The mortifying realization that she got Steve killed grips her and she knows she's crying. She's crying. She's crying real tears in front of this man. She needs air, she can't breathe, she sucks in a gasp and chokes on it. The inhuman sound of her grief rattling through the hallways.

The man looks startled and he is frozen before he steps forward, grabbing her shoulders, "no, no, no— Mrs. Rogers, it's fine. He's alright. He's doing alright for the most part. I've actually come ta' collect you to take you to him. He said we should, didn' want ya to worry so much. So would you gather what you need?"

Crushing relief floods her, "he's alive?"

"He's alive. He took a few good hits but he's fine. Foley jsut doesn't want him out and about for now. But he told Foley that it was eitehr let him go home or bring you there. So I'm here to collect ya'."

Now the adrenaline is crashing and her hands are shaking. "What.." she starts, hearing the shake of her voice. She's never been this thrown off, this unprofessional. This attached. "What do I need to bring?"

He's watching her with a sympathetic eye. "Clothes fer yourself and a change or two for Mr. Rogers. Any toiletries ya might need. There's facilities there. Just whatever you migh' need for a few days."

"Food?" She asks, trying to regain her rationality.

"No, ma'am. Food will be provided."

Desperate fear for Steve wages with a disbelief she's being brought into most likely an inner circle. This is the opportunity of a lifetime and yet she wants to nab Steve and run. But it's too late for that now. She walks back to the rooms and shakily changes into day clothes. She packs a bag of pajamas and extra change sof clothes and toiletries. She grabs Steve's razor. He likes a clean shave. Still reeling a bit she grabs her keys, purse, phone, and Steve's sketchbook. He'll want it. He might need it. Peggy turns to the man, "I… I think I have everything."

His face is very kind. "Alrigh' miss. And if you forget something I can come back and grab it."

She nods, knowing that they have access is wild but she's not even concerned about it. They have nothing to hide there. So she motions for him to go so she can follow. He slips the bag off her shoulder and takes it, "come on, let's get ya to your husband."

—-

She pays attention to every little detail. They take a car and she pretends to be dazed, blandly staring out the window wringing her hands but she's memorizing the route. He seems completely at ease, believing her to be the fretting wife.

Which… She doesn't even blame him. She is the fretting (fake) wife.

The city is just starting to really wake up and the traffic means it takes about 35 minutes to get to an underground garage. She watches as the light disappears and the garage spirals downwards. She has no weapons but her wits, and hopefully that will have to be enough.

—

He leads her through a maze of corridors and she can see doors and hallways leading who knows where.

Then he's stopping at an elevator andthey ride three floors up. Nut when they get off she knows she's still underground.

They walk to a large set of double doors and the man, William leads her through them. Beds are set up and people are lying on them. She can see bloody bandages and lots of people hurrying around, but William leads her to the center. She's deposited in front of Foley, his right hand man, the bartender and a few other men she hasn't seen yet. They eye her and she wastes no time, "where is he?"

Foley grins, pointing o the part of the room behind him, "turns out he's not only an artist but a nurse. Couldn't stop him from helping if I tried. That's some man you got there."

"I'm well aware," she bites back. He raises an eyebrow but she's far [ast civility now, "he's alright?"

"Mostly. Probably will be sore for a bit, but he's okay. William tell you I want him to stay here?"

She frowns, now letting her trepidation show and putting on the whole act, "he said for a little bit."

"Well, we will see. That will depend on how the rest of this shit show plays out."

Her eyes look about the room, "what happened?"

"Let's just say the Italians tried to get revenge and leverage all in one go and try a sneak attack, but they're damn fools. We 'bout near took off the head of their operation. They won't try that again."

"Casualties?"

"On our side? Just one, but he was first blood drawn. No way to know it was coming til it was too late. He died for the cause, his family will be well-rewarded."

"I would like to see, Steve." She says " is that alright?" She already knows she can't get too interested in the details. She needs to keep focus, Steve is the one doing the main work of gaining informationa nd he's doing splendidly. She wonders if him bargaining for her to get here was part if the plan or happened by accident.

The men nod and have appreciative smiles like she's a good wife to care. She'd like to punch them but she resists, heading towards the direction where Foley had pointed.

He's there, sitting on the edge of a cot, talking to someone. She wants to shout his name and run over there, but she stays collected and just speeds up her gait a bit.

