Steve would easily admit it was the best night of sleep he's had that he can remember. When he was younger and sick all the time, sleep never came easy. He wasn't an insomniac, but he had been close to it during certain periods of his life.
Now he sleeps well, but he sleeps with energy charging through his veins, as if he'll awaken and be ready to climb a mountain at any moment.
Except last night.
The presence of her body, cold and calm, had been… soothing to the over energetic heat coursing through him. The usual buzzing beneath his skin had quieted.
He tries not to think of the way her body curled up perfectly beneath his as Thompson attaches and straightens his cufflinks.
He can see the change. He's not blind, even if everyone else thinks he's oblivious. Thompson's behavior has shifted and gone from lightly patronizing to downright annoyed with every inch of height that Steve gained.
He looks down on Thompson now, literally. His shoulders are wider, and Steve knows that if they got in a fight? No contest.
It's a sort of vertigo knowing you can beat someone up. He's not used to it, and he doesn't like it.
So when Thompson says little quips meant to goad him, or get a reaction, he stays silent or responds in a way that forces Thompson to knock it off. Which is why it surprises him when Thompson, who has been making small harmless remarks all morning, changes tactics.
"Will there be a change in room arrangements, sir?"
It's a perfectly inocuos question that a staff member would ask or need to know. But Steve knows it's filled with meaning.
He wants to know how long this has been going on. If it will continue. What the meaning of finding her in his bed is.
"No." Steve says simply, not willing and not wanting to go into detail.
Thompson nods, and Steve thanks him before stepping back out to his room. His eyes land on the bed, and he wonders himself if it was a one time thing.
It had taken Anthony almost 8 months to regulate and feel completely normal after Steve had pulled him from the ice. And even now Howard had told him that he occasionally still wakes with nightmares.
His hands tug at the sleeves of his shirt, again too snug, and he tries to ignore the creeping memories that plague him every so often. The memory of resting, so tired and cold and worn out, on the side of the road that night. The way his heart had physically shuddered in his chest, leaving him exhausted. How he'd laid on his back in the snow, not even feeling the cold anymore, and knowing that was a bad sign. How he'd been watching the snow as it fell, starting to bury him, how he knew he should move but he just couldn't.
He screws the palms of his fists against his eye sockets. Trying to scrub out the memory. He doesn't remember anything after that. Just falling asleep in the snow, knowing it was the last thing he'd ever do, only to wake days later, confused and all cut up.
He pulls up the bottom of his shirt and looks at the scars that mark his sides. After the burn had healed, he'd wondered if they would disappear eventually, but so far, they've stuck with him.
The sun tilts over the far hills and hits his window, lighting up the room.
—-
Peggy doesn't miss or mind the crisp way Lorraine speaks to her today. She almost revels in it. The blonde woman is as icy as the drifts of snow outside.
Peggy shivers as the wind outside blows a draft through her room. But the thought that really chills her is that if she left… Lorraine would be first in line to get Steve in her clutches.
Unwillingly, her mind conjures up the thought of Steve wrapped around Lorraine, sleepy and all mused, like he'd been this morning, Lorraine looking pleased as punch to be engulfed by him.
Lorraine being privy to Steve's bed. His scars, his story.
Her jaw makes a sound at how tightly she clenches it.
And as she stares out the windows at the rising morning, she wonders if she'll be able to leave.
—-
She hadn't asked, but she knows he did it for her.
All of the fires in the rooms they use daily are stoked at all times, blazing the house with so much warmth that there isn't a room that is too cold for her to enter.
Peggy doesn't see him do it, but she knows Steve is keeping each one going. Which is a feat in and of itself.
She wonders at the use of firewood, but sees him out back, thick arms swinging an axe and cracking more logs into smaller pieces and the gratitude for him goes deeper.
Never in her life had she thought a man like Steve existed. Her father was wonderful, and Michael (newly engaged to his love) was kind and thoughtful. But Steve was a whole new breed. He claims almost all her thoughts, and it isn't until she's reread the same sentence in the book on her lap several times before she huffs and slams the book shut. "Get it together, Margaret." She seethes, using her least favorite name to make sure the order sticks.
—
He'd spent most of today ensuring there would be enough firewood for the week, even if they burned through a lot of extra. He hasn't minded the physical activity as it has helped him keep his thoughts off the night before and what it could mean.
He bends over to untie his shoes and hears the back of his shirt rip down the middle. He grimaces, twisting in the mirror to look at the now shredded garment.
After Peggy's accident, when they'd got back home, he'd noticed that once again, his clothes were fitting way too snug. So he had asked Thompson (who had almost rolled his eyes) to remeasure him for a new set.
It hadn't come yet and he was desperate for them. This was the third clothing item he'd ripped through in the last week.
