It's darker quicker than she expects and she tries to spur the horse on faster to get home, knowing how worried the house will be if she's not back when she'd said she would. Especially since she'd gotten so heated about Steve being out on his own.
The horse hears something she can't and skitters to the side, "woah," she breathes, "woah girl."
She presses the heels of her riding boots against the flank and ducks under a low hanging branch that she doesn't remember being there on the ride to town.
The wind whistles through the trees, making the horse tense and coiled under the saddle.
"It's alright girl, it's just the wind." Peggy says more calmly than she feels.
She's halfway home when the continual temperature drop makes it difficult to hold the reins. Her fingers are stiff and cold, even inside the gloves she's worn. The wind is blustering now, carrying the light snow in waltzing patterns along the icy path.
"Come on," she urges her horse, "let's go, we need to get home."
She looks up at the dying rays of light and knows that she's still got a mile and a half until she'll reach the entrance to her property. The light all but fades and Peggy comes to the sinking realization that while she may have a vague idea on how to get home, the truth is that she's only traveled these roads very few times and usually in the daylight. So she isn't entirely confident.
It doesn't help that in the barest of now moonlight, all the trees look the same.
Creaking from the wind and the oppressive darkness do nothing to calm her or the horse's tense muscles.
"It will be alright." Peggy tries to say, her lips now cracking from the dry wind. "It's going to be—-"
An almighty crack scares her and the horse. Her heart leaps in her throat as she yanks the reins back, barely avoiding being crushed as a tree cracks along the base and hurtles towards the path. Peggy barely has time to be grateful it isn't falling on them, when it crashes and splintered on the path in front of her, sending shards of sharp wood at her horse's feet and chest, who neighs and squeals in terror before bucking backwards trying to avoid the spray. She tries to hold tight, but her stiff fingers can't obey. She feels herself get thrown off the back and she groans as all the air in her lungs exude in a huff at the force of hitting the cold ground. She tries to shift and move away as her horse stomps around in terror.
Peggy curls into a tight ball, gasping and then shouting in pain as a hoof lands on her ankle. Her startled agonized scream scares the horse further and she bolts, disappearing into the inky blackness and leaving Peggy alone.
She drags herself into a seated position, and brushes off the cold snow, shivering with abandon.
"Bloody Nora." She huffs, wincing at the twinge her ankle shoots up her leg. She can't see the damage in all her layers, but she knows it's significant.
Her first thought is that Ms. Nancy is going to be quite upset with her.
Abandoning all dignity, she crawls in her winter dress and coat on her hands and knees to the side of the pathway. She uses a nearby tree to haul herself up onto her good foot. Waiting here for the possibility that help might come is not an option, so she must try to walk. She gasps at the first step and falls to her knees, brushing away the tears of pain before they freeze on her cheeks.
The dark is truly pressing around her now. Only the sliver of a moon to reflect off the snow. She gropes for something to use as a walking stick, and finds a broken limb that might do the trick.
She's ripping at the excess twigs, trying to clear a hand hold, when a gust of wind has the snow hitting her legs, she hears her teeth chattering.
They had been hoping the storm was over, but the way the snow was starting to fall made her think they were in for another brutally cold night.
She grits her teeth and starts to walk, ignoring the jolts and spasms of pain from her ankle. A broken ankle can heal. A body frozen in a winter storm… not so much. She tries to place most of her weight on the walking stick as she moves back towards the road. It's slow going, but she knows she must keep moving.
At the fork in the road, she doesn't think a moment before taking the right side and she makes it half a mile before her frozen brain realizes that she was thinking about the road to town. She curses, the words barely heard above the whipping wind. Oh, she could kick herself! She stands still for a moment, trying to decide if walking all the way back to the fork in the road is worth it. She turns slowly to the forest on her left. If she walked through it, eventually she would come to her road. She knows they run not exactly parallel, but almost like a large 'V'. She blinks at the road and then at the forest. She turns left and steps off the path, steeling herself for the challenge or traipsing through the forest with an injured ankle.