Her shoes must get his attention because he looks up, and the relieved smile that crosses his face makes her whole facade almost crumble. She does run then, crossing past the last few cots and catching him just as he's standing to his feet. She hugs him fiercely, glad their act as husband and wife would allow such.

"Ah—" he breathes out, a sound of pain and his muscles stiffen as she wraps her arms around him. Immediately she pulls back and her eyes are wide, "Steve? Did I hurt you?"

He grimaces, but there's a smile there, "no, I'm alright. Just bruised up. You're here, I'm glad, I—" he cuts himself off and seems to rethink his words, "I didn't want you to worry. I tried to come home but—"

"William told me. Thank you for thinking of me, I was worried sick."

He sinks back to the cot, a young man watching them. "Pip, this is my wife, Peggy."

The young man grins, revealing a missing tooth and a split lip, "nice to meet you ma'am. Your husband is an excellent nursemaid."

Steve laughs and looks at Peggy, "how was the drive?"

Peggy looks at the man and smiles, "it was fine, I was just worried about you. What…" she looks around and shows the proper amount of hesitation, "this looks like it was quite the fight."

Steve nods, "it was," he gestures to Pip, "but we made it out, right?"

"Cuz of Foley." Then Pip grins, "and cuz o' you."

There's an aura of resignation, "helps that I was familiar with that area."

"You…" Peggy starts, "weren't close to here?"

"Nah," Pip adds, "we were down in Slick territory. Bunch of oiled up fuckers." He eyes Peggy, "apologies."

She lets out a disbelieving laugh, still shaky with the last of the adrenaline, "I'll allow it."

"You go—" Pip waves with his hands, "go catch up. Foley said we move in a few hours, so better make it quick."

Steve nods and she can tell his expression is calculated. He grabs her hand with ease and leads her to an empty side of the room. He gestures to a cot where she sits, "Steve, are you really alright?"

He nods, "I'm fine."

"William said you took a few hits?"

Steve grimaces and then raises the hem of his shirt. Bright black and purple bruises bloom across his sides and ribs. She gasps, hands covering her mouth and he winces, "it's not pretty. But I've had worse."

"By whom?" She snaps, not even processing the words as they leave her mouth, "your bloody father?"

He frowns, "Peggy." He sits, his hands waving in a gesture of shushing her. "Careful," he whispers.

That causes her to pause, and she lowers her voice, "what? Why?"

He leans forward, "your accent. It was coming through."

She really needs to get herself together. "Sorry." She whispers. "I just really was dreadfully worried. William showed up covered in blood and I thought the worst."

His expression is soft, "I'm alright. Just a bit colorful."

"Lay down," she instructs, "I want to check for internal bleeding."

He huffs a laugh, "It's a bruise. That's what internal bleeding is."

"Yes, on a minor scale, but I want to check if there's deeper—"

"Peggy—"

"Steve—!" She snaps out, too loud, heads turning their way. She takes a deep breath and lowers her hands, trying to exude calm. "Please. For me, alright?"

He seems confused but he shrugs, "alright."

Steve lays down awkwardly a bit as he shuffles to be centered on the cot. Then he hesitates for only a second before sitting back up and unbuttoning the shirt, removing it.

He lays back down and she turns, setting her cold hands on his warm skin gently. He watches her, eyes filled with an expression that makes her think maybe she's doing either too good of a job pretending or not a good enough job of hiding her feelings about the bruised man in front of her. She begins to push and gently prod at the bruises. He winces a bit but otherwise seems unphased until she pushes on a rib and he gasps, hand clutching her wrist to stop her.

"It's broken." She hisses out, "you've broken a rib, are you insane? You need to be seen!"

"So what?" He grits out, eyes still closed, "they'll just tell me to be careful and not do any other damage to it. You can't do anything for broken ribs."

"And you would know."

He opens his eyes and looks at her, "are you mad at me? You seem really upset."

"I don't like you getting hurt for this mission." She hisses out, but softens it by resting her hands on his bare stomach, "it's difficult for me to not be the one taking the hits."

"But…" he lowers his voice, eyes flicking down to her hands resting on his bare skin. She can feel him breathing. "This is just part of it. And I think it's helping me get in closer. They truly believe I'm one of them now. They're bringing me to the next meeting. And they let me bring you here. I know main operations are happening in this building we're in."

