She's contemplating on whether a dress has run its course with Angie when she hears a knock.

Her eyes drift the clock and her first thought is that it's a bit early for visitors. But when no call for her is made, her curiosity grows and she tells Angie she'll be right back.

She keeps her footfalls quiet on the steps and notices the door to the library is closed. She can hear Ivy and Isaac in the kitchens with Ms. Nancy as she teaches them how to prepare pastries for breakfast. And then she hears two familiar but unexpected voices that tell her just who is in the library.

Peggy opens the door without a sound and peers in. Natasha is standing with her hands on her hips, looking at Steve with a furrowed brow and Steve is standing with his arms crossed and head bowed looking chided.

"Of course I didn't believe it." Natasha is saying, "but I did remember her dismissal was sudden and I had to know. What actually happened?"

"Will this torment never end?" Peggy sighs loudly, catching both of their surprised attentions.

Steve's face looks weary, but Natasha's is wary. Which surprises her. Even with the rocky nature of the start of their friendship. She and Natasha have grown quite close.

"Why did she say those things?" Natasha asks, "the whole village is ablaze with what she said."

Steve groans and sinks to a chair, head in his hands and Peggy glares at the red head, "Thanks for that." She sighs, walking over, "as if he hasn't had enough to fret over."

"James wanted to come but he had the early shift. He's practically biting off people's heads about it. But he's confused as well, what is going on?"

"What does the town believe?" Peggy asks.

"Most people are just confused. But apparently you guys left in a hurry and that made people doubt."

She reaches out and snags Natasha's hand. "I'm going to explain this to you once—"

"Peggy—" Steve says with a firm voice, but she glares at him.

"No, Steve." Her head is shaking, "No, I'm done. This ends now. She started it—"

"She was drunk—"

"NO!" Peggy snaps, standing up and pointing at him, "no. She wasn't. She planned it. She told me so herself—"

Steve's expression is shocked, "what? When?"

"When I ran back to get my bag. She caught up with me and was completely sober. It was an act. To hurt us. To humiliate you and hurt me by hurting you." She rubs at her eyes and sinks back down, "Mr. Coulson intervened before I ripped her face off."

The disbelief on Steve's face is painful. Like he can't believe anyone would do that. Which is shocking because he's already experienced what she's willing to do.

"But…" he whispers out, eyes still glazed, "why?"

"Because she's wretched. Now. Steve?" He looks at her, "please leave."

His brow furrows, "what?"

"Leave. Go check on the children."

Now he's wary, "why?"

"Because I don't want you in this room downplaying what happened. I want Natasha to hear the pure unadulterated version."

"Peggy—"

"Steve." She snaps, closing her eyes and willing all her inherent stubbornness to be evident. "It happened to you. And I understand that." Natasha is watching them with curious and surprised eyes, "but you are too kind for your own good. So please—" She imbues it with everything. Her love for him, her frustration on his behalf, "go check on the children and don't come back. Alright?"

It's quiet for a long moment as he looks at her. And she's constantly reminded that his will is equal to hers. And if he would decide to fight, then she would not win. Not in this particular situation. But Steve is Steve. And he slowly stands and nods, "alright." Then he's gone and the door is closing.

Natasha looks at her and sits on the cushion to her left, facing her, "I'm more than intrigued."

Peggy takes a deep breath. "It all started when I was still being horrible to Steve."

—

Steve walks through the house towards the noise. He hears a pair of giggles and it brightens his mood, entering the kitchen to see Ivy and Pietro throwing flour at each other, her laugh like a siren's song to him. "What is this disaster?" He chides with a grin, "poor Ms. Nancy."

Aforementioned cook straightens at his presence and smiles, "well, they helped for a bit but we've been taken off course."

Wanda and Isaac sit on stools, forming wild shapes out of dough and covered in their own fair share of flour. The white contrasting starkly with Wanda's hair.

"Hello, you two." Steve calls, "and how are you?"

"Good, Uncle Steve!" Pietro calls out, running over, "Papa says to say, 'hello and—" he throws a fist, landing it softly against Steve's arm and then pretending to shake it like it hurt, "— make sure you knew he's mad you haven't come to our house in awhile."

