By Design

by CapandCarter

A walk to clear Peggy's head leads to a great mishap. Which leads to a great opportunity.

"You're wasting this opportunity."

Peggy's tight lipped smile is sarcastic, "gee, thanks, mum."

"You need to speak to the headmaster again."

"I've spoken to her twice."

"Once more—"

"I've groveled enough. I'm not going to beg for a spot. They clearly don't care if I'm not in the program, so then I won't care either."

"It's a respectable field—"

"I won't start over!" Peggy snaps at her mother, louder than usual. Her nerves are frayed beyond repair. "I won't." She adds quietly, noticing her father quietly under the doorframe, listening as they argue in the kitchen.

"Yes, but Michael—"

Sharp. Grief. Numbness. "They didn't care." She grits out, "I told them. I only missed school for a family death. They didn't care. It was too long and they won't accept late work. So it's either start over or quit. I quit."

"You probably explained it in a rude way. If you let me—"

She spins, grabbing her phone and her keys. "I'm leaving. Don't wait up."

—-

The coffee is bitter and makes her mood even more bleak as she turns the collar of her coat against the misty wind. The brick facades and decorated glass windows along the Main Street usually cheer her up but have no effect today.

A huge crowd is ahead, gathered around one of the older theater buildings and she cranes her neck to try to see.

The street is blocked off and she sighs, taking a quick left down an alley to go around the crowded areas. She's turning right, walking behind the old theater when a door bursts open. A woman steps out, looking frantic and speaking on a phone, "I don't know, maybe she got hit by these fucking double decker buses but I swear if she doesn't get here, we're—" the woman catches sight of her and gasps, "okay, she's here. Hold up." Peggy's brow furrows and she backs up as the woman practically accosts her. "What the hell!" The woman berates her, "we do not pay for lateness! Let's go!"

"Excuse me?" Peggy asks, backing up a step.

"Get in there and get dressed, we're already behind. In New York, time is money. This little town needs to wake up, let's go." The woman grips her arm, not fiercely, but in a sort of pushy way, "come on!" She's in shock and being dragged forward through the back door when her senses return.

"I don't think you have the right—" Her voice is lost in the madness that suddenly swirls around them.

Calls for this fabric, or that item, or this prop, or those shoes. She stares wide eyed at the production around her. The woman is still dragging her forward. "Good, you left your hair down, perfect, CLINT!"

She's being pushed into a chair. Coffee cup yanked from her hands. "No—" She starts, but then the woman is gone. She stares at herself in the mirror, in disbelief. What the hell is happening? Peggy stands, ready to bolt when a tall blonde man appears. He looks at her and then at a clipboard in his hands, "you're Rachel?"

"I'm really not." Peggy huffs out, gesturing to herself in the mirror, "I was simply walking behind the theater and was kidnapped into this building against my will."

The man groans, "oh geez, not again. ANGIE!"

He disappears too and she throws up her hands, making her way back through the crowd towards the doorway. She almost gets run over by a clothing rack being rolled by a woman with sharp red hair, but she pulls back just in time. The woman pops gum at her and smirks, passing by.

She's about to step forward when the woman, presumably Angie, appears practically out of thin air in front of her, "why didn't you say you weren't Rachel?"

"Oh, for bloody's sake you wouldn't let me speak! You just assumed and then dragged me in here! I tried!"

"Listen—" the woman points at her with a pen, "I don't care. I need a body. Yours is beautiful. You look similar enough in shape—" she groans, "oh, this is why I tell him to never to do exact measurements!"

The blonde man appears, he looks at Angie. "She's still not answering."

"That woman better be dead." Angie snaps out, "missing today of all days! The end of the international tour!"

"I'm sorry," Peggy says, still utterly confused, "I need to be going."

She tries to step around the woman but Angie's quick, "wait!" She's halted by a hand on her bicep, "you can't leave."

Peggy scoffs, "I beg your pardon?"

"How tall are you, 5'7''? Right?" Peggy's eyes go wide. The woman grins, "I can tell, and your measurements?" The woman eyes her, "you're hidden in a coat but I know it's close. Within centimeters probably. Please tell me your shoe size is 8?"

Peggy finds herself nodding in disbelief.

"It's fate." The woman crows, "whatever deity watches over fashion shows brought you here to replace who is missing!"

Peggy stutters a, "w-what? Fashion show?"

"Yes, and you're literally drop dead gorgeous." The woman says plainly, "hence why I thought you were our model. That and you do look sort of similar. Are you a native Londoner?"

"Hempstead—"

"Close enough. You're British, that's what matters."

"I beg your pardon?"

Clint laughs, "you're actually much better looking. That bone structure."

The whiplash between being somewhat insulted and complimented makes a grin pull at her lips, "flattery will get you nowhere."

"That's a lie." Angie quips, "flattery has gotten me many things. Including this job. Now, will you pretty please be our stand in?"

"I've never modeled in my life. I would be completely lost!"

"It's easy. You look serious and you walk in a line." Clint says with a sarcastic voice, "I'm sure you can manage."

"I don't know—"

"It pays." Angie cuts in. "It pays really really well."

Peggy narrows her eyes. "How well?"

Angie squints an eye as if she's calculating, "Rachel was supposed to be the London based showcase starter, middle, and finisher, giving her prestige pay, sooo 7,300k for this one show."

Peggy chokes, "what! 7 thousand dollars?"

Angie nods, "and that's just one show. If you impress, there's lots of designers out there. Maybe you get noticed and land a contract. A contract worth millions."

Millions. Money to move away from home. To start fresh. It's insanity. She has no idea what she's doing. Her mother wouldn't even let her watch those silly modeling shows although she snuck some at boarding school.

A voice bellows from somewhere behind Angie and Clint, "THIRTY MINUTES TO SHOWTIME!"

Clint leans forward, eyeing her with interest, "what will it be? Opportunity of a lifetime? Or back to the rainy streets?"

Peggy looks around at the chaos and the cacophony of sounds. Then she grins, thinking of the horrified look on her mother's face. "I'm in."

Angie claps her hands, "I knew it. Clint, hair, pronto!"

"On it!"

She's now being led willingly back to the chair and she sits. The man looks at her in the mirror and grins, "you really are beautiful. Why haven't you thought of modeling before?"

Peggy shrugs, "never even crossed my mind."

He nods, "well. Now things change."

That statement settles in her chest as he begins brushing her hair. "Now things change."

—-

Clint is a total professional. Creating an elegant updo within minutes. Someone else whose name she doesn't catch does her makeup, dark and smoky.

Then the redhead who almost ran her over appears. "Rachel?"

"Peggy actually." The red head eyes her but then shrugs, "here ya go." The woman hangs up the garment bag on the designated hook and then deposits a shoe box, "you've got 6 minutes. Better hurry."

Peggy unzips the bag and looks on in awe at the gown. She pulls off the bag and realizes it's in three pieces.

"FOUR MINUTES TO SHOWTIME" the voice bellows.

Angie is scrambling towards her, "you're not dressed!"

"I've never gotten dressed in a bloody gown before!"

The woman throws her clipboard onto the vanity with a clatter and begins detaching the gown pieces from the hangar. "Strip." The woman commands. And Peggy doesn't even argue. Just begins removing her shirt and pants.

—-

The lace that clings to her stomach, and the silk draped precariously over her chest and hips is gorgeous. The shoes are uncomfortable but look straight out of a high fashion fairytale, and the jewelry that now dangles form her ears is probably more than her father makes in a year.

"WE'RE TWO MINUTES OVER LET"S GO LET"S GO—"

"Damn, how does it look even better on you?" Angie exclaims, grasping Peggy's elbow and leading her towards the stage. " Walk until you notice the second X. Then start down the runway. Remember, don't look anyone in the eyes, stare at the camera directly in front of you, walk with purpose but not too fast, sway those hips that God gave you and don't fall."

Peggy nods along to each command, "and then I just circle back and…?"

"Then you get into your second outfit, but you'll have time. Like I said, you're starting the show, but then you don't go on again until the middle. Your pieces are the showcase pieces. The pieces he designed while in London, so you're at the important points to keep the crowd in suspense."

Peggy frowns, "who is the designer?"

"What a long story. Which I will explain more when we're not—" she looks at her watch and shrieks, "four minutes behind schedule! Go!"

Peggy is pushed onto an 'X' and given a five finger count down and then a thumbs up. She walks towards the second 'x', makes a sharp but graceful right turn and begins to walk.

The reaction almost makes her smile. The crowds gasp and point at pieces of the dress, but she stares straight ahead. She thinks of serious things but keeps her expression smooth, not frowning or looking unhappy. It feels ridiculously silly and thrilling at the same time.

She does sway her hips, not indecently but in a way that makes the dress move and shift, showing it off while still retaining perfcet shape. At the end of the runway, she stares directly into the camera for a second longer than is probably necessary. She raises one eyebrow in what Michael would describe as her "ready to fight and win" eyebrow. Then she turns gracefully and sashays back down the runway. Her gait getting more confident as she turns right again, walking off the stage on the opposite side of where she entered.

"Holy shit!" Hands are grabbing her, pulling her back towards her vanity, "you're a natural! And the way your skin looked in that lighting! Hell, like a Victorian Mistress. I heard people gasp. People never gasp in Europe. Always so under impressed."

"Hey—"

"No offense, you all just take yourselves so seriously over here." The woman laughs, "would it hurt to lighten up a little? Geez." She's unzipping the gown and stripping it gently off Peggy, "okay, second gown is being adjusted to your exact neck size because that does differ from she-who-did-not-show-up-and-is-dead-to-me. SO you have a few minutes before you're needed. The third dress isn't till 30 minutes from now but I still need to double check it doesn't need adjustments—" The rapid fire dialogue leaves Peggy's head in a fuzzy spin but she's amused all the same. "So—" Peggy's left in literally nothing but a skimpy beige thong, hands covering her breasts as Angie spins, grabs something and shoving it over her shoulders. "Wear this till it's ready."

She slips her arms through the robe's sleeves and nods, "where should I wait?"

"Have some food—" the woman points at a table piled with fruits, breads, cheeses, waters and other snacks.

"The models… eat?"

Angie laughs, "before a fashion show? Not usually, although we encourage it, but during and after? Hell yes. Keep your strength up."

Peggy nods and walks over, eyeing the selection. "You looked great out there." The red head says, reappearing on the opposite side, "I'm Natasha by the way."

"Peggy."

"Nice to meet you. You modeled before?"

"Never."

"Well welcome. After that walk you will probably get a lot of offers."

"You think so?"

"Yeah. Was it perfect? No. But for your very first walk? I've seen seasoned pros walk worse. And—" Natasha laughs, "your body type is exactly the type that's in trend. Something more curvaceous."

Peggy wrinkles her nose. "Not sure I'm a fan of that."

The woman shrugs, popping a grape into her mouth, "just the truth. This industry is harsh and horrible. But can also be lovely and artistic. Just have to pick your battles or go with the flow. As with any job."

"That's true." She responds quietly, "I know that feeling."

"PEGGY—" Angie comes walking over, earpiece in, "you're up soon, the dress is almost finished, but he needs you, come on."

There's no moment for her to respond, she's just yanked forward and away. "Good luck!" She hears Natasha call after her.

A small room that looks like a tornado smashed through it is where she is deposited. "One sec—" Angie shouts before taking off.

She looks at a mannequin, assuming that's her gown, "wow…" she breathes out, the sharp purple satin, the black panels on the skirt, the thick ribbons and boning along with the delicate ivory lace around the neck have her entranced.