The fact that she can barely see her hand in front of her face does not dissuade Peggy from continually placing one foot after another. She's ironically grateful for the cold as her legs are so stiff and numb that she can barely feel her ankle anymore. She knows that's a horrid sign of how bad it will be. But she constantly reminds herself that a ruined ankle is far preferable to an icy death.
Which is of course, when she hears the crack.
She falters and steps again, hearing sounds like scratches that have her heart rate increasing. "No." She whispers out loud, "no." She hobbles faster, but she miscalculates, walking further onto the hidden pond instead of closer to the edge.
For the second time that night, she hears a crack that scares her to death and she feels her weight shift without her permission. She can barely process her movements as she throws herself forward to her knees, scrabbling and grabbing at whatever she can as her shoes and then ankles and legs sink into the piercingly cold ice water.
She's gasping and crying and full of fear but she fights, throwing her arms forward and trying to pull herself out.
But her now sodden coat and dress weigh her down, pulling her deeper.
Her lungs start to struggle to expand as the cold dark water surrounds her chest. She tries to pull her legs up so she can be even with the water and pull herself flat onto the ice, but the cold and weight of the fabric fight against her.
She's crying desperately now, only her neck, head, and arms above the water. She shoves her walking stick away and flails her arms in the dark hoping to catch onto something.
Her hand collides with something hard and she can't register the pain of that, she just grabs onto it with her frozen fingers and grips it for dear life. She manages to yank her other arm, stiff and cold over and holds what she thinks might be a large branch.
It keeps her from sinking into the pond all the way, but she can already feel the way the ice water is cooling her body temperature. She won't last more than a few minutes in this state and at these temperatures.
And only one person comes to mind. That sharp face and concerned blue eyes, and she'll be leaving him too soon. She's just gotten to know him. She thinks he'll be cross at her if she dies. Her delirious fraying mind causes her to smile at that thought. He would miss her if she left and if she admitted it to herself… she'd miss him too.
She throws her head back and pulls in all the air that her stiff lungs will allow.
"Steve!" She cries out, her throat brittle and lips cracking, "Please, Steve! I'm here!"
She doesn't know why she calls out, he could be anywhere, but he's the last thought she has as her mind starts to go blank.
—-
Steve's running, and he's using his vision, which is now sharper than it's ever been before, to scan the pathway. He's huffing, partially from exertion, but mostly out of the sheer amounts of adrenaline coursing through him. He'd left the house and only made it half a mile before Peggy's horse had come sprinting past.
The wide eyed terror in it's eyes was enough to send Steve into a panic. He'd let the horse race past him, hoping it would know by instinct how to get home, and he'd taken off, heading in the direction it had come.
The wind is whistling past his ears, but the back of his neck prickles at a sound and he slides to a halt.
Please, Steve! I'm here! is just the ghost of a sound slipping past his enhanced hearing.
His neck snaps up, the wind carrying the sound and he feels terror that she's somewhere lost in this cold. He closes his eyes, putting all efforts into listening, hoping that he hadn't imagined her call and waiting to hear something again.
But the night is now silent except for the tugging wind.
"Peggy!" He bellows out, "Peggy, where are you!?" He waits, hoping to hear an answer.
But none arrives.
He looks around and tries to decide if he'd really heard what he thought, because if so… she had to be somewhere close. He studies the foliage, making out a few shapes around him but it's the slight curve in the road that startles his mind to realize where he is.
And what he's close too.
A small blue face and hands and cold stiff limbs fill his vision and he chokes out a gasp at the memory. "No." He growls. "NO."
He dashes off to his right, tearing through the dead trees and brush, ignoring the way it rips and tears as he races through. Snow kicks up around his legs, but they don't stiffen like they used to, his muscles burn with power now and he pushes himself faster and faster until he leaps over a fallen tree and comes sliding to a halt at the edge of the pond that he knows is now hidden beneath the layer of snow.