Steve fake rubs his arm as if in pain, "of course he did," He laughs, "we'll come over soon. Things have been busy. How's school?"

"Good!" He says with a shimmy, "learning about—"

"He's not learning anything." Wanda chimes in with a mischievous grin, "he's too busy making the teacher roll her eyes. Never shuts up."

"I do not—"

"Do too!"

"Do not!"

"Do—"

"Alright." Steve calls, used to their never ending banter, "I'm sure you're both model students." He ruffles Pietro's hair and grins, "excited for your upcoming party?"

They all nod and Ivy stands on her stool, it's rocking making Steve want to grab her and steady her, but he stays still, knowing he could make it in time if she did indeed start to tip over. But like she somehow always manages, she steadies herself and puts her hands on her hips, her golden hair flecked with flour, "Papa, can we stay the night at Grandma Sarah's after the party?"

He sighs inwardly. He's been begging her to move in with them. They have plenty of space but she won't budge. Enjoying the proximity to the village. He'd even offered to buy her a new house. And when she'd refused, he started to do it anyway and when she'd found out, she'd scolded him for so long he felt like he was 12 again.

Then he offered to build onto her house and she'd practically burnt him with her fiery stare.

So somehow he was living in this mansion and his mother was still living in their tiny wooden house and she wouldn't let him do a damn thing about it.

"I'll ask her." He responds, "I'm sure she wouldn't mind." It would be good. A good non conspicuous reason to check in on her, drop off food, warmer clothes she keeps insisting she doesn't need. Fix that stove Bucky had subtlety let him know was finicky. Howard said he would have a new one ready in a week and they were going to install it when she was out on shift.

Steve looks over at Isaac who is usually quieter than the rest but seems doubly so today. His eyes are trained on the counter and hands slowly sifting through the pile of flour. "Would you like to stay there after the party?" Steve asks.

"Yes, father." Isaac responds, still not raising his eyes.

Insecurity floods Steve. Is Isaac still mad or ashamed of him?

Wanda, with a similar perceptive ability like Isaac, looks between the two and seems to try to guess what the matter is. But Steve just turns to Ms. Nancy, "would you like me to take over? Give you a rest from these rascals?" The Ivy leaps from her stool, landing with a thunk in the ground and running towards him, "hey!" She cries with a wild grin, "I'm not a rascal, you are!"

He lifts her with ease, sitting her on his shoulders, her hands reaching out close to the rack of pots and pans above the large counter space, "maybe we're both rascals, hmm?"

She pats his cheek, leaving flour there and he laughs.

Wanda and Pietro begin arguing about where sweet or savory buns are superior and Steve looks at Isaac out of the corner of his eye. And surprise blooms. The way Isaac's eyes linger on Wanda and a small smile is present on his lips before he turns back to staring at the counter.

As Ms. Nancy continues to prep for the meal, the children help and hinder all at the same time. But Steve notices the subtle way Isaac shifts to be closer to Wanda when possible, and she's always grinning at him. Wrinkling her nose just like her mother. Which makes Isaac smile back and Steve feels his throat tighten. How is he growing up so fast?

A hand on his back catches him off guard and suddenly Peggy is there, smiling softly, "Natasha would like to speak to you by the front door. I'll get the twins cleaned up and sent out that way."

Steve nods and hears the cheers of the children as Peggy announces that they can eat as many sticky buns as they'd like after they clean up the mess.

Natasha is standing at the door. Still as stone. Her face an impassive mask as he approaches. He remembers this Natasha. The guarded one when he'd first met her back in their early days at the village school. It was only after he'd offered her an apple from his lunch that she'd started to treat him with less suspicion. Bucky had been a year ahead of both of them and hadn't known Natasha till Steve introduced them. The rest had been history, but Natasha still held that Steve's apple had been the first thing to make her feel like she belonged in the new village. He held that knowledge with pride.

"Only because Peggy has expressly forbidden it, will I not murder her."

Steve is taken aback, "what?"

Natasha's impassive face turns to fury. Her eyes alight. "If I or James had known what had happened we would have torn her to shreds. Why didn't you tell us? Say something?"