"You're not Angie." a muffled voice says. She turns towards it quickly and sees a man shorter than her, glasses on his nose, and a few pins sticking out of his lips looking at her.

"Sorry, no, I'm Peggy. She just dashed off."

"But you're the replacement for Rachel?"

"Yes—"

"Great. Thanks for stepping in. This is your gown. It's to very specific measurements but you fit perfectly in the last one, and this is a corset, so I'm not worried. But the neck needs to be fitted exactly."

"O-okay." She says, unsure, "how do I do that?"

He looks up at her in surprise and then he smiles, laughing softly, "no, I'll do it, I just need the dress on you first."

"Oh." She feels her cheeks flushed, embarrassed. "Are you the designer?"

He wrinkles his nose and tilts his head, "I'm the tailor." Then he gestures to the gown, "this is a complicated piece to get into, I'll send Angie. If I can find her."

Then he's gone and not moments later Angie is back. "Strip." The woman commands, releasing the gown from the mannequin. Peggy laughs at the command, following it for a second time. Thankfully this gown is in one piece but the corset lacing on the back makes Angie invaluable.

"You've got 10 minutes." Natasha pops into the room and then leaves.

"Flipping hell." Angie grits out, squeezing air out of her while tightening the last of the laces. "I'll send Steve back in and Clint will have to wait and do your hair as you walk to the stage. She leaves Peggy standing in the middle as she pushes out the door, "STEVE!"

Not a minute later the man walks back in and looks at her, "looks great." Then he grabs a stool and places it behind her, "stay very still, I don't want to stab you."

She does as commanded, feeling his soft fingertips brush against her skin as he removes and repositions three velvet buttons. The high neck lace cinches around her in a way that makes her feel very proper and chique. "There." He says, stepping down from the stool, "you're perfect. Now go. Clint needs you in hair."

She nods, walking back out and retracing her steps to the vanity. "You look like sexy Elizabeth Bennet." Clint is grinning at her, "it's uncanny." She laughs as well as she can in the tight dress.

"Come on," he says, "we gotta walk."

—-

She's passing another model on the runway this time. A woman in a sunset colored gown dragging far behind her. Peggy deftly avoids stepping in the train as she walks past.

Eyes are on her but she does as she was told, focusing on the camera and walking with purpose. The gown covers her legs this time but the heeled boots show with every step. She does not linger on the camera this time but there is a tiny hint of a smirk on her lips as she turns away.

—-

Her makeup and hair are redone completely. Her hair is up curled and then pinned up to keep them from falling while someone else does her eyeliner. Then they're unpinned, brushed out, hair sprayed to perfection and she's being led by Angie to the dressing room again. "Last gown." Angie explains, "you are the final walker, so don't rush. And stay an extra second or two at the end of the runway."

This outfit is in two pieces. A one long-sleeved tight silk wrap that stops right under her ribs, revealing a section of her stomach and back. Then lace covered silk starts right below the waist and runs to the floor. It seems the most simple of the gowns she's worn until Angie grins, "waittill you see what's underneath."

Peggy tilts her head, "which is what?"

Angie helps her get into the top and skirt without explaining. Then she grabs the bottom hem of the skirt that hangs in front of her right leg. Angie pulls it up, attaching it to a well hidden button. Like a pirate or a renaissance skirt. "Turn towards the mirror."

Peggy obeys, spinnnig towards the full length mirror. She gasps, dark purples, dark blues, reflective silvers and golds catch her eye now that the dress is lifted up. The colorful silk and shimmering crystals added to the insid eof the skirt now reflect the light and dazzle the room.

"How on earth did they manage this?"

"He's a genius. It's such a simple gown, but the real treasure is inside. Get it?" Angie laughs, "he's insane in the best way."

"It's gorgeous, I've never seen a gown like it!"

"That's the point." Angie looks at her watch, "time to go!"

—

Peggy can see as the spotlights catch on her gown and refract onto the crowd, making them gasp again. She gets a bit tenacious and drapes her hands across the silk, pulling it a bit to reveal even more, then flipping it as she reaches the end, spinning once before looking back at the camera. She's never felt so alive, like she could do anything. How foolish is the thought, but it's nice to not be so completely consumed by grief.

Then after the expected time, she makes her way back down the runway and into the wings.

All the models are celebrating and clapping and she is thankfully welcomed in as one of them. They applaud her and cheer each other on as they're being whisked away to get undressed.

"Strip." Angie says for the third and final time, "this gown is worth more than you and me combined." Peggy laughs and complies once more.

—-

She's dressed back in normal clothes and waiting at the vanity. Angie had given her strict instructions not to leave and she'd obeyed although she wasn't sure why. The insanity of the night had won out over sense, so what was once more?

"This is Peggy."

She turns to see Angie approaching her with someone in tow.

"She sticks out her hand and the man grips it, "Nice to meet you, I'm Howard Stark."

"Stark…"

Howard nods, "yeah. Anyways—"

"Stark Industries?"

He nods, "yep, listen—"

"Don't you make cars?"

Howard purses his lips and raises an eyebrow, looking at Angie, then he turns back to her, "I dabble. Cars, bombs, weapons, movies, dresses. If I like it, I get involved. That simple. Anyways, Angie tells me you're a real star in the making, and I believe her. I watched you walk and thought you were a pro. No Idea she'd assaulted you on the street—"

"Hey!"

"Clint's words, not mine." He smirks at Angie, "Anyway, I'm always looking for new talent. And with the way this tour went, I'm going to need a permanent set of models. New York Fashion week is coming up and I want the best. So what do you say?"

Peggy feels like a deer in the headlights, "about?"

Howard laughs again, "signing a contract to model? Professionally, with Stark Industries. Now, we don't do reserved contracts. You could model for different brands and things, but we pay well so that models never feel like they need to do additional stuff. Just want to. How about it?"

"I—" she feels like she's in one of those fast Stark cars she always sees commercials about, wildly flying down the highway, "I don't know."

"Okay, listen." Howard gestures, "you sign a two month contract. I'll pay you 150. Then you decide if you'd want to stay on or quit. No strings attached."

Peggy can't comprehend. "One hundred and fifty dollars?"

Angie snorts, "no, honey."

"Thousand." Howard corrects, "one hundred and fifty thousand. Being honest, that's a little low for a New York fashion week pay, for the level of work you'll probably get booked to do, but, if you're not sure then I don't want to be crazy. So I think fair is fair."

"One hundred and fifty…"

"Thousand." Howard adds again, looking at her like she's crazy.

"Okay." Peggy hears herself say. "Okay."

He grins and Angie claps her hands, "yes! English! You're going to love New York!"

—

Her mother refuses to say goodbye to her.

Peggy can't find it in herself to care. Thankfully her father drives her to the airport and stands beside her at the curb.

"You'll—" he starts, "You'll look after yourself. Won't you?"

"I will." She nods, "I always have."

"I know." He says quietly, "I know. Just…" He looks up as a plane ascends higher and higher, cars passing with honks and beeps behind them, "you always hated being told what to do. But I thought I'd try anyway, hmm?"

He looks at her with a twinkle in his eye and she smiles, hugging him fiercely before grabbing her suitcase and heading inside. She turns and is relieved to see him still there, waiting, making sure she walks in alright.

Peggy waves one last time and he gives a wave back.

—-

"YOU'RE HERE!" A voice bellows, crashing into her, "FINALLY!"

Peggy is accosted by Angie and she laughs, "I'm here, get off me you psychopath."

Angie snags one of her bags and begins leading her outside, "I'm telling you, you're going to love it here. New York is insane. And especially during fashion week? It gets crazy."

"When does that start?"

"Six days from now. And we have a ton to do. Stark send you your hotel details?"

"Indeed."

"Great, we're all at the same one. So let's go."

—

"You get to sign up for what you want or need—" Natasha is saying looking at a clipboard. "If you have a preferred person that's fine but let me know." She points to a big white board where neat handwriting has written:

Color appointment

Eyebrows

Legs

Underarms

Facial

Massage

Salt Soak

Nails

Feet - Pedicure, shoe selection

"What's a color appointment?" Peggy whispers to the girl next to her.

"It's when they identify your skin's color tone and pick the best outfits and jewelry for your color type. It has to be done early because then the designer has to modify those garments to your exact measurements."

Peggy blinks, "geez."

"It's crazy, but so cool. Like, his stuff is made for me." The girl squeals and then shushes herself. "Sorry, I get too excited."

"Who is this designer?" Peggy asks, "I keep hearing him mentioned but no one ever says a name."

The girl looks at her like she's crazy, "you're a model and you don't know?"

Peggy rolls her eyes and laughs, "I'm a brand new model."

"And working New York fashion week? That's some luck."

"Indeed." Peggy acknowledges, looking at the 12 models in the room with her. "But seriously, who is he?"

The girl gets conspiratorial, "no one knows. We don't know his name or what he looks like or anything about him. He's super anonymous. I have my theories, but no one knows for sure."

"How can that be?"

"That's what's crazy." The girl lowers her voice, "and it's also why I think—" she blushes but then grins, "I think it's someone we all know. Like… I don't know who, but someone so removed couldn't do everything that he does. So I think he's secretly around, I just don't know who."

Peggy looks around, "that's surprising isn't it? To not want to be known?"

"Well," the girl shrugs, "I think it's weird, but I'm a model you know? My face is my job. But it does mean that I'm recognizable. I've been stopped on the street—" she blushes, "not often, I'm not famous or anything, but I have. And so maybe he just wants to live a normal life?"

"Then why go into fashion?"

The girl sips out of a water bottle and then goes to rub her eye and stops, "I forgot I have makeup on." She grins at Peggy, "rumor was that this guy worked for Stark, and that Stark caught sketches on the guys desk of dresses. Well, Stark loves anything that shines so he told the guy to start designing and the rest was history."

"So, Stark knows who he is?"

"That's the rumor."

"When did he become well-known?"

"I don't know, maybe three years ago? I think he's young. He's very hip on the trends, but then—" she frowns, "I don't know, there's an old school high fashion vibe too, like maybe he's in his 50's. No in between." She laughs and Peggy laughs with her as Natasha starts calling them one by one.

"May Parker?"

"Me!" The girl says excitedly, "that's me!" Then she gives a small salute to Peggy as she walks away.

—

Her, May, Clint, Natasha, and Angie form a tight bond pretty quickly. Her and May are put through the "wringer" (she says this laughingly as it's mainly beauty appointments where she's pampered) and Angie and Natasha bicker constantly about what needs to be done.

She asks both Angie and Natasha about the designer but she gets relatively the same story from both. They have no idea but also have their suspicions.

"Who cares?" Clint finally sighs after an hour of debates, "can we talk about something else, please?"

"Yeah," May grins, "like where you disappeared to last night?"

Clint groans, "okay, something else."

Peggy raises an eyebrow but Natasha just laughs and changes the subject, and that makes her suspicious in a different way.

—

Her color appointment had determined she was better suited for dark tones, deep full bodied colors. She should never be placed in orange or certain shades of yellow. Light greens, pastels, and browns were off limit as well. Gold was better than silver, as she was warmer toned over cool toned. Half the things they spouted made no sense but she just nodded and took notes. Her file was sent to the designer and she was told to wait two business days and until she would receive a meeting time and address.

—-

She arrives at a very simple studio.

"You must be Peggy?" She turns to see a young woman, brown haired and blue eyed looking at her with a smile. "Peggy Carter?"

"Indeed." She reaches out her hand and the girl shakes it. She expects to receive a name in return but doesn't.

