. He couldn't lie to himself – he had a crush on Peggy Carter. A hopeless one at that – which woman of the caliber of Peggy Carter would chose him instead of someone far more attractive than him? Suddenly, his mind filled with images of her rejecting him. Even though these were merely the products of his imagination and anxiety, they felt painful. It was as if someone was stabbing him right in the heart with an icicle and then twisting it, deepening the wound. He felt tears slowly flowing to his eyes as he sighed deeply, nestling himself against the pillow. As he closed his eyes, different images started flooding his mind. It was as if he was trying to erase the painful ones with the hopeful ones, as he imagined him and Peggy together – holding hands, smiling, kissing...

Peggy woke up abruptly, breathing heavily. She didn't remember the nightmare, but the fact that she was fairly disheveled and sweaty meant that the dream wasn't a nice one. He took in her surroundings for a moment, before lifting herself off the bed. She knew that she would have problems falling asleep again, so she decided to check on her crew. As she went into the spacious ling room, she saw them all in the dim light of the candles – Steve nestled into the couch, Howard and Jarvis sprawled on the armchairs and Dugan snoring lightly on the floor. Then, a small detail caught her attention. One of Steve's arms was hanging off the couch and she saw something that looked like a flip pad under his fingers. She moved quietly towards the couch. She slowly lifted Steve's arm and put it around his stomach. He fidgeted slightly, but didn't wake up. Her attention then switched from Steve himself to the flip pad. She carefully picked it up, smoothing the page.

"Oh." she said quietly, as she saw what was on the page. It was divided in half – to the top there was a drawing of their tank in battle. Below, however, under a heavy line, there was a drawing of her. A full portrait of her from the neck up, remarkably accurate and lifelike. She wasn't an artist herself, but just by looking at it she saw how much effort must have been put into it. She started to flip the pages and soon she felt her insides heat up as she saw more sketches of her. Each of them different, but all beautiful in their own right.

The sights of both Steve sleeping peacefully and the sketches in his notebook had a profound effect on her. Outside of the fire burning in her stomach, she felt her cheeks go hotter and hotter. She put the flip pad on Steve's lap and quietly ran to the bathroom. She looked at the mirror and saw that her cheeks were bright pink with a blush. She quickly splashed some cold water from the bucket on her face and gripped the edges of the sink, breathing heavily, calming her racing heart. After a while, her heartbeat returned to normal, as she strode back to the bedroom. As she laid down, she thought about Steve. How he charmed her from the get go by not treating her like an object, by being respectful and humble. How his presence around her always filled her with a bit more joy than usual. How he made her feel things she thought she would never feel again. Maybe even too humble sometimes, but Peggy thought of it more like a nice change of pace from the usual treatment she got from other men. As she nestled into the covers, she felt strangely calm. Soon, her eyelashes fluttered involuntarily and she was asleep again.

"So, when are you going to tell her?"

The question that came out of Howard's mouth was certainly unexpected. Steve turned his head to look at him, noticing a grin on his face.

"Tell her what, exactly?" Steve answered, sipping his coffee from the tin mug. They were sitting alone in the dining room – Peggy had to attend a meeting with the command, while Jarvis and Dugan headed out to town to grab some food and drinks for the evening.

"That you love her." Howard said, his expression deadly serious.

Steve froze for a second, before starting to cough out the coffee that somehow got to his throat. After a while he stopped, gasping for breath.

Howard chuckled.

"That's not funny." Steve said, his voice slightly strained.

"What? The fact that you nearly drowned because of a question or the fact that you are clueless about feelings?" Howard answered, smirking.

"I'm not clueless." Steve answered, his tone a little resigned "And she likes me as a crew member. And maybe a friend. But nothing much more than that."

When he finished, Howard stared at him in disbelief for a second, before erupting in laughter. Steve watched him curiously as he clutched his stomach and doubled down. After a while, he stopped to wipe off a few tears from his eyes.

"Oh God, Stevie." he said, breathing heavily. "I knew you would be bad at this, but this bad?"

Howard then looked at Steve, and saw that he dropped his head, drilling holes in the floor with his gaze. He quickly stood up and wrapped an arm around him.

"You know that I met Peggy before France, hell, even before Italy?"

Steve looked at him, his expression blank.

"I met her in 1940 when I was on a trip to England with my father. Her parents were fairly prominent in the society, so meeting them was a given." Howard continued. "She was slightly different from what she is now. She was more bubbly, happy and caring, especially for the people she loved. But then nearly her whole family perished in the Blitz. When I met her again, it was as if that side died with her family, or somewhere along the way."

Steve listened, with his mouth slightly agape. He only knew Peggy as a soldier and a commander. The news that she wasn't always like that, that she once was just a normal girl, probably dreaming of a wonderful life that lay ahead of her did make an impression on him.

"And what does it have to do with me?" Steve asked, curious to where Howard was leading him.

He drew a breath and tightened the grip on Steve's shoulder.

"Since you came here I saw her change a bit. I saw how she looks at you when you sleep. I see all the time how she cares about you. Steve, I'm starting to see the glimpses of Peggy that I thought died a long time ago." he said, his tone dead serious.

Steve drew a long breath. If what Howard said was true (and with the tone he used it must have been, he had never seen him this serious), then his affections for Peggy might not have been misplaced.

"Okay." Steve said. "I'll do it. But when I see fit. I don't want to rush it."

"Understandable" Howard said. "But under one condition."

"What is it?" Steve asked.

"You pick me as the best man." Howard answered, smirking. Steve responded by shoving him lightly, chuckling.

"If Peggy will be okay with that, then yes, we have a deal." Steve said, smiling for the first time since the conversation started.

Howard released his shoulder and patted him lightly on his back.

"You'll see, you'll be thanking me later." he said, walking out of the dining room.

Steve finished his coffee and stared twirling the cup in his hands. He breathed steadily as he thought of what he just heard. He slowly started to feel his cheeks heat up.

So there is a chance. He thought, smiling to himself.