Sooner or Later

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Steve had been slipping in and out of consciousness most of the day. Sam had done his best to set up house in the one comfortable chair the hospital room had to offer, surrounding himself with the best of the outdated magazines he'd pilfered from the outside hall tables. Sure, there might be guards in the hall outside, and sure, Natasha might be down in the lobby terrifying everybody who walked in and out, but if anybody wanted to get to the captain, they'd have to go through him first.

That had been hours ago. And either nobody was coming after Captain America, or Natasha was doing a pretty good job stopping them downstairs, because other than the quiet beeps of the various machines hooked up to Steve's body, and the mellow strains of Marvin Gaye, the place was pretty much silent.

Sam's tired eyes fluttered. It wouldn't do any harm to let them rest, just for a minute. He could still hear if anything went wrong. Just—for a minute…

Naturally, that was when Steve's heart skipped and stopped beating.

The long drawn-out beep of the heart monitor sent Sam shooting bolt upright out of a half doze, groping for the call button, staring at the line on the screen as his own pulse began to race in anxiety.

Captain America was going to die on his watch—and it was all because he'd nodded off for a second.

The line finally spiked with the next beat, and that's when Sam finally noticed the captain's face. He was awake, staring wide-eyed, open-mouthed at the door, completely frozen. An explosion could have gone off under his bed, and he probably wouldn't even have noticed.

He's had a heart attack, Sam thought hazily through his panic. Romanoff's gonna kill me.

"Peggy?"

Steve's voice was hoarse, the word barely audible.

Sam looked around and saw the woman for the first time. Brunette, gorgeous, carrying herself like a queen, she stood in the doorway smiling a little sad smile that looked like it hurt, bright eyes shining. "Steve."

The sound of her voice made Steve's heart monitor skip two or three beats again, and no, that could not be healthy. The man looked as if an angel had walked into the room, simultaneously terrified and riveted.

"Peggy?" he whispered again, and his voice cracked.

"Yes," she said, very softly. "It's me."

Steve stared for a second longer, and then the entire bank of instruments wailed in protest as the great idiot suddenly started trying to sit up, turning white as a sheet as he folded over the wound in his stomach—the through-and-through shot that had chipped his spine and perforated more organs than anybody else could have hurt and still stayed alive.

"Hey, hey, hey," Sam jerked out of his shock-induced paralysis, grabbing one of the massive shoulders and trying to keep him still so all the random things stuck into his body wouldn't completely get pulled out. The guy had more tubes in him than the city water processing plant. "Calm down, Cap, okay? Romanoff'll kill me if you do anything stupid, you know that, right?"

His words had absolutely no effect, as if he was both invisible and mute. Steve kept stubbornly trying to get out of bed, disregarding both his own agony and the fully-grown man who was attempting to hold him down. "Peggy," he rasped urgently - and then something brushed past Sam and the woman was there, hands gentle on the captain's chest and bruised cheek, easing him back against the pillow.

"It's all right, darling," she soothed, not wincing at the iron grasp the captain instantly anchored around her wrist. She leaned in, stroking his hair back, and his eyes briefly fluttered closed before flying open as though he thought she might have vanished while he wasn't looking. "It's all right—I'm here."

Sam straightened, feeling oddly like a third wheel. So apparently Captain America had a British girl whom he was desperately in love with—but something about the man's shock didn't quite measure up. Steve was shaking, staring up at her with something raw and almost hopeful in his face before it suddenly clouded with naked devastation.

"Who are you?" he choked, reaching up to touch a lock of her dark hair. "Peggy is—and you're..." His throat worked painfully, and the hand around her wrist tightened. "Am I dead, or are you H- Hy-"

He couldn't finish the word, but that didn't matter because the woman leaned in and kissed him.

Sam's eyebrows leaped.

For just an instant, Steve froze—and then surrendered completely with a sound that was suspiciously like a sob, winding the fingers of his free hand through her curls, holding her infinitely close.

Sam shifted awkwardly. If she really was Hydra, he needed to get her away from the captain as fast as possible. On the other hand, he had seen Steve face down his worst enemies and fight his best friend—but he'd never seen the man react like this to anything. Whatever or whoever she was, this girl was special.

Besides, it was nice to finally see the man getting some attention. He'd really had a bad week.

The woman drew back at last, something brilliant in her face. Steve wouldn't let her go, eyes wide with recognition, his cheeks wet, though with her tears or his own, it was impossible to tell.

"Peggy," he breathed again, questioning no longer, and she nodded, tracing the bruises on his face with a gentle finger. "I'm here," she promised. "It's a very long story, but it is me. And no, I'm not Hydra. I believe I owe you a dance, Captain."