Steve shakes his head, "it's—"

"If you say nothing then I will strangle you as well."

"—fine." Steve finishes lamely.

Her eyes close and he can see how truly upset she is. "It was a long time ago." He whispers out.

"That does not make it better." She snaps at him. Then takes a deep breath and places a hand on the side of his face, her cool palm against his warm skin, brushing off flour. "When I get through telling James what happened, and he makes sure everyone knows the truth—"

"Wait—"

"She will be sorry she put her boney little thieving fingers on you."

"Don't—"

"I'm only doing what Peggy asked me to do." Natasha says, cutting him off, "And I intend to do it to the best of my ability. Does Sarah know?"

He grimaces and she shakes her head, "she's going to be furious."

"Don't." Steve pleads, "as long as you know the truth, the people who matter, I don't need everyone else to know—"

"I do." She snaps at him, "I need them to know. Peggy needs them to know. James will make sure everyone knows." Her voice is a low terrifying hiss, "no one lies about you on my watch."

Warmth fills his chest at her overtly protective sibling behavior. "You know I'll be fine."

"I won't be." She clips back, "not until I know everyone wants her head on a platter."

Steve's about to respond when the children and Peggy appear. "Ready to go?" Natasha calls to her twins who nod and start saying their goodbyes. "See you all at the party!"

The four are left waving on the porch as they drive away.

—

Steve follows Isaac with his eyes. The boy walks towards the library and disappears, while Ivy runs up the stairs chattering about wanting to paint something.

"It's starting." He says quietly, grabbing Peggy's attention. She turns to him, looking like she's worried he'll chastise her for the directive she gave to Natasha, but he's past that. There would have been no stopping Peggy to begin with. And his thoughts are focused on something else.

"What is starting?"

He smiles, "I think Isaac is smitten with Wanda."

Her eyes widen, "what!?"

He nods, "I saw it. It's subtle. He may not be sure yet. But he's paying attention to her differently."

"But—" Peggy seems taken aback, "he's only… 13…"

"He's almost 14." Steve answers, "And she's turning 14 in a few days. That stage is…" he grimaces with a huff of a laugh, "quickly approaching."

Then Peggy seems to think about it and she lets a smile grow, "Wanda?"

Steve nods, "I think so."

"I could live with that." Peggy announces.

"I could too." Steve agrees, "but who knows what the future holds."

—-

Peggy's slipping into her nightgown a few nights later when Steve surprises her.

"What if…" He turns to her, expression guarded, "what if I asked Howard about getting the scars removed."

She furrows her brow, "what?"

He turns to the window, arms stiff at his side, "when I was growing I thought they might disappear. But they didn't… And I don't know… I don't even know if Howard knows they're still there. He brought me back from death, he could probably manage to get rid of them."

Her hands are shaking, her throat is tight and she's so upset. "Why." She grits out. "Why would you want to get them removed?"

The tone of her voice must surprise him because he turns to her and seems confused, "why wouldn't I?"

Peggy tries very valiantly to remind herself that it's not her body. It's not her body. "You hate them that much?" She tries to ask casually, turning her back to him.

"I hate what they bring up. I'm tired of worrying about having my shirt off. Or my niece busting in the door or my children thinking I'm a monster."

"Your children know—"

"Are you pregnant?" He asks.

Making her swirl so sharply in a circle she's almost dizzy, "excuse me?"

"Are you pregnant? Are you keeping it a secret for some reason?"

The direction this conversation is taking makes her feel woozy, "what? No, I'm… not?" He's staring at her, searching, "why?"

"You haven't bled. You should have bled over two weeks ago. And you haven't." His observation makes her blink, and she thinks, counting back. Her hand goes to her stomach and she thinks.

"Steve—" She starts, "I'm trying to catch up." Her voice is a whisper, "If I'm pregnant… I don't know it yet…"

"I…" he looks sick, "I don't want any other child we have to think I'm a monster." His jaw is tight, "I'm tired of looking like a monster." He gestures to his full body. The height, the size. The way he's expansive and does tend to give younger children pause before they learn he's a gentle giant.

She looks up at him, "Ivy has never thought you were a monster."