"Come on in." The girl says with a smile, "we're ready for you."

She follows her down a hallway and into a room that has been retrofitted into what they need. Measuring tapes, fabric, scissors, a dressing room, a three angled mirror and racks and racks of clothes fill the space.

"Peggy is here!"

"Wonderful!" An older voice calls, appearing from behind a rack. "Welcome, we're so happy to have you."

"I'm happy to be here." She says, looking between them, "excited to see what outfits I have."

The woman, who also doesn't give a name, disappears back behind the racks. She watches as they get shuffled around while the woman speaks loudly, "Oh my, you were quite the beautiful surprise at that London show, he was so pleased with how those gowns looked on you—"

Peggy smiles, but her mind is calculating. This woman looks exactly like the younger one. Or, she supposes, the younger one is a spitting image of the older one. Peggy would guess mother and daughter. Aunt and niece could be possible, but no, she would guess parent/child. And they know him. Or they speak about him casually, and they don't give names. Something about those facts click like a puzzle. They must know the designer personally. And in a way that means knowing who they are would mean knowing who he is… she thinks… perhaps a family relation?

The woman is still talking, "—I about dropped my mouth open and had my jaw to the floor! I have seen that first dress you wore on a few models as he was trying it out and I have never seen it look so perfect on someone! You are a stunning and confident young woman, let me tell you! I could feel it through the screen!"

The effusive compliment catches her off guard, Peggy feels so flattered, almost embarrassingly so. She's never had a motherly figure compliment her like that before. "Thank you." She responds softly, "it means a lot."

"You earned it—" a rack gets slid to the front, "here you go." She gestures to the clothes. "He doesn't usually play favorites, but something about you must have struck a muse chord in him because in my humble opinion he gave you all his best work for this season."

Again, she feels foolishly pleased and like a little girl being picked first on the school pitch. "Really? That's so kind."

The woman laughs, "let's get started."

—-

"I don't want to take it off."

The girl laughs, "that's only the first one!"

Peggy shifts in the mirror, seeing the way the gold leaves move and shimmer, and the deep blue silk beneath it coming through and adding depth. "I'll just wear this one the whole time."

The mother (now all but confirmed with how they interact) laughs too, "I'll be honest you'd probably get away with how beautiful it is, but there's more to come. And in my opinion, this isn't even close to the best of what he has lined up for you."

Peggy eyes the rack, "well then, bring on the rest."

—-

A dark blood red velvet gown is one of her new favorites. "I look like Christine Diae."

The girl gasps, pins in her mouth from correcting a tiny section sewn off size, and grins, "yes! We were actually watching Phantom when he thought it up!"

"Becca!"

Peggy watches the girl freeze, then sees the mother wince in the mirror.

Becca. Hmm… not much to go on, but still.

Peggy laughs, "so you know the designer, don't you?"

The girl sighs, "shit." She huffs and places her hands on her waist, "I told him I'm terrible with secrets. I'm lucky I've made it this far without blabbing." She turns to her mother, "three years. That's good for me."

The woman walks over, "we've known him for a long time, which is why we—" she glares gently at the girl, "respect his privacy."

Peggy takes the hint, "of course. I won't pry."

The girl seems relieved. "People are always so curious. It kills me to keep it a secret."

"But you will." The mother responds.

"I know." The girl huffs, then turns to Peggy. "It's criminal how beautiful you are in this dress. You do look like her from that movie too."

Peggy grins, loving these two women more and more, "why thank you. But don't ask me to sing."

"I won't." The girl laughs.

—-

"Okay," the girl starts, "this is officially the longest appointment we've ever had." She gestures to the clock, "you've got 6 more gowns than anyone else! Plus the non traditional pieces! What is he thinking?" Then her eyes flick to her mother's. (Peggy's just so sure of it). "Is she going to walk more often than the others?

"It sure looks like it." The mother responds, hanging up the last gown that needed a few alterations as well, "Let's do the swimsuits next." The woman suggests, "those will be quick."

"Right." The girl nods, grabbing a second rack, handing her a hanger, "here."

—

She hears whispering but can't make anything else as she arranges her chest into the one piece. It's a gorgeous black suit with emerald green and gold detailing. The straps crisscross in the back and she can't tie it herself. "Help!" She calls, "I need help tying it!"

The young girl, now allowing herself to be known as Becca, enters and gasps, "geez! This suit looks so freaking good! You're like an Egyptian queen."

"I believe I'm a bit on the pale side for that."

The girl laughs, "true. But hey, the suit looks great." The girl makes quick work of the laces, tying it in a bow at the small of her back, "there's shoes that go with this one specifically."

She's given thigh high leather boots that have a weird strap at the top. She looks at them and wrinkles her nose, "I haven't disliked anything yet, but this seems like a gamble."

"Just try them on, we will tell you if it looks bad."

She does as instructed, zipping them all the way up with Becca's help again, and then she looks in the mirror. The way the designer has arranged the straps actually makes it look like a garter, the leather runs up her hips and— "here—" Becca says, "they attach." The extra black leather strap loops through one of the gold detailings Peggy hadn't noticed. Make the two pieces look connected.

She turns to the mirror and stares in disbelief. "This isn't a swimsuit! This might as well be lingerie!"

Becca laughs but the woman rubs her eyes with a humored groan, "no, honey, that comes next."

"Turn around." Becca orders, "look at your back it's literally so freaking hot."

Peggy turns, looking over her shoulder to see how the lacing up her back, the boots, and the way the bottom of the swimsuit hugs the shape of her butt creates an incredibly sexy and aesthetic shape.

"Wow." Peggy breathes out, "this is gorgeous, who the hell would wear this to the beach though?"

"It's not about wearability." Becca says with a grin, "high fashion isn't about wearability. It's about the art of the piece."

The woman is shaking her head examining the piece, and it's such a motherly look of exasperation that she can nail it on the head. "You've known the designer since he was a little boy, haven't you?"

She looks up at Peggy and there's a resigned expression on her face, but humor too, "how can you tell?"

"You seem half proud and half embarrassed. Is he your son?"

The woman grins, "no, he's not. But he might as well be. And it is strange to see him create—" she gestures to the racks, "these sorts of things. But he was always the artist. And I know for a fact he doesn't sexualize his work. He's never been that way. It really is the artistry and connection of the clothes to the body's shape." She huffs a laugh, "but I still manage to be in disbelief when I see the pieces."

Peggy looks at herself in the mirror. It does look like it was made for her exact body. She grins, "that's why he does exact measurements. Not one size fits most models?"

"Yep." Becca nods, starting to unzip the boots, "he's sort of OCD about stuff. Come on, there's two more suits for you to try."

—

A dark blue with white and red detailing makes her feel like she's on a sailboat in the 50's. And a red and white pinstripe suit makes her feel like a pinup girl in the 40's. Only the second needs an adjustment or two. She adores them both and receives ample compliments from the women.

"Now—" Becca grins, "for the stuff that makes my mom really blush."

"Hush." The mother chides, "I'm a professional."

Becca hands her a black laced corset, "we will see about that."

—-

The black lace rests on the curve of her skin like she was born with it. Her fingers trace along the hem of the lacy skin tight booty shorts, see through except at the most conspicuous areas of course. The black corset cinches her waist in and only a strip of skin is visible between it and the bottoms. Thin rose and cream lace ribbons wrap around her arms and around her neck.

"They're all going to be drooling." Becca comments, leaning against the door frame, "you look drop dead gorgeous. And your hair and makeup isn't even done yet."

"How does he think of these things?" Peggy asks. Raising her arms and reveling in how the ribbons are attached and tied just so that they don't shift or move. "I wondered why they measured every inch of my body."

Becca laughs, "he's thorough. Come on, there's two more."

—

"I get a silk robe?"

Becca grins, "okay, so the red bustier and the matching bottoms are only to be revealed when you get to the end of the runway. You'll drop the shoulders of the robe, holding it at your waist, and then as you walk back, you'll drop the whole robe and drag it with you."

The way the red bustier pushes and holds her breasts is like a miracle with how dainty it looks. But the structure is strong and well made. Boning runs down till her waist, delicate see-through mesh between them. Low rise underwear that have her hip bones on sharp display make her blush. "I hope my father doesn't watch."

Becca laughs again. She's truly been a joy to work with as they spend, now going on four hours, together. "Tell him not to."

The mother pops her head in, eyeing Peggy with a raised eyebrow, "one more and then a few more outfits but then we're done."

—-

Somehow she's exhausted from trying on so many clothes, but the women congratulate her and help her gather her things. "It's truly been an honor." She says to them, "I hope you will pass on my thanks to the designer, these pieces are gorgeous and I'm so thankful to be a part. So please tell him I'm grateful for the work he's put into it."

Becca and her mother blink at her in surprise. "We will." The mother finally says, "we will tell him, for sure."

Becca tilts her head, a smile forming, "we will."

Peggy nods and goes to leave. She gets to the front door and turns, wanting to ask them a question about what undergarments she should bring if any. She walks back to the hallway and stops when she hears them talking. Curiosity gets the better of her.

"I don't think anyone's ever asked us to thank him before."

"I think you're right. But it's hard to thank an anonymous person," the mother says sagely, "they don't think about it. But we've had plenty of grateful models pass through."

"No, I know. He picks good ones. So does Howard, shockingly. Still…" there's an amusement to her voice now, "he really went all out for her specifically, though."

She hears the ruffling of racks and clothes. "Seems that way. She really did strike a chord with him. He didn't say muse but I could see him thinking it."

Warmth blossoms in the pit of her stomach. To be someone's muse. She can barely process it. What an honor.

"I'm going to tease him—"

"You will not—"

"Come on, with Bucky gone I have no one to tease!"

"He's so busy with this fashion week. At least wait till it's over."

"Fine." The young girl huffs, "but then I will. For sure."

"He's a grown man." The mother sighs in response, "one day you'll have to stop teasing him."

"Never." The girl laughs, then Peggy hears shuffling. "I'll grab the files from the front." Becca says. Peggy takes that as her cue and she slips back and out the door, question forgotten.

—-

"How was it? Was it wonderful? Mine was wonderful!"

Peggy grins and nods, setting her things down. "It was fabulous. I've never felt so regal."

May is practically bouncing on her toes, "mine were all 70's and funky and totally me. It's like he's dressing us individually!"

The thought makes her pause, "I mean, he is sort of, right?"

"Well he's at least matching us to things." May agrees, "the other model, Jenny, I think, said hers were all sharp and modern and very bold. And to me, that like totally fits her vibe. So, maybe he's taking designs and modifying not just the sizing but the designs for us? Man, isn't that wild? No other designer runs like that. If you don't fit their vision or designs, they won't hire you. But he designs around the models!"

Peggy thinks of the gowns and outfits and the tightly fitted suits she tried on. "It's quite something."

—-

"Okay—" Natasha says in a loud voice to gather their attention, "we have our first show tonight. It's the big kickoff. Expect lots of standing around until we're ready for you. Come fresh faced with clean dry hair. Do not chip or crack your nails. Take care of your feet. You need to be behind the stage by 6pm no later. Any questions?"

A few girls raise their hands and Peggy listens as extra details are given and information shared.

"Who is going to accept the flowers?" Someone asks, "the designer?"

Natasha rolls her eyes, "he's been anonymous for three years, I doubt he'll make his appearance today."

"But it's his first New York Fashion Week—"

"As far as I'm aware, Howard is still the end cap. Any other questions?"

No one does.