If he handed Thompson another shredded garment he was pretty sure the man would slap him upside the head. So he carefully unbuttoned it, folded it neatly, and placed it in a drawer with clothes that he didn't wear often.
He hears a soft "oh" and turns, finding Lorraine in his room, arms full of towels, staring at him with wide eyes. He has to resist the urge to blush at the way her eyes roam the top half of his body before settling back on his face.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude, I just need to replace your towels." Her words may be contrite, but the way she eyes him makes him think she's not sorry at all.
"Of course," he says tightly. He gestures to the bathroom and she takes one last long look at him before walking that direction.
He frowns at her reaction and goes to his dressing room, picking out a shirt that would be acceptable for dinner and hopefully stay in one piece.
—
Steve feels tension rise in the house as the sun begins to crest down towards the horizon.
They'd eaten dinner and now are sitting in the drawing room, with books and a few pastries Ms. Nancy had sent to them.
Eventually, he notices her blinking a little bit slowly and decides he needs to get out of there before he suggests something he would regret. So he bids her goodnight and ignores the way she watches him as he leaves the room.
He gets to his room, slips out of his clothes and considers his undershorts. Truthfully the heat of the house was becoming overwhelming. He was glad it was helping Peggy, and he wouldn't complain, but it means he is overheated all of the time. The air from outside helps to cool the heat of his skin down, but the shorts feel constricting in the overbearing heat.
But if she needs him…
He sighs and leaves them on, even though they're too tight and too hot. Slipping into his bed, leaving the sheets around his waist and his top half open to the cold air.
—
The house is much warmer. And so is her room. She'd even instructed Lorraine to leave the fire burning and that she'd stoke it through the night hoping to quell any desire she had for leaving her quarters.
Except when the nightmare of crushing ice water wakes her up shivering and trembling, she knows there's only one thing that will make the nightmares go away. The same arms that saved her from them.
But she resists. Adding more wood to her fire and sitting before it, trying to steal all its heat.
It does help. It's much better than the glowing embers of before, so she grabs a pillow and tries to sleep in front of it. She wakes not much later, gasping and scrambling away from the heat as it seers at her, too concentrated on one area to be comfortable. She growls in frustration, mad that the fire was too hot and her bed was too cold and unless she wanted to stand there and rotate in a slow circle she was either going to crisp or ice over.
The foot stomp of annoyance is muted by her rugs and she sinks back down to the floor. She tries once more, trying to find a comfortable position that would help spread out the heat.
She manages to fall asleep and stay there till morning.
—
Steve can't decide if he's relieved or disappointed that she didn't come to him last night. A somewhat smug Thompson dresses him and he ignores the man's questioning eyebrow.
"The new set of clothes should be here in a few days." Thompson says lightly.
"That's good news." Steve replies honestly, "hopefully the last." As far as he can tell, he hasn't grown at all since his last measurements, and he hopes and prays he'll be done growing. If not, he'll have to talk to Howard because it was getting ridiculous.
—
The pain in her neck, from the way she slept, makes her irritable in the morning and she does her very best to not be snippy with Lorraine when the woman asks if 'she slept alright'.
She ignores the smug aura radiating off her ladies maid at the obvious fact that she slept in her own room.
Dressing for the day, she exits to find all the fires already lit and glaring and she has to admit how grateful she is to not be wary of her own home since the outside is still so bleak in the middle of winter.
"I think they said we may have another storm within the week, sir." She hears Mr. Coulson say as she descends the stairs.
"I'll make sure we have enough firewood, if you'll run to town and grab extras of all the supplies Ms. Nancy thinks she needs?" She hears Steve's response. "And then, when the weather starts to turn, I'd like to send all the staff back to their homes."
Mr. Coulson starts to protest but Steve cuts him off, "Ms. Carter is welcome to disagree, but I'll have no need for Thompson if we're snowed in, and I can cook food. I'd rather Ms. Nancy be with her daughter and new grandchild then fretting about them from here."
The thought of being completely alone in the house with Steve sends a heated thrill through her. Then she stops, reprimanding herself. They were married. If she wanted to be with him alone, she could do that at any time. But she mustn't. Not if she plans to follow through with her goal.
Peggy hates how conflicted she feels. She's always been one to know exactly what she wanted and now she stands here desperately wanting two very opposing things.
And she's not sure how to rectify them.
—-
The next few days, Steve starts wearing his summer clothes inside. Peggy apologizes when she sees him in a light button up, sleeves rolled to his biceps. But he just waves her off. "It's no big deal, I just run a lot warmer now is all."
But it's not not a big deal because seeing him dressed in less clothing does not help her imagination.