"But you saw the way Dalia was looking. And how she asked Isaac." He's frowning, "I can't go swimming in the summer when there are other people around. The scars are so dark that I can't wear a white linen shirt in public when it's warm or when it might rain." He sighs, "I can't participate in almost any of the summer or spring festivals." His expression is sad, "and I constantly worry that you only pretend to like them because there's no other option."

It's true that unless they're at home he wears long sleeves. It's true that he chooses to withdraw from any activity where he might have to show skin above his wrists or ankles. She knows why he chooses to do so. Unwilling to tell the truth about why he has them.

"Those scars saved your life." Is the insensitive and only thing she can think to say at first, only to add secondly, "and I love them. Whether you believe me or not."

He turns back to the window and stares out at the dark backyard. Her anger rises. Her hands fist tightly and she wants to pound at his back and demand that he believe her. No matter how many times she tries, when he gets in these… moods, he still is that man who can't believe he's lucked out to be loved by her. But she knows she's the one who is lucky. To be loved so completely by a man who would hold the world on his shoulders for her. And he does. Every inch of her.

And idea sprouts.

Slowly she raises her nightgown and slips it off, leaving her completely bare. Just her hair hanging down in a braid, the tails of her small bow brushing softly against her bare skin.

"What about my scars?" She asks. "The ones from growing two children?"

He sighs, not having looked back yet, "that's different."

"How?"

"Because people don't see those nearly as easily." He responds logically. "And also, even if they did, they have a reasonable and explainable origin. You should be proud of those. They created life."

"You're such a hypocrite." She says gently, "your scars created life too."

"Not the same."

"To me it is. Without your scars. You wouldn't have been able to help make mine."

He doesn't miss the innuendo and he finally turns, catching her bare form and looking surprised.

Her fingers trail to the lined white stretch marks that she is not self conscious of. At first, after Isaac, she had been, but then Steve had taken copious amounts of time to sketch them, paint them, and show appreciation for every single one. There's a whole sketchbook dedicated to the marks on her skin. The wavering or jagged lines on her stomach and thighs, drawn in intense detail all while he kissed at them mercilessly, making her melt in delight.

She's tried doing the same. After Isaac's meltdown about them, she had, and a few times she's shown them love, and he knows she loves them. She knows he does. But it's hard when the fear or situation is up front in his mind.

She gestures him forward and he obeys, walking to stand in front of her. "Kneel." She commands, and he tries to keep the grin off his face as he complies.

His face is level with her stomach and she points to the lines, "do you love these marks and what they stand for?"

He nods, gently leaning forward and pressing a kiss to her stomach, making the skin tingle. She pulls at his shirt, revealing one of the scars, "then why don't you believe me when I say the same?"

"It's not you." He finally admits. "It's them."

"They don't know anything." She states fiercely. "And—"

"What if Lorraine retaliates. Tells about my scars?"

Peggy stops. The thought hadn't even occurred to her. But it's true, they had discovered them at the same time, both in shock at how gruesome and stark they'd seen against his then thinner and paler frame.

She grabs his hands, resting his warm palms against her waist as she steps closer, making him have to look up, his chin resting against her stomach. "She would have me to answer to." Peggy states, running a hand through his hair and feeling pleased as he closes his eyes at her touch, "and I doubt she would. She doesn't know the origin, or all of it. It would only make her look worse."

Steve nuzzles his face against her bare skin and kisses it. "Where do you find all this strength and confidence?" He asks, sounding rueful.

"I know my value." She states simply, "and you, my darling—" She says, pulling his face up so that she can look in those deep blue beautiful eyes, "—are worth your weight in gold or silver or Ms. Nancy's cinnamon rolls to me."

He widens his eyes comically wide, "that's high praise."

"You've been nothing but the most exemplary husband and man the entire time I've known you. And to hear your family and friends talk, you were like this your whole life. Yet you value me and James and your mom and our children like we are pearls and you are the swine. You never doubt a cause you believe in. Yet you doubt yourself. Why?" His shoulders raise, a defensive beginning, but she slides down ever so slowly, sitting in his lap and twisting her legs behind his back, pressing herself against him, "answer truthfully." She commands softly.

His hands move from her waist to her back, holding her tightly.