—

She's in her third gown, paper thin lace mesh covering her shoulders, stomach, and legs, while a golden blue ombré bralet and mini skirt rests beneath, when disaster strikes. She's six girls from walking on when the girl walking off, in a deep red gown with gold and silver beading, and beaded gloves catches her heel on something she can't see in the dark. The girl yelps quietly and begins to tip sideways, when Peggy reaches out, grabbing her to try to steady her. The girl holds onto her, finding her footing and letting out a small scared chuckle, "oh that was close."

Peggy laughs softly, "these heels can be a beast—" The girl is nodding, retracting her hands when a bead catches on the mesh. A soft rip sound somehow resounds through the chaotic noise backstage and everything comes to a halt.

Peggy looks down, a strip of the fabric now hangs down, a large gash in the fabric. The girls' eyes go wide and she gasps, "oh no—"

"What was that?" Angie calls, somehow having heard.

Four girls left.

Angie runs over and stares at Peggy, "what the hell! How did this happen!"

"It was an accident." Peggy cuts in, "our dresses caught on each other."

"Gah!" Angie curses out shaking her hands, "what the heeeeeellllll!"

Natasha's suddenly there, "take her out of the lineup."

Peggy feels her stomach drop, "no, surely it can be fixed?"

The two girls glance at each other, "Steve." They both say in unison.

Peggy's dragged out of line and someone with a walkie talkie radios him. Not thirty seconds later he appears and is about to ask what happened when he catches sight of her. He looks stunned for a moment and then presses a hand to his eyes.

Dread fills her. "Can you fix it?" Peggy asks, "please."

The man's eyes glaze over like he's calculating something. "I'd need to replace the whole panel. That would take at least 45 minutes."

"You have 12." Angie corrects, "and that's if we put her at the second to last in the lineup, leaving Francisca to close."

Steve looks at her and then nods, "let's see what we can do." He starts walking and Angie shoos her to follow him.

—

Peggy enters the back staging room and looks around. Like last time, racks, fabrics, supplies, and shoes cover surfaces, "stand." Steve commands, pointing to a circular open space in the center. She does as instructed and faces the mirror on the wall.

He stops in front of her and just stares at the garment for a long 30 seconds. "Okay," he finally says, "okay." Then he is taking a black satin ribbon, a needle and black thread. "Stand still."

She stays still.

Her eyes can't believe it. It's like he's a magician. The black satin ribbon is delicately crisscrossing back and forth, showcasing a bit of her skin, all along the rip. He used the needle and thread to sew it together instead of actually puncturing holes in the mesh for the ribbon to slide through, but it looks like it's been there the whole time. The only hiccup is right where the mesh meets the body suit and he grabs an almost but not quite matching lace appliqué and quickly sews it on, only the ghost of his fingers touching her skin and she watches in fascination the whole time "you're amazing at this."

He just glances up and gives a quick smile, back at task.

"You said you were the tailor, but at the appointment with the seamstresses, you weren't there."

He looks up at her again, and then tilts his head, "I don't do those appointments. I fabricate the gowns and then am just the on demand tailor for the shows."

She blinks, "you're the one who does the actually creation of the gowns?"

He ties off and snips the extra thread. He looks up with a grin, "me and I have a team. But yes, hence why I'm here for the chaotic moments. Now, we're barely going to make it, so you need to hurry—" He's smiling and she starts to walk away before turning,

"thank you."

Steve smiles at her again and looks thoroughly amused, "you're welcome. Try not to rip anymore dresses."

Peggy grins, "no promises."

Then she takes off and hears a laugh follow her.

—

On night three, she definitely has blisters and a permanent sense of 'what next' from all the quick changes, mishaps, makeup redos and hair switches.

"I can't believe we only have three more days of this!" May cries, plopping behind her vanity, "it's going to be over soooo soon."

Peggy laughs, "I'm loving it, but I'm also exhausted. How do people do this for a whole week?"

"You get used to it," one of the older models says, leaning over and nabbing a lip gloss off the vanity, "my first fashion week I almost quit, but then you learn how to work the crazy weeks and the money means you can enjoy the calm ones." She winks and then disappears.

"What are you going to do with your payday?" May asks, fixing an errant piece of glitter in the mirror.

Peggy smirks at herself in the mirror, "whatever I want."

—

"You totally got the best gown!" Hannah hisses, "it's like made for a goddess!"

"She is a goddess." May agrees, "Medusa for sure. Look at the way those beads make her eyes shine. Not human."

"You'll make me blush." Peggy hisses as she steps out onto the first part of the stage, "I don't want red cheeks!"

They laugh and she begins her walk, now practically perfected on the fourth evening. Her gown, an emerald green number, plunge neckline, silver and black beading on the corset top of the gown, soft chiffon draping down her arms and a slit so high her whole legs pops out with her stride. But that's a good thing because the sky high black heel with the gold and silver snake accessory swirling up her leg would be criminal to hide. Blood red lips and smoky eyeliner make her feel like a villain in a story.

The crowd is applauding and she gives an extra snap to her turn, ensuring the whole train of the dress extends out, dazzling them as it flutters back to the ground. Then she's walking back and winking at May as they pass.

—

"I would complain about my heels but—" they look over at the other designer's shoe racks and the alien shaped toe pinching nightmares they see are abysmal. "I think I won't."

Peggy snorts at May's comment and agrees. "I mean, everything I've worn has been comfortable, at least for high fashion. I have no complaints."

"Also—" Jenny leans over and covers her mouth with a conspiratorial gaze, "we're just lucky the designer isn't dressing us like aliens." She nods her head towards the huge screen displaying the next line of models walking a different runway at the moment and Peggy has to agree. "There's high fashion—" May starts.

"And idiocy," Peggy finishes.

Angie laughs as she passes by.

—-

"Stop, you're so bad!"

Peggy chokes in more air between laughter. "I'm not wrong! She does!" Natasha is holding her sides and laughing as Peggy points to the screen, "she, actually they all look like Capitol Citizens mixed with characters from Whoville!"

"This is Christian Dior! You can't say that!" Angie gasps out again, cheeks red from laughing.

"She's right though." Clint comments, "some designer's visions I just don't see"

They all watch the show continue, "why is there cellophane on all of their heads!?"

They continue laughing, Peggy's feet soaking in a tub of warm water and snacks spread out on the hotel bed.

—

"Okay, second to last night ladies!" Natasha calls, "lingerie is all racked and ready to go! Also, I've seen some stiffness start to appear in some of your walks. Take care of your feet! And you all need to be smooth for tonight. There's no pantsuits, skirts, or long gowns to hide your mistakes. Slow and confident is better than rushed and a mess. Understood? You half, get to your makeup stations and then hair. You half, hair, then makeup, go."

Peggy heads to makeup.

"One of the laces isn't tying right!" She hears Angie call, "someone get Steve."

She's trying not to blink as the lady applies mascara. "What an angel." The woman says with a wink, "that's a man who can fix anything. Hmm? He fixed that dress of yours right?"

She blinks, then nods, "yes. He's quite adept."

"Been working here longer than anyone. No one could compete. I hear Stark pays him very well to keep him on payroll."

"I'm sure." Peggy answers, pouting her lips for the lipstick.

"You're good. Go to hair."

She takes off towards Clint.

—

"These things are intense." Peggy filters her fingers through the two feet extensions, bouncing the thick waves in her hands.

"Hands off." Clint admonishes, slapping her hand gently, "do not get it tangled. Okay, now, it's going to be in a bun for the first piece, in a braid for the second, and down in waves for the last, do not get it caught on the pieces."

She rolls her eyes, "I'll try."

He starts twisting the extra hair, "you been liking all your pieces?"

"Of course." She grins, "they're fabulous."

"I heard the rumors." He grins at her. "You've gotten the cream of the crop." She smirks back and he nods, gesturing with his chin, "Another fashion week. Milan this time. Are you going to want to?"

Peggy looks around and doesn't hesitate more than a second. "Of course."

—-

The crowd goes wild with each piece. But she notices the extra whispers and points when she drops the rob and suavely wiggles her shoulders. Then she's waltzing back and drops the robe entirely. The lined stockings on her legs with the delicate bow at top on display. She ignores the pain in her feet and strides off the stage, cheering with the other girls as they were almost done.

—

Her final gown worn, her last walk finished, she almost feels euphoric as the crowd goes wild for the empty stage. No designer in sight. She sees Howard Stark stand, accept flowers and tip his hat before sitting back down.

"To the after party!' Natasha crows, "come on!"

—

She's practically devouring a slice of pizza in one bite when a voice startles her, "you looked lovely on stage today."

She turns to see Howard Stark and she quickly wipes at her face, "thank you. And thank you for hiring me."

"Have I?" He asks.

"Have… you?"

"Hired you officially? Are you signing on for good? Joining the Wild West?"

She grins, "yes, if you'll have me."

He grins widely, "perfect. I'll have a contract drawn up I think you'll agree to."

She smiles, "I'm sure I will."

"Enjoy the party." He gestures to the crowd and then heads off, kissing the cheek of a beautiful blonde woman who rolls her eyes fondly.

"Peggy!"

She turns to see May beside her, and a man she's never seen before. "Hello—"

"This is Ben!" May says with a girlish glee, "my husband. Ben meet Peggy!"

Peggy scoffs in disbelief, "you're married?"

The man laughs, handsome and kind looking, "I'm Ben. It's a pleasure to meet you." She shakes his offered hand and nods.

"Nice to meet you too, I love your wife."

He grins, "me too." Peggy laughs.

May wiggles and kisses his cheek, "come on, I want to introduce you to Clint!"

They're gone in a flash and Peggy is left with her head spinning. She hadn't thought May was any older than her, but hey, some people get married young.

"Come sit with us." Natasha appears, snagging the plate and cup in front of Peggy, "I want to hear more about the mystery that is you."

Peggy shakes her head, following after the red haired women. The dim lights of the reserved room at some swanky club make it glow fiery.

Natasha leads her to a section of lounge couches, Angie, Jenny, Steve, and someone she doesn't recognize sit around.

"Hello," Peggy offers. They greet her back and conversation resumes. She tells her about her family a bit and Natasha reciprocates. Natasha rests a comforting hand on her knee after learning about Michael, and Peggy laughs as Natasha tells of her little sister's antics.

It's all very chummy and kind, Peggy thinks, looking around.

Her eyes catch on Steve, who seems calm and at ease, but very tired.

"You know you could go sleep." She teases, leaning across the table to grab her cup from off the coffee table.

He raises an eyebrow at her, "I think I'm too tired to make it home." She huffs and he grins, resting his head back against the couch.

"Will I see you in Italy?" She asks, "are you a permanent part of this designer's team? Or does Howard move you around?"

"Oh, he sticks with us," Natasha cuts in, "the designer is very exact and only Steve and a few other's meet his qualifications." She wrinkles her nose at Steve who shrugs with a calm grin.

"Listen, I just do what the bosses tell me to do." He adds before yawning.

"And you do it well." Peggy adds, "quite the wizard with a needle. I saw you reattach that strap on that leather shoe right before she went on, that was impressive."

A burst of laughter and cheer keeps him from responding but he nods and sips at a water cup.

The other people seem lost in conversations now, Natasha arguing humoredly with Clint who appeared out of nowhere and Jenny talking to the man she doesn't know. She turns to Steve, "so where are you from?"

"Here in New York," he answers, "Brooklyn."

"Ah, so this is home for you is it?"

"It's close. We're a burrough over. But still, nice to be in the area."

"You're not here often?"

"Just during breaks in the season."

"Do you already have work to do for the next fashion week in Milan?"