His eyes scan the top and catch on a muted colored lump somewhere close to the middle of the pond. He doesn't even think before he goes charging, ignoring the sharp cracks under his feet, just running faster, staying one step ahead as it splinters behind him.
He approaches and feels the thinness of the ice under his weight.
He crashes to his knees, bursting through the ice and feeling the air in his lungs react to the intensity of the cold. He ignores it, kicking powerfully in the water to stay afloat as he scoops the soaked and stiff body in front of him. The weight of her coat and dress drag them both down and he kicks harder, ignoring the ice that stabs at his skin. He uses the branch she seemed to be hanging onto to steady himself and use his other arm to gently set her on his shoulder. He then lets go of the branch and uses every ounce of his available strength to crack through the ice, and swim while carrying her towards the closest edge.
Steve's brain does nothing but repeats, don't stop. Keep going.
And he does.
Long minutes pass as his body fights the cold and the ice and the weight and the fear.
His now bleeding and cracked hands finally hit solid ground and he finds footing beneath him in the shallower waters. The wind is picking up, and the temperature is dropping, but he ignores all of that. Dragging himself onto shore, with her on his shoulder. He takes one moment to catch his breath before he looks at her face.
Blue lips are cracked and bleeding and her entire body is stiff and cold. "Peggy," he calls, shaking her, "Peggy, can you hear me?" She doesn't respond and he shakes her harder, "Peggy!"
When no response comes he shoves his fingers against her neck and prays, "please, please."
The barest of flutters has him shouting in relief. He shoots up onto his feet, yanking off his wet coat and throwing it to the ground, he leans down, hauling her up and as gently but as quickly as he can he removes her thick soaked water logged coat.
He hauls her into his arms and takes off.
—
It's cold. She shivers and trembles and feels her teeth chattering. Warmth blooms against her back and she sighs at its presence. It doesn't get rid of the shivering but it helps.
—-
She feels herself being moved, shifted, turned. She doesn't understand what's happening. Only that her nose and cheeks feel cold, and then suddenly they're pressed against something warm and soft and she sighs in relief, pressing her face against the heat, soaking in as much of it as she can.
—-
Peggy's barely conscious, but she's aware enough to notice that her skin feels like a thousand needles are stabbing at it. She shivers and groans, shifting restlessly until she feels something incredibly warm. She presses against it and feels it wrap around her tighter. She lets out a sigh as the warmth helps banish the needle feeling.
—
Eventually thirst is what wakes her. A burning in her throat. She blinks and blinks again, trying to let her brain process what she's seeing. Bright blue eyes stare at her up close and she squints one eye, "Steve?" She croaks, recognizing the color.
The eyes pull back a bit and soft features appear around them. She recognizes the woman.
"No." Sarah Rogers whispers amused.
"Oh." Is all Peggy can think to say.
"How are you feeling?" The woman asks seriously, "you gave us quite the scare."
Peggy yawns and begins to wriggle, only to immediately freeze. Her eyes go wide and her mouth pops open in surprise.
Sarah leans forward with an amused smile and looks Peggy straight in the eye, "wake him, and I'll not forgive you."
She slowly turns her head, taking in the form that is directly behind her, wrapped around her. Even with his eyes closed she can see the dark circles under them. His eyebrow is puckered and she can feel the way he breathes in and out against her neck.
Peggy's hand slowly reaches back, touching skin. She yanks her hand away as if she'd been burned.
"What is going on?" Peggy rasps.
"You were blue and frozen stiff. The quickest way to warm up your body without shocking it, is body heat. Something which, for some reason, Steve now has an excess of."
Something coils in Peggy's stomach, adrenaline and fear and anger at what she'd just been through kicking in, making the terror she'd felt at almost dying and having no control over it (something she hates) boil up. "I'm sure that's the reason he gave when he felt compelled to undress and lie beside me!" She snaps, voice trembling.