"I know." She eyes his chest, "is this a rib you've broken before?"

He eyes her warily. "You keep bringing it up." Steve sits up on his elbows and then winces and lays back down, "just ask."

"Last time you practically bit my head off."

He rolls his eyes, "I did not. I was just worried about my teacher and had other things on my mind."

"So I can ask now?"

"Yes."

"How many ribs did your father break?"

"None."

She blinks, "what?"

"My father didn't break any ribs."

She narrows her eyes, "oh, you want to be clever is it?"

He huffs a laugh and then winces again.

"How many ribs of yours did he break?"

"A lot."

"I want a number."

"Why?"

"Curiosity."

"Kind of morbid."

"Steven."

"I don't know."

"How can you not know?"

And his voice gets a hint sharp, "didn't always have money for x-rays, Mrs. Rogers."

Her eyes snap to his at the use of her cover moniker. But she is not blind to the thrill it sends through her. "Give me an estimate."

He sighs, a long suffering one like she might as well be torturing him, "I don't know, maybe like… 17? I'm not sure."

She balks, "seventeen!" Her voice carries and the room comes to a silence. She makes an apologetic expression, before turning back to Steve, "that's unacceptable!"

He tilts his head, "yeah, can't say I was a big fan of it either."

"That's not what I meant!" She snaps out, "he could have killed you!"

His expression shifts, "yeah, I know, he was trying." He says this so easily. It makes her sick. She sits there frozen, mouth parted in surprise and eyes far away. He sits up, slowly and awkwardly putting his shirt back on, face tight with pain, "too bad I'm stubborn as hell and wouldn't die, right?" He winks at her and then stands, "I'm going to check on a few more guys. Foley says there's a room for us, he'll have Wespy show you when you're ready. I'll be up there soon."

He's walking away when she finds her voice, "is he still alive?"

Steve turns back around, "what?"

"Your father, is he still alive?"

Steve shrugs, "I don't know. Who cares?"

Her narrowed eyes follow him as he turns back around and walks towards more injured men. Everything rolls through her mind. His sweet disposition, the fact that he'd just winked at her like it was the most normal thing in the world. The fact that she's never felt so safe or comfortable in bed with another person. Her instant soul shredding grief when she'd thought he was dead and the adrenaline crushing relief finding out he wasn't.

She cares.

—-

For a long while she watches Steve tend to people, and she wonders where the skills, patience, and calm manner comes from.

"Good thing his ma was a nurse." A voice answers her unspoken wondering. She looks up to see the man they'd met all that time ago in the stairwell.

"Oh," she breathes out, "hello. We thought you might have moved since we hadn't seen you."

He grins, "nah, just busy. How's the building treatin' ya?"

"Wonderful." She smiles, "it's perfect for us."

The man, whose name she still doesn't know nods as if he knew it would be, then he gestures to Steve. "When ol' Foley told me Steve'd joined the family I was skeptical, Sarah had always been a strict woman on beliefs and her thoughts on our operations." He laughs softly and then sits beside her, not too close but enough for the cot to dip under his weight, "then Foley told me all about their deal and I thought, 'there she is'" he laughs again, louder, "just like his ma."

"Is he?" She asks, "I never got to meet her."

"Oh yes," his smile is soft towards Steve which she takes as a positive. "Not only in looks though you know that's what first caught me eye." He points over to Steve. "Does Steve know about their connection?"

She furrows her brow, "Connection?"

"His connection to Foley."

Her blood starts to pump harder, "I don't believe so, I haven't heard."

"Foley's younger brother, God rest his soul, was one of Sarah's beau's while they were growin' up. They were inseparable and everyone thought they would be wed. But when he joined up, following in Foley's footsteps, Sarah made it very clear she wouldn't marry a man with those sort of dealings."

Her eyes are wide, listening intently.

"Boy was besides himself, loved that blonde beauty with all his mighty soul. And he kept trying to convince her. She stood firm, but was desperately pleading with him to change his ways. She loved him fiercely too and he knew it. But she never wavered. It drove them both mad."

Her eyes flick to Steve, was he even aware?