He sighs, "yeah…"

"How do your hands fare? My aunt was a local seamstress and she was always complaining about her aching hands."

"I take care of them as best I can." He answers calmly, gestures to his glasses, "it's my eyes that kill after the end of a day." He gestures to her, "how are your feet?"

"Painful." She admits with a grin, "but nothing too terrible. I followed all of Natasha's advice. That saved me a lot of damage. Plus the shoes themselves weren't awful, it's just they're new and stiff and all the walking in such a short amount of time."

He nods, understanding, "that's good. My ma was a nurse, she'd always have sore feet after a shift. A good soak and then ice for swelling. But the best healing for feet is time off them, so just make sure to do that."

She's touched, even though it's simple advice. "I will, thank you."

"You from London?"

"No, I had been in town when Angie nabbed me. I'm from a smaller town, Hampstead."

"Pretty place?"

"It is." She says slowly, "if you're into the brownstone cottage life."

He shrugs, "sounds peaceful."

"Boring."

He raises an eyebrow, "and you like excitement?"

She raises an eyebrow right back and waves her hands at the party, "you don't?"

He grins, "depends on the moment." They're silent for a bit. A force she can't describe, something like magnetism keeping their gazes locked.

Someone plops down on the arm of the couch making her have to squish. He laughs and she huffs at his amusement. There's a seat by him and she shifts out of hers and into it. He looks at her in surprise, "easier to hear you." She explains, "and I don't want to be sat on."

He shrugs, "makes sense."

"Your mother retired?"

"Huh?"

"You said she was a nurse, did she retire?"

His face is unmoving for a second before he takes a deep breath and sighs out, "no, uh, no she passed."

She's taken by surprise, "oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to pry."

"No, it's fine." He huffs a sad laugh, "you know, you think you'll get over the loss of a parent, or maybe it will sting less, but…" he wrinkles his nose, "not yet."

"Well it surely takes time. Was it recent?"

"Decade ago."

Ten years. She studies his face in the dim light, he looks way too young to have already lost a parent, meaning unusual or unfortunate circumstance. Like Michael. "I'm sorry."

"Thanks. Sorry about your brother." She looks over and he gestures to where Natasha and Clint are now standing, talking to Howard, "I overheard. Sorry."

"That's alright." The party is going strong but it's thankfully not crazy loud. "You a big partier?"

Steve shrugs, "not really. But I appreciate the idea. You?"

"Wild few in my youth, mainly to piss off my mum." She grins as he laughs, "but no, they're not for me either. But dancing, I love dancing."

Really?" He asks, "is it fun?"

"You've never been?"

He frowns, "to like a club? No."

Her mouth gapes, "not only a club! Like a dance! School dance? Banquet? Salsa? A swing night?"

Steve looks taken aback, "uh, no."

"You're missing out." She grins, "it's lovely to be spun by someone you care for."

He looks at her with an expression she can't decipher and then he nods, watching other party goers, "I'm sure it is." Her blood trills in her veins. Like she wants to prove to him that it is. Distracted, she looks at some noise by the bar and clears her throat.

"So," she starts, reaching for another topic, "what do you do for your eyes with all the strain?"

He removes and looks at his glasses and then pushes them back on, "just let them rest. No light or screens. Live like a vampire basically." He jokes, "it's ridiculous honestly,"

"You have to do what you have to do." Peggy answers, "you'll need your eyesight to sew."

His face goes somber, "I know."

"Have you thought of corrective surgery?" He looks at her funny, like she's brought up a sore subject, "I mean…" she tries to back track, "as an option?"

Steve huffs, "I'll be honest, I'm a bit terrified of the prospect. And then I would have to have the time to do it."

Peggy leans a bit closer, taking in the dash of freckles across his nose, "terrified?"

His soft huff makes her grin, "needles in my eyes? Or lasers in my eye? What are we living in a sci-fi dystopian nightmare?"

She laughs, "surely you know how skilled they are!"

"I know," he groans, "but still."

"Your mother was in the medical field!"

"Hence, my trepidation!" He groans, "I know what medical malpractice is!"

She laughs loudly, startling a group near them, and when she looks back he's smiling widely, as if he's pleased to have elicited the response. "You're terrible." She jokes, "but maybe you'll have time at the end of the fashion season?"

"Time," he says in a mock serious voice, "that ever-elusive, constantly present, source of impending anxiety." She blinks, looking at him, and he winces, "sorry."

Her smile softens and she relaxes against his shoulder a bit more, "couldn't have said it better myself."

—-

As the party starts to wind down, Steve is practically barely awake, and she keeps teasing him, telling him to go home.

"I'm going." He yawns, "I'm going." He stands and stretches, "see you around?"

And she watches as he looks at her, waiting for an answer to his half statement but half question. "Yeah," she grins, getting brave, "I'd love to. You want to exchange numbers?"

He looks paused for a moment before. A tired smile crosses his lips and he nods, "yeah, sounds good."

She takes his phone and he takes hers and after adding her contact swipes to his home screen. A picture of him and a man she doesn't recognize is the background. The guy is handsome, smiling at the camera and pointing at it with one finger, eye squinted. Steve is rolling his eyes and smiling.

She hands the phone back and he hands her hers.

"Maybe tomorrow?" She asks, "you could show me around New York? Brooklyn?"

His face falls, "I would love to, but I have meetings all tomorrow. Maybe…" he bites the inside of his cheek before looking back at the party and then to her, "maybe next week?"

She nods, "sounds good. Goodbye, Steve."

"Night, Peggy."

—

"You and Steve, huh?" She turns to see Angie waiting for her in the hotel lobby the next day, grinning at her.

"He's cute." Peggy says defensively, "and talented. And a good conversationalist."

"I wasn't asking for a defense," Angie laughs, "just bringing up what I saw."

"We're going to hang out next week." Peggy says, walking along with her out onto the sidewalk. They make a left, heading to a brunch place.

"Be careful." Angie warns, "screw with the tailor and he may screw with your clothes."

Peggy laughs, the sound echoing in the bustling street, "I would never."

"Shit happens." Angie waggles her eyebrows, "but I think he's a cutie. Always super sweet. And you're right, a master." They turn another corner, "I actually remember telling him he could be his own designer, but he just laughed. He's pretty humble."

"I mean, if he gets paid well and loves his job, why would he change?"

"That's true." Angie agrees, stepping through a large glass door and waving to May and Ben who are already at the table.

They get closer to the table. "Ooh," Angie coos, "who is this!?"

May gestures to the young boy looking at them through thick glasses, "this is Peter, our nephew. He's spending the day with us today! Hope you don't mind him joining, parents had a last minute change."

Peggy smiles at the young boy who ducks his head and smiles shyly. "We don't mind at all." She says surely, "he probably knows New York better than me." She turns to the boy, "could you be my tour guide?"

The boy nods, "of Queens."

Peggy nods, "of course, of Queens."

"He knows the best parks." May suggests, "and the best sandwich places. Right Pete?"

The boy nods again and then gets distracted by Ben who starts having a straw fight with the boy.

"So," Angie points at Peggy, "guess what. Peggy and Steve—"

"Oh for heaven's sake—"

"What!" May shrieks, "when did this happen?"

"Last night." Angie adds, "they talked for hours!"

Peggy shrugs, "he's quite the gentleman, and he's funny too."

"And so nice." May adds, "he actually helped with Peter once when I had to bring him to a show," she explains, "Made Peter a little vest that was sooo cute. He still wears it." The two start jabbering about children's clothes (Angie has a very young cousin) and Peggy just shakes her head. Then she picks out her phone and sends a text.

We still on for next week?

It takes a few minutes, but then she hears the beep and she looks down, smiling at the response.

Absolutely. I've got a good idea of where we should go, for your first official Brooklyn Tour. It's a surprise though. Don't ask.

Peggy grins and slips her phone back into her pocket.

—

"Steve."

He grins, "what?"

She scoffs and then is overcome with laughter, doubling over and trying to pull in air.

"What!" He says in fake disbelief, pretending to be offended, "it's one of our biggest tourist attractions!"

"Biggest!? As in Literally!? It's the bloody Brooklyn Bridge!"

He breaks out laughing, head tipped back and sun glowing off his cheeks. "Biggest and one of the best. Just look at her? She's gorgeous."

"Oh? It's a she?"

Steve nods, "of course it's a she. All the best things are females."

She raises an eyebrow, "oh?"

He starts counting on his fingers, "cars, buildings, bridges, tropical storms—" She lets out another scoff. He just grins and continues, "ships, trains, girls—"

"Okay, I get it." She snaps with a laugh, "and I'm glad you think so."

His smile is wide and quite handsome. "Come on," he says, gesturing her forward, "the next place you're gonna love."

"Is it Central Park?"

He rolls his eyes at her but then grins, "that's not even in Brooklyn."

She gestures to the bridge, "with you, I never know."

He laughs and they start heading towards the subway.

—

"There's so many things here." He says, "the Botanical garden, and the museum and LeFrak. Do you like rollerblading?"

"I haven't done it in ages, but I liked it when I did."

They walk along the path, under what he called Boulder Bridge, and he was explaining, "I came here all the time as a kid. Lots of space to roam when the city doesn't usually have much to spare. So that was cool."

She listens, and then he asks her questions about Hampstead and she shares. They walk and talk for ages until the sun starts to dip. She looks at her phone, "Whoa," she smiles at him, "time flies, I had no idea it was past 6 already."

"Are you hungry?" He asks, "I know some good places. Or perhaps you need to get back?"

Her lips pull into a half smile, "dinner sounds lovely."

—-

They've eaten, some small Italian place she finds thoroughly charming with its intense green, red, and white color scheme. "Do you live near here?"

"Uh," he starts, wiping his face with a napkin, "I usually stay close to the studio." Her interest pique, as that's not exactly an answer to her question. "Usually?"

"Easier than the commute."

She's not really concerned about his evasiveness, but her curiosity is there, "so you don't live in Brooklyn anymore?"

"Uh," he doesn't meet her eye, "I have a place there, but I'm not there often."

She sips at her soda, "and you have a second place? Closer to the studio?"

This time it's a visible wince that he tries to hide, "yeah."

"Howard must pay you well."

He grimaces, "yeah."

He doesn't offer to show her, so she doesn't ask.

—

Steve walks her back to her hotel and they stand talking in the lobby for a while, clearly neither of them wanting the night to end.

"Do you have to start production on new gowns soon?" She asks, "for Italy?"

He's nodding, "yeah, I start tomorrow. Meetings about fabrics and timelines."

"Must be so much to manage? All the little details?"

He nods, " yeah, it is, but I enjoy it. I'm OCD about things," he laughs, "so I'm able to keep it all straight."

Something about that phrase rings a bell in her head, but she shakes it off, "well, then I'm excited to see what's in store. This last week was insane but truly one of the most exciting things I've ever done. I feel so lucky to have stumbled into it."

He smiles, a kind and genuine smile, "I'm glad Angie kidnapped you off the street too."

She laughs and they part ways soon after.

—

She wipes the sweat from her forehead and takes a swig of water, "I can't believe I let you talk me into this."

Angie grins, "you're annoyed now, but in Italy you'll thank me. If you keep up your routine then Fashion Week won't feel as exhausting."

Peggy sighs and continues walking on the treadmill, not to work out, but just to keep her walk up. To stay confident, not start from scratch each time she's been off the runway for too long.

"Okay, so why is it so bloody hot in here?"

Angie laughs again, "Italy is hot. Didn't you know? I'm prepping you. Like those football guys do, for when they're going to play in Colorado." Peggy turns to look at the women.