Sarah Roger's eyes narrow very dangerously. She sits on her heels and fixes Peggy with a stare that sends a thrill of fear down her spine.
"My son—" Sarah starts, speaking very slowly and clearly, "—swam through ice water to drag your body to shore." She doesn't blink, keeping Peggy pinned with the intensity of her glare. "He then proceeded to run more than 6 miles to bring you here so that way I, a woman, could help you. He ran an extra two miles, past another healer, to make you comfortable, Ms. Carter." And somehow hearing her own last name feels like an insult. "The entire time he ran, he was carrying the dead weight of you and your dress. And when I told him that he would need to undress to be most helpful to you as your supplemental body heat, he refused saying he couldn't, that I should do it. Only after I told him you would probably die if he didn't, did he agree. And I stripped you of your clothing. I dressed you in the undergarments you're wearing now. And he refused to even open his eyes until you were under that blanket." Mrs. Roger's voice gets dangerously low, and Peggy understands what a foolish woman she'd been to even assume the worst of the man who has done nothing but be a perfect gentleman ever since they met. "He's laid beside you on this hard wooden floor, in front of this fire, for the last three days, gently turning you back and forth to ensure that your core temperature and extremities are safe from frostbite or any other nerve damage. He has not slept for three days, Ms. Carter. Three entire days of lying awake to ensure that you were okay. Assume something so horrible of my son again and I will personally drop you back into that frozen pond."
And she means it.
There's no doubt in Peggy's mind that the blazing eyes she sees before her would do anything for her son.
"I'm sorry." Peggy says hoarsely, eyes watering and the fear of everything crashing over her, "I know he wouldn't, I'm sorry." She squeezes her eyes shut and feels the tears fall onto the pillow that's placed beneath her head.
A soft hand touches her cheek and she opens up to look at the familiar blue eyes. "I know what you've just experienced must have been quite frightening. So, I'll not hold your words against you. Not when he seems to care for you so." Peggy's throat closes at her words. When she doesn't respond, Sarah looks at her in unease, "do you care for my son?"
The urge to lie is present, but Peggy just looks at the woman in front of her and nods, "yes." She whispers, "I do."
"Then we'll hear no more about it." The woman says softly. "Can I get you anything?"
"Water." Peggy whispers, "please."
The woman nods and disappears from Peggy's line of sight. She takes the moment to look around at her surroundings. She is indeed on a wooden floor, but there's quite a few blankets beneath them. A pillow is under her head, and a few blankets on top of them. She's facing a fireplace that burns cheerily and a simple living room surrounds them.
A cup is handed to her and she drinks it, trying not to spill at the strange angle from which she must drink. She drinks another cup before she feels satiated.
The woman sits on the ground and tears at a biscuit, creating bite-sized portions. She brings one to Peggy's lips and gestures for her to eat it. "You need to eat, but I want to start small."
Feeling like a child, she opens her mouth and accepts the morsel. Chewing slowly and swallowing it down. When she finishes the bread, the woman asks if she wants more but Peggy shakes her head, "no, thank you."
She nods and brings another glass of water, "try to keep your hands and fingers under the blanket and in the heat as much as possible." Sarah instructs, "I'm going to wash, now that I know you're awake and on the way to mending. Do you need anything before I go?"
Peggy shakes her head and the woman nods, getting to her feet and disappearing. Peggy hears a door close and she blinks, trying to keep the fact that Steve is behind her, radiating heat like he's the sun, out of her mind.
She resists for almost a good three minutes before the temptation overwhelms her.
She slowly and gently rotates until she is facing him, her chest to his. She studies his face. He does look quite tired and a pang of guilt mixed with a swell of gratitude clashes in her chest. There's tiny scratches and tears on his skin that look like they're healing. She frowns at them, ghosting her fingers over the red puckered lines. His hair lies over his forehead and his lips are parted just so. She reaches, just barely poking her finger out from underneath the blanket that is wrapped at shoulder level and brushes her finger against his lips. Something she's wanted to do since that day he came home dripping in snow.