And it's not just her who appreciates the view. She watches as Lorraine eyes Steve anytime he's in the same room.
She once even brought him a cool towel.
"I noticed you seemed a bit warm." Lorraine had said as she gently wiped the back of his neck before handing him the towel. Peggy had attempted to remain as calm as possible at the overstep in boundaries. Steve had thanked her hesitantly, eyes and face showing an expression of uncertainty.
The staff doesn't seem to mind the extra warmth that pervades the house in contrast to the bitter cold winter they're having. Peggy is glad that during the day, her shivering is mainly absent. But the storm is approaching. Coulson reports that a sister village to their east had been hit hard, and that they should batten down the hatches soon.
Steve, Coulson, and Thompson work to ensure the windows are barricaded well, and that everything is well stocked. The firewood pile in the barn is positively massive, and the food stores are overflowing.
Steve offers for the staff to go home, and Ms. Nancy gratefully accepts. Mr. Coulson declines, wanting to stay and ensure they don't need anything. Thompson happily leaves, taking the days off with glee. But Lorraine seems torn. Peggy asks her if she'd like to go home as well.
"I'm not sure." She had replied, "I'll let you know soon."
Peggy nods, "no rush."
She can't decide whether she wants her to stay, to help keep herself in line. Or if she wants Lorraine to leave so she can have Steve all to herself.
She finds that most days she has to continually chastise herself to stop thinking about Steve and his eyes and his arms and his warmth.
Stop.
Stop.
She shakes her head, gently pressing the keys of the piano that's in the ballroom. They haven't thrown a party yet. The newlywed couple is supposed to throw at least one large gathering a year, and they haven't even discussed it.
If they have one.
If she's still here.
—
Steve ensures that the three staff who are leaving get off alright. Mr. Coulson drives them to town in the carriage, promising to return before the storm is supposed to hit that evening.
Peggy stands beside him as they wave them off. As the carriage disappears from sight, he has the distinct feeling of tension rising between them.
Never have they been alone alone, and been on good terms.
Now they are.
He takes a deep breath, trying to still his quickening heart beat, "are you hungry or thirsty? I can make you something."
She looks at him, "you know…" the teasing smile she gives him does nothing to help calm his heart, "I was dreadful to you about your coffee. And I've never even tasted it. Would you make me a cup?"
He grins widely, excitement building, "of course." They walk back into the house, shedding their jackets and heading to the kitchen.
Taking precaution to ensure he makes a perfect cup, he feels a sense of thrill at the intense way she watches his movements.
Finally, he sets a steaming cup of coffee, having used the french press his mother had gotten them, in front of her. "Do you sweeten your tea? Or like it plain?"
"I sweeten it with a touch of cream and sugar." She replies. He nods, adding a touch of creamer and sugar to the coffee.
"It's not the same, of course—" he clarifies, "but I find that people who drink their tea sweetened usually prefer their coffee sweetened as well."
He gestures to it and she cautiously lifts it, blowing the steam off the top to cool the top. She delicately brings it to her lips and takes a sip. Her eyes widen as the bold and smooth flavor, sweetened and perfectly creamy.
"That's amazing!" She gasps, "how have you managed this? I usually find coffee horrible and bitter!"
He laughs, "it's in the way you make it and how you sweeten it for sure. I don't like mine black either, and a lot of people burn their beans without realizing it. That ruins the flavor too."
—-
She listens as he describes the process, getting lost in the way his lips shape words and the way his eyes light up as he talks.
"—Peggy?"
"Hmm?"
"You… okay?"
She snaps back to the present and blinks, "um, yes, sorry, did you ask me something?"
He smiles, an eyebrow raised, "I just wanted to know if there was anything you wanted to do?"
"Maybe I could watch you paint?" She asks, "I haven't done that in awhile."
He wrinkles his nose, "no, that's not very interesting for you. We should do something else."
Peggy wants to deny that, to tell him how much she loves watching him paint, loves watching him do anything really. But she stays quiet, letting him list options of things they could do.
—
Mr. Coulson arrives before it gets too dark, and he and Steve ensure the horses are bedded down for the night with plenty of hay and blankets for warmth. She hears Steve head to his room and she stares at her fire. She could stoke it. Keep it going and shiver through the night.
Or…
—-
Steve's barely asleep when he hears his door open. He doesn't raise his head, waiting, unsure if it's Mr. Coulson who needs something, or—-
Soft footsteps tell him that it isn't Mr. Coulson. His heartbeat starts to pound as a soft voice speaks.
"Steve?"
He turns, seeing her face lit up by a small candle that she's holding.
"Are you cold?"
She nods, "my fire went out."
Neither of them believe that lie. But he doesn't call her out on it, just shifting and opening the covers, letting her slip between them.