"Well, then she gives him an ultimatum. She can't wait forever, and she won't marry him while tangled up in our business." It's funny to her how he makes it sound. Like even he knows what they're doing in not right. But that it's just part of life. "And…" he looks at her with a contemplative expression and lowers his voice, "I had heard whispers that he was going to quit. Would have given it all up for her."

He pauses and she leans in, "what happened?"

"He was killed. Before he got the chance. A man by the name of Morneaux used him to send a message to Foley. Shot 'im in the street like he was a dog. Dropped his body behind the bar."

Her mind is absolutely reeling. She tries to keep the shock off her face. She isn't supposed to know who Morneaux is. The rumors on the street had been that his release would start a gang war on a scale unprecedented. But he hadn't been put behind bars for murder. So this is an entirely new side of things. Phillips would be crowing if he knew what she was learning.

"But…" she asks the question they've been dying to know the answer of. "Don't you all… cooperate with the Russians? Work with them?"

"For now." He says quietly. "After the fall out of his death, and the bloody street battles that ravaged our part of the city, a tenuous alliance was agreed upon. Morneaux was gotten rid of and so then, we and those Russian bastards started to work together because we couldn't keep fighting. We hadn't figured out how to beat them at their own game yet. So we had to bide our time. But…" his grin is dangerous, "that's about to come to an end. When Morneaux is released, we will finally strike back fully on the Russians and have our revenge for their traitorous ways. Not only for the death of Sean, but for all their crooked dealings since. They think we haven't noticed. But we're Irish. We've taken account of every slight and slander and sleight of hand from them. Payment is coming due and they'll pay the piper or drown in their own blood trying."

Her throat is dry. The rumors are true. A fight on this scale will bring ruin and bloodshed on a scale undreamt of to this part of the city. Who knows how many casualties and innocents caught in the crossfire.

Her frown must be something fierce because he laughs, "don't you worry your little head. Steve will be kept out of the fight. Foley values him too much."

She looks up, "but…" she curls inwards, acting unsure and hesitant, "Foley… If Foley knew who Steve was…?"

He looks at her with an appraising eyebrow, "after Sean was killed, Sarah was grieving. She wasn't the same. I half blame grief on why she married that no-good half-Irish bastard. I think she blamed herself for his death even though it wasn't. I heard she'd told her best friend at the time if she'd only 'tried harder' that maybe he would have already gotten out and he would have been spared."

Her eyes go back to Steve who is now talking to Foley. The man nodding as Steve points to several different guys.

"But no one ever told Foley about his ma trying to get Sean to quit. That would not have been received well. And Sarah didn't cross paths with Foley much, but she was a staple in the community. He knew her and reputation as a young woman but she left the neighborhood. Never to be seen again. And Foley is nothing if not careful. He may have known Sarah Rogers when she was young, but he would still double check on Steve. Which is why, like I stated, I was surprised Steve was willing to join up. But—" he laughs and nods at her, "he seems like he takes after his ma plenty. I heard him arguing about donating more money to public schools and providing resources to community centers."

Her smile is soft, "that is so like him. He's always been a giving soul."

"I wish I'd gotten to see 'im grow up. But we're lucky to have him back. And we will win him over. Just you wait."

"Win him over?"

He raises an eyebrow at her again, "he's a stubborn one, thinking he knows best. But he's starting to see our ways. Hell, he punched a man so hard their teeth fell out, and he knows the Russians are bad news." He winks at her, such a different affect than Steve's had had, "we'll make him see sense soon. Then maybe Foley will make him the head of a block. How'd you like that, hmm? Your own little kingdom. You'd make a right pretty queen."

She ducks her head, "oh, sir you flatter me. We're just lucky to be included."

"That you are, miss. No reason to be shy about it." He taps under her chin and smiles at her.

Movement catches her eye and she looks over to see Steve is making his way back towards them. "You ready?" he asks.

"For?"

"We should get some sleep before I have to go out again." He turns to the man, "Patrick, nice to see you again."

"And you. Got all the men squared away?"

"Most. Some need Delly's help. He's on his way."

"That's good. Thanks for your help, lad. We will be off around 10a.m. Sleep quick." He winks at them both and she has the distinct feeling it's a heavily implicative wink. Steve's smile is stiff but he huffs out a laugh, softening it.

"Hopefully these bruises will let me sleep."