It's soft beneath her touch and the breath that glides over her knuckles raises goose bumps on her skin.
She sinks her hand back beneath the blanket and reaches, hesitatingly towards him. Hot skin meets her fingers and she has to resist the sudden urge to explore every inch of that skin with her hands.
But she doesn't resist all the way. Keeping her eyes steadily on his closed ones, she rests her hand palm down on his chest, relishing in the thick muscle and way it expands and contracts against her with every breath. She drags her hands down, fingers feeling each rib and stopping to run over his sharp hip bones that protrude from his skin.
Peggy traces a fingernail over the delicate skin beneath his belly button.
She hears his breath hitch at her touch and she freezes, eyes wide as his throat flexes and his lips close and part again before he settles. The way he draws her closer, his large arms pulling her in subconsciously, makes her insides melt, warmth growing in her lower belly. She tries to stay calm, ignoring the racing of her heart, but her hands don't listen, they trace further down, gently sliding over the thin cotton shorts he's wearing until her hands touch skin again on his leg, ever so softly tracing the outline of his thigh and back up to his hips.
A grin appears on her face at the low sound he makes in his throat when she scratches at his back gently with her nails. His fingertips press into her gently and she knows that she's eliciting some sort of positive experience inside whatever he's dreaming.
She hears the door opening and she startles, having forgotten his mother was there. She has only seconds to think, so she does the only thing she can. She shoves her face against his chest, snuggling tightly against him, closing and obstructing the view of her eyes. She slows her breathing and opens her mouth slightly to give the illusion of sleep. Peggy hears Sarah come over and bend down, checking on them. She continues her slow breathing pattern and the cool back of a hand touches her cheek and then moves to Steve's.
"Sleep well." She hears the woman whispering softly before disappearing behind them.
Peggy doesn't move or shift as she can still hear Sarah moving quietly around the room. Eventually, tiredness does take hold and Peggy nods off, wrapped tightly up in Steve's arms and perfectly content.
—
She'd heard her maids joke about such things, but she'd never expected to experience it like this, and let alone accidentally.
The unusual change wakes her and she looks up to see Steve's eyes still closed, breathing slowly and deeply and most definitely still asleep. So when her hand trails down, coming in contact with something she's not expecting, she yanks her hand up and has to clamp her mouth shut from letting loose a surprised squeak.
Her cheeks flush and she stares at Steve, hoping he wouldn't wake up, please don't wake up.
He doesn't, still deep in the throes of sleep. Her heart beats fast and wildly for minutes before she starts to take deep breaths and feel it slow.
By the time she's back in sorts, she's now wickedly curious. Her eyes stay on his, but her hand trails down, skimming the edge of his undershorts and sliding down, on top of the fabric, further—
Only for it to be gone. Well, not gone, just less. She feels her eyebrows furrow in confusion and then feels herself giggle silently. Never in her life would she have pictured herself in such a situation. She wishes she'd listened more to what the more tawdry of maids would whisper about. Or even Angie who had a clever thing or two to say about men.
She tugs at the soft, thin nightshift she's in and gently rolls so her back is to his chest. And without even a thought, she shifts, pressing her body against the length of his, sighing at the warmth and the contact. His arm is resting on hers, his knuckles touching the blanket beneath them. She gently lifts his hand, holding it in her own and tracing it in the firelight. The palms are wide and strong, and the perfectly proportioned fingers are long and look made to do delicate work. The growing coil of warmth in her lower belly makes her move without thinking. Setting his hand on her waist, shifting the shirt so it rests on her skin. The touch burns and soothes in a way she can't explain and she swallows thickly as his fingers seem to respond to her skin, grasping her gently and sending nerve endings firing.