He's taken aback by how she slides against him immediately, her cold body pressing against the length of his overheated one.
She practically moans in relief, "it's not fair for you to be so warm."
He laughs and shifts, making their position more comfortable. "Happy to help any way I can."
Her wide eyes reflect the small amount of light the small candle gives the room on the bedside table. Her eyes stay on his as her hands slide out and rest against the muscles on his chest. He hopes she can't feel the way his heart is pounding.
—-
A few minutes pass before she adjusts, her hands resting between them, being warmed by him.
"Steve?"
"Yes?"
There's so much she wants to say. There's so much she wants to do.
But she chickens out.
"Good night."
His soft smile is amused, "goodnight."
—-
At some time during the night, the storm breaches the village, dumping snow and ice on them as they sleep. Peggy wakes a time or two, whenever she gets too far and starts to feel cold. She always wriggles back against Steve and is gratified that in his sleep, he wraps her in his arms and presses his face against her hair or neck or shoulder.
The heat that floods her when his hand wraps around her waist and pulls her close is enough to keep her warm on her own for a moment or two. She feels the way his bare chest heats and cools as his own body regulates against hers.
—
Steve wakes feeling well-rested and comfortable. Peggy's sleeping beside him, his arm behind her head and his other hand resting on top of her stomach.
Her face is tilted toward his and she's still asleep, hair wild and cheeks flushed from warmth. He smiles at that, glad she's warm enough to be relaxed and resting.
He studies her lips, pink and lush and perfect for drawing. A desperate need to kiss her arises and he has to close his eyes and take a deep breath to squash the temptation. She's here for warmth not for him. No matter how much he wants her.
When he opens his eyes, she's looking at him, eyes blinking slowly in sleepiness.
He's about to say 'good morning', when she closes her eyes again and snuggles her face against his chest. He's about to laugh softly when his pulse goes haywire as her lips barely just barely brush against the scar over his heart. If his skin wasn't so sensitive, he would have assumed he imagined it, it was that gentle.
WIthout instruction his hands wrap around her and bring her closer, and he swears he feels her smile.
—
Peggy doesn't mean to, but she finds herself pressing a kiss against him in her sleep induced haze and then feels his arms pull her close. She smiles, ignoring the logical part of her brain that tells her she's getting dangerously close to the point of no return.
—-
The storm keeps them mostly inside. Only Steve (refusing to make Mr. Coulson do it) making quick trips to the barn to feed the horses and grab firewood. Peggy is relegated to a few rooms of the house as they want to conserve the wood and make it last since they don't know how many days it will last.
She keeps to mainly the library or the kitchen as those fires are kept going. As night falls on the first day, she doesn't ask either man to bring her firewood for her room. And when they separate for the night, she goes to her room, changes swiftly and wastes no time walking softly to Steve's room.
She knocks, knowing he wouldn't have had time to fall asleep yet.
"Yes?"
"It's Peggy, could I come in?"
"Of course."
She enters, him still dressed in his day clothes, standing by his desk. "I'm sorry to be intruding in you like this, it's just…" she brushes her nightgown down flat, "I just know I'll be cold and then be a nuisance by waking you up in the middle of the night. So I just wondered…" she tries to keep the flush off her cheeks, "if you wouldn't mind." She gestures towards the bed and he nods.
"I don't mind you waking me up in the middle of the night—" he cuts off, his collar flushing, "no, I- uh, we'll I mean, I just meant that, I don't mind if it happens in the midd—" his cheeks heat and he shakes his head, clearing his throat, "it's fine. I don't mind if you stay."
She doesn't laugh or tease about his stumbling because truthfully it puts her mind on a path it shouldn't be on. "Thank you." She says softly, sitting on the side of the bed.
Then she watches as he looks nervous for a moment and she realize he has to get undressed. So she turns and busies herself, allowing him the ability to slip to his dressing room which he takes.
He avoids her eyes as he walks back out. He's in pajama pants and a shirt and she knows he usually wears less and she shouldn't be, but she's disappointed that he's wearing more than usual.
He slips into the bed beside her and they lay on their backs, staring at the ceiling.
"If you weren't stuck here," he asks, "what would you be doing at your home?"
Stuck here.
He still thinks she thinks she's stuck here. Which isn't necessarily untrue but is definitely not how she feels.
But she doesn't correct him. Knowing that him thinking that is for the best.
"It's a Sunday night," she says teasingly, "I'd probably be in my own bed."
He eyes her in amused annoyance and she laughs. "I don't know. I'm sure I would be continuing my classes or, to my mother's dismay, attempting to work towards a profession. What about you?"
He's quiet, "I wanted to be an artist, and I still do, but…" he sighs, "I was going to sell it as a profession and now I'm worried that it either will or won't sell just because I'm part of the unification couple."