"What?"

"American thing."

Peggy just sighs and keeps walking. Then her phone beeps. The smile comes unbidden as she sees it's from Steve.

She opens it to a picture of two blue fabrics. I get to choose, which do you like better?

Gown? She types back, suit? Something else?

It's for fall formal wear. Beading like constellations.

Gorgeous. She types back, but then I say darker. More like the night sky.

You got it.

Then she grins, Is it for me?

He sends an eye roll emoji, You think I would ask for someone else's dress?

No need to be snippy. She sends the upside down smiling face and he just sends laughing face in return.

"Focus, English." Angie playfully snaps at her, "no texting and walking."

Peggy sets her phone down and pretends to sigh dramatically.

—

I can't get out of this meeting in time. He texts, I'm really very sorry. Can we reschedule?

Peggy looks at the text, disappointment filling her. This is the third date they've had to change. But she doesn't blame him, from what she can tell he's kept insanely busy in the prep weeks. He explains it's his chaotic time but the shows are actually calmer, most of the work done. Just the mini emergencies.

Of course. She texts back, hope they don't hold you hostage forever.

It's my own fault. He replies back, I signed up for it, I suppose. He sends wink emoji and she rolls her eyes.

Remind me of that when I complain about all the blisters and sore toes.

Will do.

—-

She's packing, getting ready for their flight that next day, May had come to visit, bringing Peter along.

Peggy has grown quite fond of the young boy. She's deciding on toiletries while May is playing with Peter on the hotel floor, getting in her last "auntie moments" as she'd called them. Not even an hour ago, Peggy had accidentally stepped on a plastic dinosaur and cursed, causing Peter to do the same. She'd tried very hard not to laugh while May had hidden a smile behind her hand, "Peter." She'd admonished, "you know better than to speak like that!"

"She did."

"I don't know better." Peggy said with a grin, "but now I do. My apologies."

Finally, she stares at her suitcase and sighs, "I just don't know how many or what type of clothes to bring." Her hands wave in exasperation, "do we have free time? What does it look like?"

"Pack it all," May offers, "we're not paying for luggage."

"Can I come?" Peter asks, for what Peggy has heard about the 12th time.

"Pete. My baby Pete," May responds dramatically (as usual) "you're breaking your aunt's heart! You know I would bring you if I could. But I'll be back before you know it and you can tell me all about the 3rd grade. Understood?"

Peggy watches with a soft smile and then ruffles the boy's hair, "maybe your auntie will bring you back something exciting, hmm?"

The boy's eyes light up and May nods, "of course I will. Maybe a gladiator sword?"

Peggy snorts, "oh, his mother will love that."

May grins mischievously.

—

It's three days into the trip when she gets to set eyes on him in the large space Howard had rented to overtake for their set up and production.

"Steve?"

He looks up from the notebook in his hand and smiles, dark exhaustion circles under his eyes, "Peggy—"

She lightly touches his cheek, "you have not been getting enough rest. I'm about to track that designer down and give him a piece of my mind! He needs to not overuse his talent!"

Steve smiles softly and huffs out a laugh, "no, no, it's fine. It's just been busy, but things are settling now, so there should be more time to sleep. How was the flight?"

"Nice. Howard got us very good seats. Can't complain."

"That's good. Ready for the show?"

"I am, although I haven't seen the gowns yet, so I'm almost more excited just to see them."

He grins, "I hope you love them."

'I'm sure I will. Do you like them?"

His expression is amused, "they're definitely something."

She raises an eyebrow, "you don't like them?"

"I didn't say that."

"But you're not being complimentary about them."

"What are you a detective?" He laughs, "come on, I need some coffee."

—

Howard was wise, having them arrive a few days early to avoid the rush of all the other designers and models flying in and trying to battle the traffic.

After a minor emergency where one of the dresses got ripped in transit, Steve finally has a break and asks if she'd like to go explore.

She eagerly accepts and they spend the day walking around. Many of the roads are closed for the fashion week so it makes it easier to get around. But they venture out farther, seeing historical buildings and little shops. They don't go in the castle but they marvel at it and they're about to start heading to a let dinner when his phone starts to ring.

He pulls it out and groans, "oh man."

"What?"

"It's Howard." Steve says, "that's not a good sign." He clicks answer but then steps away, putting space between them. She pretends to be preoccupied, looking around but she watches him out of the corner of his eye. His shoulders drop and she hears a "you're kidding."

Then he's hanging up and heading back to her, "sorry, I have to head back."

"What happened?"

"A crate got mismarked, or is missing. They're not sure. So they need someone familiar with the gowns."

"Oh," she nods, understanding, "alright, we will head back."

He grimaces, "I am truly sorry. I hate how often I've had to change plans on you."

She nudges him with her elbow and starts the walk back towards the Metro, "life of a high fashion tailor. Who knew there was so much stress?"

He laughs, "tell me about it."

—

Angie and Natasha are both there, freaking out and trying to pretend they aren't freaking out. Howard looks vaguely pained and sips on something Peggy raises an eyebrow at. But he just nods and sighs like it's another day.

"Which crate is missing?" Steve asks, "or thought to be missing?"

"The nightwear gowns." Angie says in a professional tone, getting down to business, "I oversaw the packaging myself. They were all very carefully wrapped and secured, and then the crate was sealed and—" She shakes her head, "then I was called away for the shoe mishap. So, I don't know how it got marked." A bit of worry crosses her face, "if it goes permanently missing, he will fire me." She's fretting now, "I'm the one supposed to oversee the labeling! We'd gone over it, the man should have known how to mark it correctly!" She covers her eyes, "that crate was worth 1o's of thousands of dollars!" Her voice is getting more shrill, "he'll fire me and I'll never work in the fashion industry again!"

Steve sighs, "no one is firing anybody."

Howard waves his hands, "that's what I've been trying to tell her for the last hour. She won't listen."

"This is no small mistake!" Angie cries out, "this is an entire line of outfits, gone!" I might as well have stolen them!" She gasps, "oh geez he's going to think I stole them!"

Peggy scoffs, "Angie, be serious! The designer isn't going to think you stole them."

"Come back to planet earth." Natasha urges, "we're going to figure this out. We have to figure this out."

Steve steps forward and snags the clipboard from Angie's hands, "I'll start looking. Okay? Just take break and we will figure it out."

Peggy nods and leads Angie to the bathroom while Steve and HOward head towards the staging area.

—-

By the look on Howard's face, it's not good news.

Angie let's out an "oh no—" in a devastated tone, "please no."

Howard sighs, "no sign of it yet."

"Oh geez." Angie breathes out, "I can't believe I screwed up!" She loks up at Howard, "did you call the designer?"

Howard nods, "he knows—"

"Did he fire me? Oh geez, he fired me didn't he?"

Howard rolls his eyes, "he didn't fire you, but he does want it found. Can you give me the number of the shipping company. We need to start working backwards."

Angie grabs her phone and starts talking to Howard. Peggy heads over and follows the path back to the staging area. Everything is still crated up as nothing is opened until the day before when it will be steamed or pressed or prepped as needed.

She catches Steve on the phone and she waits patiently.

He hangs up and looks up, there's a new tiredness there.

"No luck?"

"It's not here." He sighs.

"How can that be?" She asks, "aren't they all shipped by the same company?"

He nods, "yeah, but not all at once. They do multiple runs over the course of the week leading up."

"What…" she starts, feeling a bit helpless, "what can be done?"

"We just have to pull that show." He says, "and hope it turns up at some point."

"Do you suspect foul play?"

He huffs a laugh, "no, no. Mistakes happen. This is just a rather unfortunate one."

"Do you really think the designer won't fire her?"

He rubs at his eyes and then readjusts his glasses. "Angie's an excellent worker. This mistake wasn't incompetence, just—"

"Unfortunate."

"Right."

"It's nearing midnight and you haven't eaten." She states, knowing this is true, "you have to be hungry?"

"I am." He nods, "I'll grab something at the hotel."

"Oh." She says softly, disappointed, "alright."

He looks up, confused, then his tired brain seems to catch up, "oh, did you… want to get something to eat?"

"I don't want to intrude. I know you have a lot on your mind."

His face falls into a soft expression and he nods, "I do. But I'm hungry and I'd like to eat with you. If you're willing."

She knows her face lights up, but she doesn't care, "I am."

—-

Howard catches them on the way out and offers to order them pizza from 'this great little place, trust me, best pizza in Milan'. They accept and he talks then he looks at Steve and raises an eyebrow, "where should I send it?"

Peggy watches as Steve rolls his eyes. "The lobby is fine."

"You can't eat pizza in a hotel lobby!" Howard groans, "get a conference room."

"We can eat it in my room." Peggy offers, "I'd rather that than awkwardly in public."

Steve nods, "fine. That's fine. Your room."

Something about him not wanting her to see his living space rattles around. Maybe he's messy? She thinks of his spaces at the shows and thinks it could be a possibility. She laughs silently to herself, no man can be perfect she supposes.

—-

Pizza eaten, drinks finished, and TV on to some ridiculous show in Italian, Peggy turns to see Steve dozing in his chair, exhausted from the day and stress.

She's about to run to the bathroom real quick when his phone lights up.

WB

Is the contact that pops up and Peggy ignores it, knowing it's not her business.

When she returns from the bathroom, another calling is coming through, this one from an

RB

And she silently laughs, wondering if her contact says PC

She ignores it again, looking over the dossier Natasha had given her. She's about to wake Steve up to tell him to go to his own room to get some sleep when his phone lights up again.

BB

Something about it is strange. Three calls from numbers one right after the other? "Steve," She calls softly, touching his arm, "I'm sorry to wake you but your phone has wrung a few times, one right after the other, perhaps an emergency?"

He blinks groggily and then grabs his phone, "maybe they found the crate." He yawns. She's about to say that she didn't see a call from HS. But she keeps that joke to herself as he swipes up the call log and then his expression changes to shock an element of joy in it. He looks up at her, "I have to go. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

She nods, surprised by the alertness entering his eyes and he goes to leave but she catches his hand, pulling him back slightly and kissing his cheek "Good night, Stvee."

He smiles at her, "night, Peggy." Then he's out the door and she settles back in, changing the channel to something else.

—

Steve seems in a very chipper mood the next day, which cheers her up considerably. He also seems to take time to cheer up Angie, telling her that Howard talked to the designer and nothing is going to happen, that she's fine. Angie doesn't hide the relief and hugs him fiercely.

They go into prep mode and Peggy loses track of the next few days.

Suddenly its the first day of the show and she's in a suit coat, no undershirt, and high waisted pleated pants that make her look tall and powerful. Her hair is pinned back bit hangs in loose waves down her back and her makeup is fierce and very colorful.

She strides down the runway, keeping her face neutral, but always with a hint of intrigue. Then she passes Hannah down the aisle and nod at each other. Usually models ignore the other, but they'd been instructed by Angie to nod at each pass.

She makes it off, heading towards the vanity that's hers and yells, "CLINT!"

"I'm here," he snaps, "keep your pants on."

She laughs, "hair in 5 minutes?"

"Yes, go change."

She runs over to the rack, and assistant handing her her next outfit, a drapey white number like she's a Roman ruler, and begins to change. She's just got the assistant to finish the clasps when Howard runs past. She follows his trajectory when he snatches Natasha, "they found the crate! It will be here in plenty of time for the show!"

She gasps, "what! Where was it?"

"Airport. They're sending it now."