An incessant urge rises. She wants to turn, to press herself against him and kiss him senseless. To capture his lips against hers and drag her fingernails over every inch of his skin. He's her husband, he's hers to have like this. She's halfway through turning to follow through with that thought when it hits her.
Husband.
He's not her husband.
Well. He is.
But he shouldn't be.
This is what she is trying to escape from.
And her heart aches at the tear that begins to happen. Desire to lie next to him forever. Desire to be free to choose her own love.
His hand rests softly on her stomach now as she lays on her back and she sighs at how gentle his fingers rest against her. She places a hand on top of his and the startling realization that maybe—
"Ms. Carter?"
She's jolted from her thoughts and looks up to see Sarah Rogers standing there with a mug and another biscuit, "are you hungry?"
She nods and Sarah settles on the floor next to her. Peggy is glad for the blanket that covers the fact that Steve's hand rests palm down on the flesh of her stomach. She shifts slowly, angling towards Sarah for ease of eating and drinking.
A few bites in, Peggy swallows and asks, "has he woken since I saw you last?"
Sarah nods, "he ran to the bathroom quickly and ate a small bite, but you were shivering again in his absence, so he didn't stay away long."
Peggy frowns, "shivering?"
Sarah nods, "your core temperature is still trying to stabilize after who knows how long at below freezing temperatures. The absence of his excessive heat makes your body go into shock since it's having a hard time producing its own. That's why you're in front of the fire instead of on the comfortable bed. He's warming your whole body, but whatever side isn't directly against him is colder, hence the fire."
Her lips purse and she shifts, trying not to wake Steve, "he shouldn't be stuck here." Peggy says quietly, "I'll be okay."
An amused smirk plays on Sarah's lips. "The second he's not near you when you're conscious enough to notice his absence? I think you'll be singing a different tune."
Peggy doesn't respond, just holding the piece of biscuit between her fingers.
"This must have brought up such bad memories for him." Sarah sighs sadly, eyeing the fire.
Peggy blinks, "how'd you mean?"
Sarah looks at her, surprise flitting across her face, "what do you mean what do I mean?"
Peggy's eyebrows furrow, "you said it would bring up bad memories?"
"Yes," Sarah says slowly, "about the last time—"
Peggy just looks at her, and Sarah's eyes narrow, "you don't know."
"Know what?"
"About Steve. And the ice."
Peggy feels her heart stir in concern, "what about Steve and the ice?"
"He hasn't told you." Peggy watches as Sarah pinches the bridge of her nose. "I should have guessed."
The night of the bathtub emerges in Peggy's mind. "Does this have to do with his scars?"
Peggy's hand reaches back and gently traces the line that trails down the middle of his chest. His mother is looking at the fire and nodding. "Yes, it does."
"Tell me."
"Maybe I shouldn't," Sarah says softly, "he must have had a reason to keep it to himself."
"Please," Peggy pleads quietly, "please tell me."
Sarah sighs and leans against the chair that she sits beside. "A few years ago, we had a bad week of storms, much like this one. And Steve, he was always sick in the winter, so he was usually inside. But one day, I wasn't home, and he decided he was going to go collect some maple syrup for my birthday which was coming up. We could never afford much, but we always try to make birthday's special." Sarah's eyes rest on her son and Peggy feels a deep ache at how much love is in that glance. "He was out, bundled up and tapping a few trees when he heard someone crash through the ice of a nearby pond. We still to this day don't know how he heard it. His hearing has always been terrible due to a childhood illness, but heard it he did, and he ran as fast as he could to see what had happened."
Sarah's eyes grow misty, and they look like she's picturing it. "Steve saw someone struggling under the ice, they'd crashed through and moved from under the hole they created, so they were trapped. Steve grabbed a rock and ran across the ice and began smashing the ice above them. Of course Steve ended up falling through too, but he got the person above the ice, holding him above his head so he could get air." Sarah looks at Peggy, an eyebrow raising, "do you know who it was?"