The man nods, "o' course. You take something for 'em?"

"I did."

He nods and takes off and Steve holds out a hand, "ready? Wespy has a room for us."

She smiles, "you've said that already."

He frowns, "did I?"

She takes his hand and stands, "you did. Did you happen to take another knock to the head?"

He scoffs at her, "that's low."

Her smile is genuine and she squeezes his hand and lets him lead her to a door on teh far side and out into a hallway, "just wondering."

A tall thin almost willowy man leads them to a level that looks almost like a hotel floor. Doors along the sides marked with numbers.

"Here." The quiet man gestures, "we'll come collect you when it's time to go."

Steve nods, "thanks."

They enter and she can tell Steve ants to sag to the ground. Release all the tension and debrief as if he was at home, safe with her. But he does no such thing, knowing the room they're in is most likely monitored.

"Come here." She whispers, deciding to take advantage of their situation. She pulls him into a hug and holds tightly, above where the bruises are. "Are you really alright? I want to make sure."

"I'm alright." He whispers out, "just bruised."

"You should get cleaned up." She offers, "then get as much sleep as you can."

He nods in agreement, but doesn't make a move. She doesn't release either. The true genuine fear of his death still lingering a bit. She had almost lost him. It felt so real, so sharp. She could lose him at any moment.

The fear of that makes her bury her face into his neck, far surpassing what is necessary to portray a married couple if they're being watched, which she isn't even sure of. But she needs to. Needs the reassurance of his warm skin against her nose, the pulse of his neck gently pressing against her, beat after beat.

"I was worried." She admits, "I was so worried."

His fingers grip her, "I know. I'm sorry. I had them get you as soon as I could."

"I know, I know. I'm just grateful you're okay."

"I am, promise."

She pulls back, looking at him, and only then does she realize they're face to face. Close proximity enough tha she can count his individual eyelashes. Perfect situation to kiss.

In fact… any husband and wife would kiss right now. It would be strange not to kiss.

It's very possible they're not being monitored at all. It's also highly unlikely they are being watched. The most viable option is that they are, or could be, being listened too.

But all those rational thoughts exit her mind as she stares at him. The urge to kiss him is so overwhelming that she decides they must be being watched. So they must kiss. She dips her head forward, placing her lips to his in a soft gesture, not exactly catching him off guard but she can feel his surprise. But he doesn't fight, they have kissed before. Just only that once.

But this time feels different. Her stomach is in knots, thrills and sparks clutching her lungs and heart tightly as she adds more pressure, holding him tighter.

He responds, shifting their angle and wrapping her tighter, closing the distance between them totally. Her body is fully pressed against his and she relishes in the way his frame feels against hers.

Her hands find his hair and tug his head to a better angle, deepening the kiss in a way that she can feel really surprises him, he still thinks she's acting.

What a fool she is. She should be acting. But it's real. So viscerally real for her. Harsh realization fully strikes her that she adores this man. What a dangerous dangerous thing.

Finally he breaks off the kiss and tries to keep the wondering off his face. "I missed you too." He laughs, trying not to seem awkward.

"Go shower." She commands, "you need to rest."

He nods, "I will." He squeezes her hand and takes off to the bathroom. Then, knowing that being watched is a possibility. Sits on the bed, head in her hands like she's a fretting wife trying to stay strong in front of him but worried when he's not there.

Then she stands, grabbing a pair of pajamas from the bag she'd packed. It's already in the room, meaning William must have dropped it off here.

She realizes he didn't grab his… A normal wore would bring them into him. Oh, she's so very pushing the boundaries. It feels even more wild since she is now fully aware that she is enamored with him. But he doesn't know that. No one knows that but her. They think it's real and he thinks it's fake. Funny how it's both at the same time for her. But for now… she'll just commit to the act. She grabs his shirt and soft pajama pants and then snatches the razor and shaving cream, walking to the bathroom door. She briefly considers knocking but even if they were listening it would be strange. What wife knocks on doors her husband is behind?

So she opens the door, hoping it will creak to alert him. It doesn't.

So she steps forward and keeps her eyes away, "Steve? I have your pajamas."

It's a curtain shower, which is a good thing. He pokes his head out and sees them, "thanks." He doesn't even seem phased she's in the bathroom with him. She'd had to pop in a bit at their own apartment but that had been a known safe place. Here is a wild card. "I'm almost out if you want a turn."