And that confession almost takes her breath away with how painful it is to hear. Because it makes her think he'd be happy to be out of this marriage too and fulfill his dream. She knows it's selfish to want him to want her but she does.
"Well," she says softly, trying to keep her tone even. "Soon that won't be a problem."
And his voice is somehow even softer when he replies, "yeah. I guess so."
—-
The next day the storm worsens and they take to all huddling in the library to preserve the firewood as the cold leeches it's heat out of the air and burns through it faster. She gravitates towards Steve, his warmth still burning heavily even in the bitter cold. Mr. Coulson stays in his room, and when they offer for him to join them he laughs, "heat rises, my room and tiny fire are warmer than down here!"
They laugh and he disappears back upstairs.
She catches Steve looking at her strangely a few times and he looks concerned. She ignores it the first few times but after a while she sighs, "what is it? Do I have something on my face?"
He purses his lips and points to her fingers which are taking on a pale and almost blue tint. She looks at them and then up at Steve. "Oh." Is all she can say.
"Do you mind?" He asks, extending his hands, "I don't think your circulation is quite up to snuff yet. You're turning blue."
She slowly lets him envelope her hands with his and feels the prickle in her fingers as the blood rushes back.
—-
That night, with how bitterly cold even in the house it is, there's no question where she's sleeping. He already has his door open and when she comes in he just nods gently in her direction before going to his dressing room. He comes back in the same pajama pants as last time but without a shirt and she looks away quickly so she's not caught staring.
When he gets into the bed beside her, she looks at him. "Do I ever get to hear you tell me what these scars are from?"
He's staring at the ceiling, "it's nothing." He says softly, "Like you know, I was always sick as a kid. These just helped with that."
And if she didn't know any better she would believe him. 'It's nothing' he says so casually. His death and sacrifice were "nothing".
She settles in and lies beside him, facing his silhouette as he looks up. In the darkness he could almost be the man she married. The sharp features are still there and prominent. They're just fuller now.
And she suddenly needs him to know that.
"You know I thought you were handsome when I first saw you?"
His head tilts towards her and even in the darkness she can see the complete disbelief on his face. "No, you didn't."
"I did, actually." She responds firmly. "I was so mad, so very angry at having been married off, that I could barely think. But even then, even in my anger I remember thinking what a strikingly handsome man you were."
"That's not what you told—"
"Steve—" she says in exasperation, "everything I said in those first months was vile and untrue. I've told you that."
And it's the silence that tells her everything.
He really believes she meant those horrid words she said.
"I'm telling the truth."
"Okay."
It's such a quiet 'okay' that it's not enough. It's not enough for her. She needs him to know.
"Steve, I meant it."
"Okay."
"How can I prove it to you?"
He looks at her then, eyes locking, "why do you feel the need to prove it to me? You don't owe me anything. It doesn't matter if you think I was handsome or not, or that I think you're beautiful. It doesn't matter becau—"
He's still talking, but her heart is racing because he just openly admitted that he thinks she's beautiful. And he probably has said it before, she can't remember, but here, right here in the darkness, in his bed, enveloped in his warmth, it's too much.
And as he falls quiet, finishing whatever he was saying that she didn't hear, a simple solution pops into her head. She wants… something. They both think each other is physically attractive… They've already kissed at the wedding, and no one would be surprised to find out they had kissed more than once or even slept with one another if it came to that, they are married after all. So why not? Why not enjoy the physical aspect of each other while they have each other?
She smiles at the thought. A knot untying in her chest at the solution. She can enjoy Steve now, and then let him be free. She's positive he'll enjoy whatever physical interactions they have, and then he'll have experience to take with him to whatever relationship he has next.
And a selfish thought rises. Even if he does take Lorraine after she leaves, at least Peggy will have his firsts.
She reaches out, trailing her finger against his jaw and causing him to stiffen. Her heart is pounding in her own ears and she moves slowly angling herself to be on her elbows looking at him as he looks at her, eyes wide.
Peggy wants to kiss him. She wants what she wants when she wants it and she's never let anything or anyone stop her before. So, she leans forward, pressing her lips to his gently at first, and then, slowly adding more pressure and leaning on his chest.
She's pretty sure he's only kissed one other time, and that was her at the wedding, but his lips are soft and he doesn't fight her, letting her guide as she practically crawls on top of him.
She's straddling him, lying on his chest and kissing him, the heat from his body growing hotter, radiating and banishing any chill from her bones and it's glorious. She sighs against him, smiling and she feels him smile in return, his kisses getting more brave and strong as the seconds pass.