"Angie!" Natasha shouts, not able to run off as she's metering the models walk-in out. "Angie! Howard, go tell her, please?" He nods, and Natasha calls after him, "and tell Steve too!"

Peggy smiles, he'll be pleased.

—

At the end of the show, she slowly removes the makeup and stretches her toes and legs. The runway was an uneven mosaic floor and had been more treacherous than she was expecting. She'd actually wobbled at one point but had thankfully caught herself.

"I'm looking for Steve?"

She turns to see a handsome man asking Angie the question. Angie looks up and smiles at the guy, "and you are?"

He grins, "looking for Steve. Howard said he was back here?"

The mention of Howard makes Angie nod, "he's back to the left, two doors down."

The man grins, "thanks."

And it's only as he passes by, catching his face, tha Peggy recognizes him. The man from the phone background. She turns to Angie, and waves her over, "who is that?"

Angie shrugs, "I dunno, some cutie looking for Steve. Maybe a friend who lives in Italy?"

Peggy hops down off her chair, "If he is a friend of Steve's, I want to meet him." She grins, "Good news about the crate?"

"The best." Angie sighs. "I can sleep again."

"Good. See you at the hotel?"

Angie nods, but doesn't respond, distracted by a shoe on the ground that has just caught her eye, "Whose shoe is this!" She bellows as she walks away.

Peggy chuckles as she heads after the man.

—

"What are you doing here?" She hears Steve ask, voice incredulous.

"I didn't want to miss the fun." The voice she doesn't recognize says, "you in your element. You know."

"But you just got home, I thought I'd see you when I got back?"

"That's like two weeks from now. Plus, my mom was telling me how I should come and see the show. She says she's so proud of you."

"She's over exaggerating."

"Not to my eyes." The man says, "I had Howard get me a ticket. I watched the whole show. It was wild."

"Thanks."

"And I noticed a particular model—"

"Oh geez, here we go."

"Howard might have mentioned something."

"Howard needs to keep his mouth shut."

"So Miss Power Walk is no one special?"

"You guys suck you know that? I'm not a loser teenager anymore. This shouldn't be so much of a shock." Peggy blinks, surprised at the words.

A shift in the other's tone, "Steve, you know that's not what I meant." Then annoyance, "and that's not even close to what I said."

Peggy steps back, she'd been planning to knock, but now she's not sure. "Sorry." Steve says with a sigh, "Sorry, just been stressed, makes me—"

"Snippy?"

"Jerk." Steve laughs.

"Come on, I want to meet everyone. Including her."

Steve's voice is humored, "she has a name."

"And that is?"

"Peggy."

And Peggy slips backwards, smiling in anticipation of the soon introduction.

—-

"Hey, Peggy—" she turns, catching Steve waving her over.

She walks over and smiles, "hello, Steve." Then she turns to the man, "Hello."

He grins at her, "Hey."

"Peggy," Steve starts, "this is my friend, Bucky. Bucky, this is Peggy."

Bucky.

"Come on, with Bucky gone I have no one to tease!"

She doesn't gasp, but she knows her expression must read something because Steve leans forward, "Peggy? You okay?"

"Y-yeah." She chokes out, looking at Steve, suddenly all the little pieces clicking together.

He's OCD things.

She turns back to Bucky and manages a smile, "nice to meet you."

"And you? Heard you're a quite the new addition to the team. That's awesome."

"Thanks." She says, her smile tight.

She looks back at Steve.

He's not Steve the tailor. He's Steve the designer. Her mind is reeling.

I think it's someone we know. Part of the team.

May's words from weeks ago ring in her mind.

It's stupidly obvious now that she thinks about it. But also it's not. Such a small lie. Or more like a shift. He's the tailor. Of course he would know everything the designer would know. People would overlook it easily. Not to mention he doesn't have the classic designer attitude.

"Peggy?"

She snaps back to the present and Steve is looking at her funny, "are you sure you're alright?"

She nods, "um-hmm. Just tired." Then she waves her hands, "no, I mean hungry. Are you two hungry? Perhaps we could grab something to eat?"

Bucky grins, "I'm down. The plane food was awful."

Steve nods, looking at her still with a bit of concern, "sure… I just…" he looks back to where Angie and Natasha are talking, "I have to wrap a few things up, and then we can. Should we meet at the hotel? Say in an hour?"

Peggy's about to agree but Bucky waves him off, "you go take care of business, I'll hang with Peggy here, we'll meet you when you're ready, okay."

"Bucky—"

"Don't worry Steve," the guy grins, "I'd like to get to know her a bit." He turns to Peggy, "that sound alright?"

Her mind is still reeling from the realization buts he nods, turning to Steve, "we will meet you soon. Okay?"

He looks at them warily but then nods, taking off.

Bucky turns to her, "so, coffee?"

She grins, "yes."

—-

She learns he's been deployed for the last two and a half years. Making it difficult to come home. She asks about him growing up and finds out that he has a few sisters and both parents.

He seems to avoid the topic of Steve's mom until she mentions Steve had told her about her passing.

Bucky nods sadly, "he was only 14." His fingers tap against the glass, "it was awful, but he mad eit through.'

14. Too young to lose something so important.

"I understand." Peggy responds, briefly acknowledging Michael. Then he asks how she got into modeling and laughs as she explains the story of Angie's mistaken identity.

"Seems like an act of fate." He says, "and you and Steve got to meet."

She smiles, "indeed. I feel very lucky about every bit of it. You know? Almost doesn't seem fair."

Bucky waves dismissively, "fair shmare. You could have gotten on that stage and done awful. But you didn't. Maybe you got a lucky break but then you earned it."

She touched, just like when his mother (she's sure, now with the connection known the resemblance is there). This is a genuinely kind and loving family. She's grateful Steve has had them. "Thank you." She responds, "that's comforting to hear."

"So," he grins, changing the subject, "tell me why you like Steve?"

She laughs, "I don't think we have that much time."

He chuckles, "that's a good answer. How long have you guys been talking?"

"Just a few weeks." She answers honestly, "although it feels like longer because of the constant proximity and the shows. It's lovely to see him at work."

Bucky seems very content with that answer, "that's good, I'm glad. He's a good guy. Deserves someone who sees his talent."

"I agree." She says with a raised eyebrow. "He is quite talented." And then she wonders how good he is at keeping secrets. "You mentioned your mother, what does she do?"

There's a blink, then he's grinning, "you know she's actually a seamstress. Taught Steve some of what he knows."

Clever boy.

"That's lovely." She responds, "once for Steve to have someone to learn from. Are your sisters younger?"

"Yep, they are."

"Still in school?"

"Nah, the oldest is graduated, works with my mom. Second oldest graduates college this year, and the youngest starts college this year."

"My my, your poor parents."

He laughs, "we're a handful, but they love it. I think."

The bustle of the lobby, where they wait for Steve, causes them both to look up. Someone is freaking out at the concierge. They both watch for a minute before Peggy gets a better idea. "So? What do you think of Steve working for this elusive designer?"

Another pause, minor as he pretends to be distracted for a moment, "I mean, I'm not in the fashion world, so I just think it's great he's got a job and enjoys his work." Then he turns to her, "so, what did you want to do before being thrust into the world of modeling?"

"I was in law school." She says, "but I was trying to aim towards political law, and I was in a very prestigious and strict program when my brother died. I missed too much and they told me I either had to start over or quit." She gestures to the hotel around her, "the day I quit was the day before Angie grabbed me."

"What?" He says in an annoyed tone, "that's awful! They wouldn't even give you an extension? I mean, your brother died, what were you supposed to do?"

She shrugs, "I don't know. It was horrible at the moment…" She trails off and looks around. She's in a gorgeous hotel, in a gorgeous city, with an amazing job that pays better than she ever would have made as a lawyer. And she's met a man she— she blinks. And a smile crosses her face. Loves. A man she loves. She grins, "it's turned out quite for the better." She says towards him, "I wouldn't change those snotty headmasters for a second. I got what I wanted. Freedom and something exciting to do." Then she grins wider, "and money enough I can still do good in the world even if it's not law."

Bucky leans against the couch and nods along as she speaks. Then he grins as she finishes and raises an eyebrow, "I couldn't agree more."

—-

Steve joins them and she finds that the knowledge he's the designer doesn't change him to her a bit. He's Steve, and she thoroughly enjoys that.

She reaches for his hand as they stroll a long after their late night meal and night cap of coffee and gelato. He grasps hers back with a smile and Bucky doesn't even seem to notice, chattering back and forth with Steve about their childhoods. If she hadn't overhead Becca and the mother, she would never have guessed, but she's glad she knows, and she can sort of guess a reason why he would be private about it. But she does wonder what his reason is.

One day, when he tells her, she'll have to ask.

—-

"I should go—" she cuts that statement off with another kiss. Peggy thoroughly enjoys the sensation, being wrapped in his lithe arms and held. His kisses are soft and earnest and she pushes for more. "Peggy—"

"Shhh."

He laughs, breaking the kiss, "I have the review meetings of the show in the morning. I need to get some sleep."

She frowns. They'd left the after party later than she wanted, and then had gotten caught talking in the lobby. "I wanted to go out to gelato with you." She says with a mock pout, "it's our last night in Milan."

"Unfortunately that's not going to happen as it's 2:30am. And none are going to be open."

"Buzz kill."

He laughs, adjusting his glasses and giving her a peck on the lips, "I need to go to my room, I have a few notes to write down before I forget them."

She nods and watches as he slings his jacket on. He'd worn a lovely three piece number to the after party and it makes her realize that he must make his own clothes as well. Why wouldn't he?

"I'll see you tomorrow?"

She shakes her head, "no, Howard has us on the early flight back to New York. When do you get back?"

"Early that evening. But I have appointments and meetings all the next week."

Peggy lets out a soft sigh, "curse you for being so talented."

He laughs, "I'll call you and we will make a plan, alright?"

"Alright."

He leaves with another kiss and she slowly peels off her dress and starts removing her makeup. Bucky had stayed two days before flying back home. She still hadn't told Steve about her revelation. There was a small chance it wasn't him, and it was all just a big coincidence, but she knows… she knows that it's the truth. After Bucky had left, she'd worked up the courage to kiss him fully, and he'd been stunned in a good way.

The next day, he'd had ink on his sleeve cuff. Something that wouldn't have meant anything to her before the revelation, but now made her think he'd been designing.

The thought of him thinking of her while designing, about her being his muse… well it had pushed her thoughts down an ever increasing hill of desire. She wants to date him, get to know him. She wants to be involved in his life, and she wants him to meet her father. She wants to get to know the Barnes' family more and hear more stories from Steve's childhood. She wants to see the first dress he designed and look at his sketches.

She wants him.

But she can't do all that when he hasn't told her who he is. So she'll be patient.

Or try.

—

It's a torturously long nine days before she can see him again. She spends it roaming the city with Angie, eating strange meals with May and Ben. Exploring trendy parties with Natasha and Clint, and watching old fashion shows to see how she can improve.

Two days before she's set to see Steve, Howard calls her asking her tos top by Stark Studios.

"There's a Stark Studios?"

"Of course there is! Where did you think we produced the movies?"

"Honestly, the thought hadn't occurred to me."

"Well, I'll send a driver. I have some ideas I wanna talk to you about."

"Alright," she agrees. "What time?"

"He'll be there at 3p.m."

—

"I've had interested parties."

She waits, when he doesn't continue, she gives in, "parties interested in what?"

"You."

"Howard—" she groans. "Get to the point."

"They wanna book you. I've had commercials, magazines, other designers. They want you. To work for them."

"I make plenty of money with you."