"I will." She responds, "I should."

He smiles at her, water dripping delicately from his hair onto the skin below. She follows one down his cheek and then as it curves backward onto his neck and stops at his sharp collarbone. She looks back up to see him wtaching her, confusion on his expression.

"How are the bruises?" She asks, "your rib?"

He accepts this as the reason she must have been staring and nods, "fine. They'll be ugly for a while. Ribs don't heal fast, so I don't know about that."

"Should you even be going out again?" The confusion is back. She should not be fighting for him to miss whatever is going on. But she plays it off as a worried wife, "I just want you home and safe."

Again, he accepts this easily, "I will come back, and I am safe Foley has been over protective, really. But…" he frowns, "are you okay staying here? I don't want you home alone. Not after tonight."

She wonders about that statement, but she doesn't ask. "Yes, I'm fine staying here."

She wants to ask about his mum. But she has the distinct feeling he doesn't know. Wouldn't he have said? Maybe his mother never told him. Why would she?

He looks like he expects her to go, but she can't seem to leave him. So she turns towards the sink, pretending to be busy, grabbing her toothbrush, toothpaste and wetting it, turning back to him, starting to brush her teeth. He raises an eyebrow but then sinks back behind the curtain. The only sound is the soft brush against her teeth and the sound of the shower.

A soft hiss of pain has her straightening. "Steve?"

"It's fine, just bent the wrong way."

She's about ready to stomp over there but the water shuts off. His hand snakes out, grabbing a soft towel and disappearing again.

She does not leave.

She should leave.

But she stares as the curtain slowly slinks open and he's there, wrapped in a towel at the waist. His sharp frame and pale skin contrasting with teh bruises makes her want to snap at him again that he's not being careful enough. But she stays silent.

He steps out, hair dripping on his shoulders.

"Anything I can get you?" She asks to fill the silence, "I think I brought everything, but I was in a rush of worry so who knows."

"Pajamas are fine." He states, then spots the razor. "Oh, thanks."

She nods and is about to finally gather her wits and leave him be when he turns around, his back on display.

She gasps, and he turns, looking worried, like someone might have scared her. BUt she points, "what the hell is that?"

He turns, looking behind him, "what?"

"No! On your back!"

He spins as if he might be able to see and then he angles in the mirror. The red line, a still healing scar over his left kidney area catches his eye.

"Oh—" he breathes out, then he winces, "you remember that. The night William brought me home?" She as sure as hell does not remember that. Because he very much did not tell her. But he's looking at her with a worried expression, now realizing he should have so she wouldn't be so surprised to see a mark like that on her husband's body. "You remember, right? It wasn't too bad. And it's healing. Almost gone." She practically stomps over and bends, bringing the scar to eye level and gently brushing the skin around it softly with her finger tips. "You remember." He urges again, "right?"

Her voice is tight. "Yes." She lies. "I remember. Sorry, I guess my nerves and memory are just frayed."

Steve gently grabs her elbows, forcing her to rise and look at him, "I'm fine. I promise. That doesn't even hurt anymore."

Something like deep dread fills her. She'd gotten the same feeling just a bit before MIchael had died. Terror fills her that she will once again lose another man so important to her. One she can't even admit she cares for fear of botching this whole damn mission. So instead of responding she just nods tightly and turns to leave. But a hand grabs her, and he pulls her back, looking genuinely sorry, but also a bit confused, "Are you angry at me?"

She is. He should have told her. Maybe he thought it was no big deal. Just a cut. But it's a big deal to her. Not that he would know that. He has no idea how she feels. Hell, she barely knows how she feels. She must be silent for too long because his voice turns somber, "Please don't be angry at me. I'm not trying to get hurt, I'm just doing my job."

"I know." Her voice is a rasp, "I know."

He looks unsure so she steps into his reach and hugs him again. His skin still damp and flushed with heat. It relaxes her a bit, and she isn't shy about resting her hands splayed across the bare skin on his back. He accepts the hug, relieved she's not angry and hugs her back. She moves her hand, resting on the damp hair at the base of his neck.

Peggy takes the moment to kiss the skin under his ear behind his jaw as a cover while she whispers, "no more hiding wounds. Understood?"