His arms wrap around her and she feels a thrill at the way their bodies fit together. Her hands roam his hair and neck and chest and she kisses them all, reveling in exploring his skin. His hands grasp at her waist and her back and sides and even through the nightgown each one leaves a blazing palm print that she shivers under. It doesn't go any further. Just heated kisses and roaming hands, and he never even gets close to areas that one would deem sensitive, but it's all she needs and wants at the moment. Just the physical. Just Steve kissing her. Nothing more.
A few minutes pass before she lays her head on his chest, not moving from her position on top of him.
She's breathing heavily, and for the first time since her accident, she's overheated. Not just warm but hot. His fingers are still on her back, tracing her spine and shoulder blades.
She expects him to say something, but he doesn't, he's silent and they lay there content in the quiet warmth of each other's presence.
—-
Peggy kisses him. She kisses him. He follows her lead, a bit unsure of what to do, but she doesn't hesitate or make him feel unskilled, and he grows bolder, holding and grabbing her, enjoying her kisses and touches more than he can bear. And when she lays on his chest, just content and quiet, he imagines a thousand more nights just like this one. She's staying.
The woman he loves, safe and warm and content on his chest, forever.
—
Peggy wakes with a smile on her face, and remembers why. She turns, peeking out from the covers to see Steve still asleep, an arm thrown over his eyes, lips slightly apart.
He's so handsome.
She can feel the chill of the air outside the covers and she is loath to leave the warmth so she doesn't. It's hot enough under the covers to keep her shivering at bay, and she slides closer to Steve, resting her head against his shoulder and wrapping herself around him.
Even asleep he shifts and makes room for her, adjusting and fitting around her just so. It's quiet and warm for a while before she hears him make a soft sigh that sets the nerves in her stomach aglow.
She turns her head, pressing kisses against his shoulder and arm and anything within her lips reach. Now she's curious and has plenty of time to spare, no prying eyes or possibility of someone walking in. So she takes advantage, sliding her fingers along his chest and stomach, grating her nails against his hip bones, feeling the thick scars along his thighs. Another sound escapes him and she gently scrapes her nails beneath his belly button, feeling it tighten.
She looks and sees him waking up, and she smiles slyly at him. He blinks and yawns and smiles sleepily back at her. And that's all the invitation she needs before she rotates to her stomach and starts to kiss him again, longer and deeper and more enchanting kisses. Kisses that have her stomach heating and sending sharp signals to her limbs, making them tingle with anticipation.
He responds, sleepily at first but then more assured. She turns, switching positions until half of his weight is on top of her, and she relishes in it. The weight, and the heat, and him.
A little braver than last night, he kisses along her jaw and beneath her ear and at the hollows of her throat which make her sigh at the way it feels. She brings him back up and they kiss for long seconds, still getting acquainted with the feeling of each other.
Eventually, he pulls away, laying on his stomach and burying his face in the pillow.
She laughs, "what?"
"Nothing." His reply mumbled by the pillow.
"Come back here."
"Can't." He replies, still muffled.
"Why ever not?"
"Gotta cool down."
Ah. She wants to slip her hand to check just where exactly he might need to cool down, but doesn't.
"Or." She says with more bravery than she feels. "You could not."
His head shoots up, face flushed, "what?"
She tries as best she can to not let a blush creep up her own cheeks. "You could not."
"Not what?" His voice is hoarse.
"Not cool down."
"Too fast." He gets out, "it's too fast. We've barely kissed, it's too fast."
"Too fast for what?" She laughs, teasing in her tone as her nails graze down his bare back.
"If we're going to actually do this, then I want to do it right."
She frowns, "I don't think you can necessarily do it wrong."
He frowns back, "what do you mean? Of course you can do it wrong. I've seen it done wrong all the time."
She pulls her head back, "Excuse me, you've seen it done wrong? What in good heavens does that mean!"
"I've known quite a few couples who ended up unhappy, and I wouldn't want that with you. Marriage— well real marri—"
"Who the hell is talking about marriage?" She snaps, the illusion of the moment shattered.
He blinks, "you were."
"No." She huffs, "I was talking about sex."
His ears go pink at just the word but he presses on, "I know that's what you meant this morning, but if you're going to stay then—-"
"Who said I was going to stay?" She asks sharply.
"You—" he starts, then his eyes grow confused and eyebrows pull down, "I thought— When you kissed me, I thought—"
"It was just kissing, Steve." She says, trying in vain to keep the conversation light. "We're allowed to kiss even if we don't intend to stay together."
The look on his face makes her feel as if she's been splashed with ice cold water.
His face flashes through realization, then embarrassment, before hitting sadness and then sliding to a blank stare. "Oh."
She feels her heart clench, "you thought—"
He turns his head, laying it on the pillow and facing away from her. "Yeah. My mistake."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insinuate anything— It was just kissing."