He grins, liking that answer, "It's not about money. Which makes me sick just saying that." He laughs at his own joke, "I'm just saying. You could get experience. Fill up some time while you wait for Steve to be available."

She rolls her eyes but considers it. "I can pick and choose?"

He nods, looking pleased, "that's the great thing about having a steady gig with me. You can be picky. Don't pick the silly gum commercial, pick the mind bendingly weird perfume ads. Or maybe just catalogs." Then he shrugs, "or maybe you want to walk for another designer."

"No." The answer is quick, too sharp and she tries to soften it with a laugh, "no, I don't think so."

He's more observant than she likes. Raising an eyebrow at her. "You don't want to walk for another designer?"

"I mean, no, not right now." There's a hint of something. She needs to avert this conversation, "so, about those offers?"

"Why no?"

"I'm not saying no. I'm saying let me see the offers."

"So you will walk for other designers?" He's trying not to grin.

"I would."

"You would?"

"Sure."

"But you just said you wouldn't."

"I like to be loyal." She bites out, trying to remain neutral. "I've liked the style of this designer, so I don't want to bite the hand that feeds me so to speak."

"I'm the hand that feeds you. Not the designer."

He didn't become a billionaire by being an idiot. "True." She says calmly, "I'm just happy with his work. So I'm happy to entertain other offers, but I'm not desperate for them. It would have to be more alluring. So?" She holds out her hand as if there might be tangible offers for him to hand over.

"You know. Don't you?"

She blinks, using whatever skills on subterfuge she has to remain flat faced, "know what?"

"You know." He guffaws, "holy shit!" He shakes his head. "How did you figure it out?"

"I have no idea what you're referring to."

He stands, then his face shifts, uncertain, "wait, does he know you know?"

She frowns, "I don't know anything."

"Is that why you went after…" he doesn't finish his sentence, but she knows where it was leading and her indignation rises.

"Of course not!"

He grins, switching back to triumphant, "ah-ha!" He snaps, "I knew it! You know!"

She feels bamboozled. "Don't tell him."

Howard blinks, then he sits on the edge of the desk, facing her, "seriously, how did you figure it out?"

She decides not to let Howard know about the seamstress's misstep, "I overhead the seamstresses that dressed us for the New York show? I had a last minute question but when I walked back to ask, they were talking and I realized I was eavesdropping. I heard them talking about a man named Bucky… Which had no significance at the time, but—"

He winces, "—then Barnes showed up at the show."

Peggy nods. "When the seamstresses didn't give me names, I assumed they knew the designer. So when they spoke about a man named Bucky and then Steve said he and Bucky had been long time friends. Coupled with all the rumors that the designer was secretly on the team… I figured that the coincidence was too great."

"So you figured it out after you two had already been talking quite a bit." She nods with a raised unamused eyebrow. "Damn, you're half a detective."

"I didn't even mean to." She responds honestly, "it's like all the details fell on my lap."

His grin is slow, raising his mustache, "like it was meant to be. Like Angie grabbing you."

Her grin is slow too but equally as pleased, "yes. Exactly like that."

It's quiet for a second and then she tilts her head, 'should I tell him? I almost wanted to wait until he felt comfortable enough to tell me himself."

Howard nods thoughtfully, "he's actually planning on announcing it soon. I've talked him into it. And honestly, I think he's tired of the ruse too."

That makes her lean forward, "what was the reason for the ruse in the first place?"

"'What was the story you heard about how the designer got started?"

"That he was working for you and you noticed sketches on his desk."

He nods, "that's basically true, but the reason he ended up working for me was the catalyst for the ruse." He lifts himself off the edge of his desks and walks around to his bar cart, pouring a small glass of something. "Steve tried to get his designs out there by himself first." But he didn't have money to produce them or get them professionally rendered. He told me that people would see what he looked like, how he was dressed, and wouldn't even give him an appointment. He said he tried so many times but no one would give him a shot. It's difficult enough to become a prominent designer even with connections. It's near impossible for a poor unknown Brooklyn kid. He was barely 21 at the time."

She's listening intently, Stark swirling his drink in his glass. "Well, then I sent out a want ad for an interior designer—"

"Of houses?"

"No, of cars. I wanted a new luxury car design for my model lineup, and I didn't like what anyone else was coming up with. So, I sent out a search. Steve, in need of some job, any job, sent in a design that I thought was totally different. Very fashionable somehow. So I hired him, and then the rest is history. He would spend free time at his drawing desk—"

"Drawing desk? I'm surprised it wasn't digital."

"I let my designers choose. Some of them prefer the old school drawing designer's desks. Other's do use digital. Anyways, one day I was bored and strolling around my building and he was off at lunch, but he'd left some of his dress designs on his board. I was jaw on the floor when I saw them. They were gorgeous. And I know pretty dresses." He laughs and points to his ring. "I asked him to make one for my wife, Maria, and he obliged. And she thought it was literally the best thing in the world. She wore it at galas and multiple places, and everywhere she went, people asked her where she got it and she would laugh and say it was her private designer." He laughs, "which was sort of true." The he shrugs, the grin still plastered on his face, "so I decided why waste talent? I was bored anyways. Once you have so much money you can do whatever you want, you start trying to find new excitements. So I thought… high fashion, why not?" Then he taps his desk, "but Steve was worried he'd face the same sort of stigmas and I tried to convince him with my money and connections it wouldn't matter. But he was trepidatious. So I offered a compromise. People liked the idea of Maria having a mysterious designer. So I just offered for him to be nameless. And he really liked that idea. So that's how it started." He laughs, "then it just morphed into something wild. A total persona all its own. It became this living breathing thing. So we just rolled with it."

She's shaking her head in disbelief. "That's insane."

"It is. But I think we're both ready for the next step. And I think he doesn't want to keep it a secret from you anymore either." Her smile betrays her and he grins in response. "He's invested."

"I feel the same." Then she sighs, "I want him to tell me too."

He nods, "he will."

—

Finally, they get to see each other, he has a rare break and she they spend it roaming manhattan and stopping wherever catches their fancy.

After a pretzel, ice cream, each getting a slice of pizza, and a coffee and pastry stop, he looks at her and laughs, "should we maybe try to eat at least one normal meal today?"

"It's New York." She declares, "these are perfectly acceptable options."

His laughter echoes between the buildings and she loves the sound.

"Have you ever stayed?" She asks, pointing towards the Plaza Hotel.

"No." He says, "never needed to since I live in Brooklyn."

"Of course." She responds, feeling silly, "it wouldn't make sense."

"Have you?"

"No." Her swinging hand catches his and they join fingers, his smile brightening, "but I'd love to do their tea one day."

His eyebrows knit together, "my ma always wanted to do the tea here too, but it was too expensive." His smile is sad, "we should have just done it, you know? Life is too short to keep yourself from enjoying and doing the things you want to do."

She nudges him with her shoulder and smiles, "I agree."

An expression of determination crosses his face and he stops her, looking at her seriously, "Peggy, I want to take you to dinner."

She blinks, "alright? Right now?"

He shakes his head, "no, I don't mean today—" she watches him think, like he's trying to iron out details in his head, "three days from now. 7:30p.m. I'll pick you up from the hotel."

Excitement fills her, guessing where this is going to go. "Alright, any specific dress code?"

At this he grins, "I'll have something sent to you."

"I can't wait." She responds, "but what are we going to eat tonight?"

And that just makes him laugh again.

—-

There's a minute of silence as she removes the dress from the garment back. It's a dusty pink rose tight bodysuit underneath, like a danger would wear. But instead of tights, a sheer overlayer is attached, high necked and covered in golden appliques and beading that makes it look like it belongs to a princess or a fairy perhaps. Soft see-through sleeves flow down her arms and tighten at her wrists with a silk button. The matching see through fabric shows off the curve of her waist and hips and gracefully clings to her thighs before hanging down to the floor. A delicate design lines the hem and matches the one around her neck.

Her hands roam the dress softly, shocked at its beauty and detailing. There's no way he made this dress in the last three days. But it fits her perfectly which means he made it with her in mind… Her smile is soft, wondering how long he's been working on this for her.

Soft delicate flats and a golden hairpiece and small earrings accompany the dress and she takes her time getting ready. Matching her eyeshadow to the dusty rose of the under layer and add a touch of gold glimmer to her neck and cheek bones.

She looks altogether too fancy for just a simple dinner. This is a dress for the runway.

But she doesn't question it. She just smiles when she hears the knock on her door and goes to open it.

—

He's not shocked to see her, no stunned wide eyed expression at her beauty. His expression is one of knowledge. He knew she'd look exactly like this. Just how he intended, and she is thrilled to have created that vision.

"You're gorgeous." He states, "like an angel on this earth."

She kisses his cheek and then his lips, "and you're rather handsome yourself." He is, in a deep midnight blue tux with gold detailing on the sleeves and lapels that is similar to hers. They make quite the pair. Like a shimmering sunset and the night sky.

They talk along the hallway and into the elevator. The few people they pass do stare a bit. But in a way that makes Peggy proud. They're eying her dress and his shunt with appreciation. Appreciation he deserves, and has been willing to hide from.

They take a nice car to— she blinks, the Plaza Hotel.

She eyes him suspiciously, but he just makes a zipping motion across his lips and grabs her hand, pulling her forward. They are led by someone in a fancy suit through hallways and up an elevator until they arrive at a set of glass double doors.

Two men open them wide and Steve's hand leads her inside. "Welcome to the Palm Court." He says softly. She takes it all in, the high class ceiling, the palm trees, the decadent velvet seating and the old grandeur making her wide-eyed and in awe.

The man leads them to a table set for two, and pulls their chairs for them. The room is lit by warm glowing bulbs and candlelight and she feels like she's stepped into a fairytale.

"Steve—" she breathes out, looking around them, "this is unbelievable."

His hand rests on hers, causing her to look at him, and he looks nervous, "there's something else that's unbelievable."

Sparks flare in her stomach, "oh?"

He swallows thickly, glancing around for a second before taking a deep breath and looking at her, "Peggy, there's something I haven't told you. And there's so many reasons, but they're all my own. Now though, those reasons mean less to me than the fact that I want you to know the truth. Not so you'll…" he winces, "think more of me. But so you'll know the whole me."

She works very hard to keep the secret off her face, "alright?"

"I'm the designer."

He looks like a man ready to argue. Like she might challenge him on the fact.

But a slow smile spreads across her face and she has to purse her lips to keep from laughing, "oh? You don't say?"

His eyes widen, "you believe me?"

She does let out a laugh then, "of course I do? Why wouldn't I?"

Something about his expression reads 'because it's me'. But he thankfully does not say that. He just tilts his head, "you don't seem very surprised."

And she decides to be honest with him too. "I'm not. I've known for a while."

His mouth gapes, "what? How?"

"Truthfully a series of coincidences. But I officially figured it out the night your friend came to visit in Milan."

"Bucky?"

She nods, "umhmm. The very name I overheard Becca say to her mother."

He mouths the word 'Becca', "Becca? As in Rebecca? She told you her name?"

She shakes her head, "no, no. She didn't. It was again, a series of me overhearing things I wasn't meant to. But it meant nothing to me until I met him. And I put pieces together. I was thrilled and not surprised at all to figure it out. You truly are so talented." His expression is so relieved. Like maybe he's not too used to being believed. But she takes his hand and rests it against her cheek, smiling at him. Then she mock frowns, "does this mean you'll see the wedding dress before the actual day? That's against tradition."

The smile that crosses his face and the laugh that echoes through the room makes her heart leap in her chest.

—-