Steve dragged in a breath that caught and rattled in his throat. He was still trembling, fingers vibrating as he touched her hair wonderingly, a half-delirious smile tugging at his lips that made him look suddenly ten years younger. Then his face furrowed. "Buck—Bucky's…"

At the warning, Sam spun on his heel to look back at the door with alarm. It was empty, and that was when he realized Steve was trying to tell his girl about the Winter Soldier. She was nodding, voice low and soothing. "I know, darling—I know. We'll find him, but right now you need to rest."

The word 'rest' was apparently not in Steve's plans, because the captain's jaw took on a very stubborn set. It was, however, exactly what Sam wanted. With Steve's attention so entirely riveted on the woman at his side, it was the easiest thing in the world to slip around the head of the bed and check the IV line carrying the painkiller/sedative concoction.

Yup, just as he'd figured. At some point during one of his periods of consciousness, Steve had set it to 'low.' Seriously, he had to be in incredible pain.

The woman watched approvingly as Sam turned it up to a more acceptable level, even as she distracted the captain's attention so he wouldn't notice. Slowly the drugs took hold, and Steve began to drift a little, though he still wouldn't let go of his girl.

"I—love you," he confessed with a rush, choking the words out as though he couldn't hold them back a moment longer. "Never got a chance t' tell—I'll understan' if y'don't…"

He was slipping again, stumbling over his words, eyelids fluttering heavily as he fought the drugs and his own injuries in a herculean attempt to stave off unconsciousness. Peggy—Sam supposed that must be her name, since Steve had said it so many times—flushed prettily and dimpled, biting her lip, and Steve's monitor did that thing again where it looked like he was having heart failure.

"I do," she broke in softly, bending still closer. "Oh my darling, I love you too."

Sam suddenly became aware of the fact that he was standing in the middle of some kind of sappy romantic soap opera, the likes of which he had not seen since he'd stayed in his mother's basement and been subjected to her TV tastes for two weeks after his second tour. Awkwardly, he moved toward the door, and instead ended up nearly running into the doctor who had finally come in response to all the noise Steve's machines were still making.

Seriously, that was pretty awful reaction time.

"What's going on?" demanded the doctor testily. Sam took one look back at the star-crossed couple and made up his mind.

"Look," he started. "Just tell me how to turn the alarms off, and we'll call it good, okay?"

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It took a while to get all the machines to stop chirping and wailing. By the time Sam finished with the last one, Steve had gone under again, though he was still gripping Peggy's arm as though it were the last solid thing in the universe.

Obviously the guy had it bad for her. If this lady turned out to be Hydra despite her protestations, it was going to break Steve Rogers into smithereens, heart and all.

"You know," Sam pointed out offhandedly, gesturing towards his own nest. "You're welcome to take the chair."

"Thanks, but I'm quite all right where I am." Peggy had commandeered the nurse's rolling stool, and remained next to the captain. Sam noticed she had her free hand curled over his.

That looked good, but it wasn't enough. There were still so many unanswered questions, and Sam wasn't about to let his guard down until he was satisfied.

"I don't know how much you know," he started, folding his arms across his chest. "But Steve's had a rough couple days. His boss tried to kill him and then his evil best buddy tried to kill him, and then the Potomac tried to kill him. If you're gonna try next, you should know that he won't go easy—and he has friends who'll take you down too."

Peggy looked him up and down with a coolly appraising sweep of her lashes, and then smiled warmly. "I'm counting on it, Mr. Wilson. Steve needs someone to watch his back, and you are to be trusted with the job."

Sam blinked at her unexpected approval, and then blinked again at the realization she knew his name. He opened his mouth to ask her about it, but her attention was no longer on him. She was looking back down at the sleeping captain, and something in her eyes, in the way she brushed a strand of hair away from his forehead, made Sam shut his mouth.

Nobody—not even the best of actors—could look at a man that way without being entirely in love with him.

And after all, she had managed to get past Romanoff downstairs, and the guards at the door to the hospital room hadn't even blinked. Maybe there was a reason they had let her through. Perhaps this woman was to be trusted after all.

Either way, it wouldn't hurt to stick around and keep an eye on her.

Sam settled back down into his chair. The playlist had ended; he scrolled through the options on his iPod. "Any requests?"

"Something slow, please." Her voice was controlled, but when Sam looked up he saw that Peggy's eyes were wet and her face was radiant. For the first time he realized that she was holding onto Steve's hand as tightly as he was clinging to her.

Evidently Steve wasn't the only one who'd been lonely.

"Something slow coming right up," he answered, and turned on a collection of orchestral music. Not his usual thing, but somehow he sensed it was the right choice.

Then, with a last glance at the lovers, he picked up his magazine again and buried himself in it. After all, whatever their story, they had clearly been apart a long, long time.

They deserved some privacy.

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The End

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Author's Note: I started writing this story seven years ago (almost to the day), and then never could decide how I wanted it to end. It sat in my drafts until I decided to finish and post it for Steggy Week 2023 to fulfill the prompt "Family and Friends". Hope you enjoy!