"Just kissing." He says flatly, "yep. Got it."
"Steve."
"Peggy, it's fine. I get it now."
Even with his heat the tension that rises is frigid between them.
—
Steve can barely think of anything else but the crushing disappointment and mind-numbing embarrassment he feels at his stupidity.
What the hell was he thinking? That just because she wanted to kiss him meant she wanted to stay with him forever?
Yes. His mind screams, that's exactly what you thought.
And it is. Last night had been exactly what he'd been hoping for. That she would decide to stay, to give him and their life together a chance, and he thought that her calling him handsome and kissing him was confirmation that she was going to do just that.
But no. She just wanted to kiss him because he was handsome. No other reason.
The log shatters into wood shards, scattering around the barn, as his hands rip it in half.
The horse neighs, startled and he winces. "Sorry." He says to the horse, "sorry."
He gathers another few pieces of firewood and trudges back towards the house.
—
She hides in her room that day, stoking her own fire and only making her way down for small bits of food.
The internal chastisement rages on. Hadn't she just been mentally commenting on how different Steve was from other men she'd encountered? And here she was thinking he would just enjoy kissing her and leaving it at that when she had heard the conversation between his mother and him about him wanting her to stay.
His mother. She almost gasps out loud. Sarah Rogers would be furious if she found out what Peggy had done.
She has to apologize.
—-
As night falls, she walks quietly to his door, unsure what to expect. It's not open, but she knocks. She has to apologize.
A quiet, "yes?" Seeps through the door.
"Can I speak with you?"
"Of course." She walks in and sees him sitting on the edge of the bed, a sketchbook in his hands. He closes it softly and looks at her. "What did you need?"
"I just wanted to apologize." She says firmly, "I shouldn't have assumed what you would be alright with. I never meant to make you feel any way and I'm ever so sorry that I did. Can you forgive me?"
It takes a second. A long moment where she just starts to think he may not forgive her, when he takes a deep breath and says, "of course I forgive you. I shouldn't have assumed either." He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. She nods and turns to go when his voice catches her. "You can stay here tonight. Just because I made a fool of myself doesn't mean you need to be cold."
"You didn't make a fool of yourself, Steve. I did."
He just shrugs and sets his sketchbook down, getting under his comforter. "It's up to you."
She's tempted to leave, but the warmth of him draws her and she finds herself getting under the covers.
—
She's not sure what time it is.
All she knows is that Steve is there and he loves her. He's laying beside her, warming her to her core and he's looking at her like she's his whole world. She looks up into those eyes and he runs the back of his fingers against her cheek. She smiles and he smiles and they lean forward, meeting in the middle.
His lips capture hers and she's sighing at the way his fingers run through her hair and grab at her waist. She brings her hands up, roaming and exploring braver and bolder than she's been before, and suddenly his hands are exploring her too, and she reaches, pulling him closer. "Steve—" she breathes, in between kisses and as his lips kiss down her neck. She feels her hands grab at him, making her brain go fuzzy and her stomach start to warm, the way his hands grab at her make her heart beat faster and breaths come quick.
"Steve—" she says again, almost a pleading in her tone.
And then a voice cuts through her.
"Peggy—" it's almost a strangled sound and she doesn't like it. "Peggy, wake up." With a quick inhale of air she opens her eyes to find Steve breathing heavily and sitting up, face drawn and a good foot or two between them. "You were dreaming—" he says hoarsely, his voice brittle.
There's no holding back the blush now, only the darkness saving her from him seeing.
"I'm sorry." She rasps, "did I—" She winces, "was I talking?"
"Yes." There's that strangled sound again. "Among other things."
"Oh." Then realization hits, "oh." She can only imagine what she must have done to make him look so hurt.
But something in his face shifts and he turns to her leaning closer, "Stay."
She reels back, "what?"
"Stay. With me. Here. Stay here. I love you, I want to be married to you, I want to get to know you in every way possible and I want to keep you warm on winter's nights. I want to show you what the village looks like in the summertime and take you to the lake to go swimming and kiss you beneath the water. I want to paint you in that red dress you wear and I want to hear every last word you want to say to me in that beautiful voice of yours. And damn the marriage councils and forgot about being the unification couple. So what? It's been happening for almost a thousand years. What does it matter if we're one of them? We can stay married and live together, I know I could make you happy if you would just let me try."
His face, so earnest and hopeful and heartbreaking. Because almost every ounce of her wants to say yes.
Wants to give in right there and be the wife and partner he wants her to be.
She wants all of those things too.
But there's almost 19 years of pride packed into her body. And each bit of it ranckles at the thought of telling anyone that she loves the man the Marriage Council paired her with.