Peggy thinks for a moment, someone that Steve could hold above his head, even when he was much smaller. It must be someo— Her mind snaps to the answer.
"The little Stark boy." She breathes out, everything piecing together.
Sarah nods. "He'd wandered from town, following some cat or squirrel or something while his mother was shopping. Oh she was hysterical. She'd only looked away for a second, but in the snowy landscape every direction looked the same to the young boy and he got lost, falling through the ice."
That she can sympathize with. "The scars?" Peggy asks quietly.
There's a longer pause and Peggy can see that Sarah's throat is tight, "I came home to an empty house. I didn't know where he'd gone or what he was doing. So I sat and waited until it got dark, but then I went out searching." She tosses a biscuit crumb into the fire. "Before I even got home though, Steve had somehow managed to climb out of the small pond, take the small boy and stuff him into his coat and carry him to Erskine's house, which is quite far. But he knew I wasn't home at that point, and he knew Anthony didn't have much time. So he walked through the cold until he knocked on Erskine's door."
Sarah reaches over and gently brushes Steve's hair back with such affection it hurts to watch. "Erskine told me that they were both blue as could be. But once he handed Anthony over, Erskine took the child to his bathroom, filling his tub with warm water and trying to raise his temperature that way. He said that he spent over a few hours rubbing the limbs and chest of that poor boy to get him to stop shivering and get his body temperature warm enough to survive."
Peggy feels a knot of dread in her stomach, "what about Steve?"
Sarah's eyes get tight, even though the boy is very much alive and healthy beside them.
"He… He asked Erskine if there was something else he could do, but Erskine told him to go by the fire and get warm. But Steve insisted, so Erskine told him to try to fetch the boy's parents—" Her throat chokes off, "I'm sorry, It's still—"
Peggy's hand slithers out and rests on her wrist, "I'm sorry."
Sarah nods and breathes deeply. "He somehow made it to town, finding a messenger boy willing to ride to find the Stark's who were out searching still for their child, not knowing he'd been found." She smoothed out her skirt, picking at the hem of her apron. "But—" she bites at the inside of her cheek, "on his way back to Erskine's his body gave out, his heart and lungs not able to keep up with the strain, and the weather was bitter cold."
Peggy knows Steve is warm and safe right beside her, but she can't help feel terror for the thin boy trapped outside all alone.
"How did he get back to Erskine's?" Peggy asks with trepidation.
Sarah's eyes bore into hers and Peggy's surprised to see an actual tear fall. "He didn't."
"What?" She whispers hoarsely, "what do you mean?"
"It wasn't till the Starks arrived at Erskine's home, that Erskine noticed he hadn't come back."
"Where was he?" Peggy asks, her voice rising, absolutely terrified about where this story was going.
Sarah closes her eyes and leans her head back, tear tracks visible down her cheeks, "we didn't find him til the next morning, buried under the freshly fallen snow."
"What?" She breathes, "no."
But Sarah just nods, "we were searching everywhere, but not until the sun came up could we see the green of his coat under a pile of snow.
Peggy stiffens, her hand instinctively reaching back to check that he's there, he's still there. He's safe. He's here.
"But—" Peggy starts, "he's—"
"They brought his body to Erskine who tried to warm him up, get his blood flowing again, but his heart was too weak. It wouldn't respond to their ministrations." She's still crying now, and Peggy feels her own throat closing and eyes pricking. "Howard Stark and Erskine tried everything, they worked for hours to bring his body temperature up and get him to breathe again—"
"Where were you?" Peggy asks.
"Sitting numbly in a corner." Sarah admits, "I'd already been told he was dead. So I thought he was gone. I couldn't process anything in my grief, couldn't move or think or stop them from trying to wake someone who should have never woken up again."
It's too terrible. She can't bear it and she shoves the blanket up to her face to hide the tears as they begin to fall. "How?" She rasps, "how?"