She feels goose bumps prickle on the sensitive skin of his neck and arms as he subtly nods.

And because she's already thrown this mission straight to hell, she kisses his neck and then cheek and then lips, letting the water dripping from his hair get caught in the midst as she clutches him a bit tighter. Then she pulls away and almost glares at him, reiterating his last statement silently with her eyes. His cheeks are flushed, and he seems taken aback. But she doesn't dwell on that, just walks back to the bedroom.

—

When she exits the shower, she wishes he would come back to the bathroom. A ridiculous thing to wish. An infernally strong desire for it to be her skin that's warm and damp against him. But of course he doesn't. He has no idea she's lost her ever loving mind. So she braids back her hair, and sets about her nightly routine. She's about to put on her pajamas when she pauses.

Disbelief fills her and she groans.

"What?" She hears a worried voice ask from the room beyond, "Peggy, what is it?"

"Nothing!" She calls back. "It's nothing."

She wrinkles her nose at the lack of a sports bra to sleep in. Usually she sleeps without, but in duo missions she always uses one as it can be quite distracting to not to. But she only has her traditional day bra. Her soft comfortable ones were in the dryer. Left in the hurry she'd been while packing.

And a war rages, half enticed to see his reaction and the other to get herself together from being such an out of control ninny about this.

But, since she sure as hell is not wearing a real bra to bed, she opts out, pulling the thin shirt over her body and looking at the mirror with a disbelieving shake of her head. It's indecent. But, there's no other option she's willing to try.

With a neutral expression, she exits the bathroom and catches his eyes, he's looking at her face, having not noticed yet, "you're sure you're okay?" And the devil must possess her because she bends down slowly in front of him, setting her clothes back into the bag on the floor. When she looks up, he's studiously looking away from her, ears pink. He's noticed for sure.

Oh, the feral desire that rages.

"I'm fine." She states, "just forgot to bring something."

He doesn't ask what. He's an observant guy.

She climbs into bed and he lays back, eyes on the ceiling.

"How much time until you leave?" His eyes flick to her face and back to the ceiling, "couple'a hours."

"You should sleep."

"Yep."

He closes his eyes and she wants to know what he's picturing. She knows what she's picturing. His wet hair, those pink ears, the soft skin, the bruises and the way he winked at her.

"You're not even going to cuddle me goodnight?" His eyes open in surprise. The same surprise she feels at those words having exited her lips. He tries to school his expression, "I'll help you fall asleep faster." An awkward laugh escapes him and he seems unsure, but she can't seem to shut up. "Come here," she demands softly, "I didn't get to have you last night. You owe me."

She's pushing it, and he seems very off kilter but he turns, facing her. She snakes her hand out, grabbing his waist gently and pulling them together. She rests her head on his chest, arms wrapped around him. She has enough sense to not press her chest ups against him even though the desire is strong to do so. His arm slides around her back and holds her there. His temperature has cooled while her's is still warm. He seems to relax into her automatically. She yawns, not really having gotten any sleep at all, and he must be just as exhausted because they fall asleep in minutes.

—

A knock wakes her, groggy and disoriented from being so tired. A hand shakes her, "you gotta let go. I have to go." She blinks her eyes open and an amused Steve is looking at her. She grumbles something and relinquishes him. He slides off the bed and answers the door. She can't see the person but the voice tells her it's Pip.

"We're leaving."

"Give me a minute to change." Steve's voice is deep with sleep, and she worries his exhaustion will lead to trouble. As Steve heads to the bathroom probably to pee and to change, she slides off the bed and goes to the door. Her mind forgets she's not wearing a bra until his eyes immediately dip down. She huffs and he looks up, a grin on his face, "morning, ma'am."

'You better take care of him." She commands, "he's tired and injured, and I won't have it be worse. Understood?"

His grin widens, "you've got our word, miss. He'll be back in one piece and then we will let him get his rest." His eyes dip back down to her chest and he has no shame when he says, "lucky man."

Steve reappears and is about to head out the door when she grabs him, pressing her front against him tightly and kissing him probably senseless. Just to prove to the idiot watching just who she wants. She breaks the kiss and looks at Steve seriously, "come back to me. Understood?"

He nods, under eyes dark from lack of sleep. "I will."

"Good."

Then he's gone and the bed is so much colder without him there.

—