Fred's smug face at her conscription into the farce of a marriage rises into her eyes and she shudders.
"I can't." She rasps. "I can't."
His face turns anguished, "why not?"
"Because then I didn't choose you. I was forced into this."
"Choose me now. I didn't choose you either, but I'm choosing you now. I want you."
"No, Steve, you don't understand. I spent every minute of my life, since the moment I understood what was happening, speaking out against the council and the ceremony and everything that has to do with this. My friends, my family, and the village all know good and well what I thought of this tradition. Even when threatened with the bloody Dissention, which I don't even believe exists, I didn't stop talking about what a horrible tradition this was. If I give in, if I admit defeat by staying with you, then I will be going back on every thing I've ever stood for."
His face is blank and voice numb as he repeats her words back to her, "admit defeat by staying with me."
"Steve, I—"
"Do you want to stay?" He asks it so quickly, so intensely that she inhales sharp breath.
"I—"
"Do you want to stay?" He asks again, voice fierce.
Yes. Yes, she does. She wants everything that he wants.
But she can't have it. Not without giving up on who she was. Her beliefs. Not even Steve is worth that.
"No." She responds, her voice a whisper, "I don't want to stay."
He pulls back, sitting on the edge of the bed and his back faces her. "Okay."
—-
He's sleeping, drifting through dreams and sounds when something wakes him.
He turns, blinking awake to see Peggy reaching for him. He yawns, wondering what's happening only to feel her hands start to roam, fumbling and uncoordinated.
He tilts his head in confusion, sleep still muddling his thought process.
Only when her nails make contact with the skin on his hip bones does his brain zing awake. He's about to ask her what's happening when she sighs. A sigh filled with longing and desperation. Her throat makes a sound of pleasure and his stomach clenches and his throat gets tight at the sound of her desire. Maybe she's changed her mind.
He pulls her close, holding her tightly and he's about to ask, to check and make sure they're on the same page when her lips find his and she's kissing him fiercely. Fire ignites in his stomach at the ferocity of her kiss. He pulls back, needing to make sure, wanting to hear her say that she's staying when her hand finds him. "Steve—" she says in a breathy tone, "Steve—"
Realization hits him over the head. He scrambles back, putting distance between them, panting in realization.
She's dreaming of him, dreaming about them together.
"Peggy—" he chokes out, "Peggy, wake up."
—-
Neither of them sleep the rest of the night. He'd never ask her to leave when she requires his body heat to sleep. But it just means that he lays in his own bed, stiff as a board, unable to relax or keep his mind from turning her rejection of him, over and over.
He's laid it all out. Bore his soul and how he felt about her. He did what his mother said he should do.
And she was right.
Peggy was going to leave him, no matter what.
He wasn't enough for her to stay.
—-
They lay there silently, and when even the barest hint of sunlight has crested into the room, he is up and out of bed.
She slowly slips back to her own room, dressing and walking down to the kitchens. Mr. Coulson is there, looking cheery. He informs her that once Mr. Rogers has returned with the horse, he would be going to pick up Ms. Nancy and the others.
Peggy nods, "that's good." She says softly. "Where did Mr. Rogers go?"
"Not sure." Mr. Coulson says, filling up his coffee cup, "he took off in a hurry though."
"Are the roads clear?"
He nods, "I believe so, enough for a carriage anyways."
—
Howard doesn't even blink at the request. Probably because of all the details Steve leaves out.
"Do you have anything that can help make Peggy's bed warmer? She's been having trouble staying warm after the accident and nights are the toughest."
"Hmm, I remember the same with Anthony. Couldn't stay warm for the life of him. I actually invented something to help and it worked wonders. I've improved upon the design some too since then, I'll bring it over later today, okay?"
"Thank you, Howard."
—
Peggy is in the library when she hears the front door open and Howard Stark's voice. She doesn't go searching, although she does wonder why he's here. Maybe it's rude to not greet him but she can't bear to look at Steve just now, so she stays quietly in her chair.
It isn't until she steps into her room, noticing the strange device hooked up to her bed that she realizes what's happened. It's some sort of piping coming from the fire, and running beneath her bed. She touches her comforter and pulls her hand back in surprise at the heat of it. A note is left on her pillow.
Steve said you were having trouble staying warm at night still. Hopefully this helps. I know it looks crazy but I promise it's safe. If it gets too warm or too cold, there's a knob on the left side by your nightstand. I hope this helps!
Let me know if you need anything else.
H.S.
She knows that Steve is kind enough to have done this for her own sake no matter what had or hadn't happened.
But the thought that overwhelms her is that he no longer wants her in his bed.
She has no right to feel this crushing disappointment when it's her own damn choices that are causing it.
And yet, she does.
—-