"Howard Stark took hold of my shoulders and shook me, asking if I would allow him to take my son's body to his lab. 'What for?' I had asked, 'he's dead'. But Howard wouldn't give up. He doesn't like being in debt when he can't pay it back. So he asked again and again until I gave in and said yes. Erskine went along with him and I watched as they wrapped my son in more blankets than I can count and carted him off to the Stark mansion." She's still talking as her throat is tight, and Peggy can't imagine experiencing what she's talking about. "I was numb. Grief makes people do funny things. I went home, I grabbed a change of clothes for Steve, so I could change him into clean and dry clothes. And then I went and bought rope because when the ground is that cold, you can't bury a body. We would have to tie his body up in a tree for the remainder of the winter to keep it away from predators."
Peggy knows this. It's the same in her village. But hearing Sarah Rogers say it, say it about Steve, she can't, it's too much. She turns, placing her face against Steve's chest and crying. Placing her hands against his chest softly, feeling his warmth, feeling the movements of his pulse, the life. He's alive. She hears Sarah's labored breathing as she cries too.
Eventually her tears wear out and she turns back, "what then?" She has to know. She has to understand how he came to be alive again, how he's here.
"I made it to the Stark home, but was told to wait. I waited for days, agonizing hours and moments and days of grief. I just wanted to see my boy again, to hold his body one more time before I had to let him go, but they wouldn't let me." She wipes at her cheeks with her apron. "Eventually I passed out from exhaustion, and when they woke me up, I was led to a room where Steve laid in bed, wrapped in bandages but breathing." Peggy hears herself gasp and Sarah nods, "I fell apart, holding him and crying, but he was still unconscious."
"How?" Peggy whispers, "how did they bring him back?"
"There's of course a lot of science, and what I would describe as miracles that went into it. But what they tried to explain to me, is that they devised some sort of healing formula, cut into all of Steve's vital organs and muscle groups, and pumped them full of the stuff. Then they did heart resuscitations for hours and hours, forcing his heart to pump the blood and serum through his veins." Sarah waves her hands, clearing her throat, "something about artificially creating sunlight to sear the stuff into his body. Trust me, if I could explain it, I would, but somehow it worked and they brought my boy back to me. I stopped asking questions at that point."
Peggy nods, understanding that just him being alive was a miracle.
"Steve woke up a day later, normal and unharmed, confused about what had happened. He told us what had happened with Anthony, and we filled him in about after." She pauses, and Peggy tries to guess what it must feel like to be told you died… "We noticed changes right away. His lungs didn't cause him too much trouble anymore, and his joints, which always used to get stiff in the cold, started behaving and working properly." She tilts her head, her blue eyes dancing in the firelight. "Even for those small miracles we were grateful. Then he started growing and we didn't know what to think. Now look at him, a giant." She laughs weakly, a bit of emotion still clouding her voice, "my precious son saved that little boy's life and died to do so. And now he's strong enough to save others, including you. Perhaps that was what fate had planned all along."
Peggy's eyes widen in surprise at her words. But Sarah just gets to her feet and wipes at her cheeks, "don't tell him I told you." She says with a wry grin, "he'll be embarrassed."
Peggy feels herself laugh at the truth in that statement. Only Steve would feel embarrassed about being a hero.
"I won't." Peggy promises, "thank you for telling me."
"Don't you hurt him." Sarah says suddenly, her eyes sharp on Peggy's and searing into her soul, "I can tell that you're unsure of your place here. And Steve would never force you to stay if you did find some way to dissolve the union." Peggy feels surprised that she knows their plan. But… maybe it's not so surprising. Steve and his mother seem close. "But don't you hurt him. If you're planning on leaving, don't let him on. Don't let him believe that you intend to stay when you don't."
"I won't." Peggy whispers her voice barely a sound.
Sarah nods and waves goodnight, disappearing through her bedroom door.