"I—" he starts, resting his forehead against hers, "I'm still him."

"Him?"

"The sick me. The weak me. The me who wanted to do so much and couldn't. The one people ignored because I couldn't do anything. Until I suddenly did do something. And then suddenly I'm worth keeping around because I saved a child's life?" She's stunned, and stays silent and he looks past her, at the door, his hands still holding her, "the only ones who knew and truly cared about me before that were my ma, Bucky, Natasha." He blinks slowly, "I didn't really know Erskine, but he was always kind too. But then I save Tony. By sheer luck of proximity. And suddenly they're all acting like I'm some town hero. Someone worthy of having around and they all decide they've liked me the whole time." His head shakes, eyes sad, "but they didn't. Not really. I was just another sick mouth to feed before that."

The village has never given her that impression. She'd always assumed Steve had been loved from the start. They've always treated him with such deference.

"Why are you just telling me this now?" She asks, "if they were awful to you—"

"No." He says quickly. "No they weren't awful. I didn't mean that. I just mean… what's another hungry sick mouth to feed except a burden?" Her heart tightens, "and they just kind of ignored me. They always needed my ma. She could do stuff for them. But I couldn't. Not til Tony. And I couldn't even do that right. I gave up before I made it to the Starks. Couldn't even finish what Erskine asked me to do."

She shoves at his chest pushing herself up off of him, glaring at him and pointing a finger, "you weren't giving up, you were dying." She pictures the way his ma described it. Steve, blue and stiff in the snow, only his scarf showing that he was there under the pile of snow. Her throat tightens and eyes well, "I can't listen to you talk about yourself this way."

Steve's face looks ashamed, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have implied that I'm not grateful. I am. I'm very glad I got to be alive to meet and love you."

"No." She snaps, "no, I don't want you to be grateful that you're alive because it benefits me. I want you to be happy to be alive because you deserve to be alive."

"I just meant—"

"I know what you meant." Peggy says quickly, "but something about Dalia discovering your scars and Lorraine being a witch has thrown you more off balance than I've ever seen. Making you doubt yourself and I don't know why."

"It just scares me."

"In what way?"

"That I'll never be free of who I was. That sick, weak, pathetic—"

"Steve—"

"—guy who died. Or that I'll always be afraid of people seeing my scars and finding it out." And then his next words cut her to the quick, "or that I was so desperate for you that I let Lorraine in my bed and now the whole damn village will know what happened. How I screwed up."

They've talked about this. She's already fixed this. He should be over this.

She takes a deep breath and reminds herself that that is not fair or realistic. The healing process is not linear, and while this one seems to be going in loops, she tries to remember that it happened to him not her. She can't make a judgment call.

"I want them removed."

Her heart aches and her fingers trace the ones on. His chest that she can feel through his shirt. "Getting rid of these won't change anything."

"I'll be free to do a lot more things."

"Alright…" she tries one last ditch effort, "And if I don't want them gone?"

He looks at her in confusion, "you want me to keep them?"

His expression is genuinely confused, or maybe hesitant. And suddenly she knows that if she said she did, that he would. Making him the one who would have to deal with them forever. And maybe Howard can remove them. She'll be devastated but she can't be the decision maker of something so personal. A little part of her hopes that Howard can't remove them. But she keeps that to herself.

"I want you to do what you want." She lies, "whatever you feel like you should do."

His shoulders drop in relief and he nods, pulling her closer, pressing his nose to her bare hip.

—

"I'm going to Mr. Stark's." Steve says the next morning at the breakfast table. "Isaac, is there another book you'd like me to get?"

Isaac bobs his head, "yes, but—" he gets a bit hesitant before leaning forward, "can I come? I haven't seen the library in a while."

Steve smiles, "of course! I know Howard and Jarvis will be thrilled to see you. Ivy? You want to come?"

Ivy looks to her, "mama, are you going?"

She feels Steve's eyes on her, wondering the sam thing, "no darling." She responds with a soft smile, "I'm going to be needed here, prep for the party tomorrow."

Ivy wiggles in her seat, jostling her tea cup, "then I'll stay, I wanna help mama."

"Alright," Steve responds, "then we will see you this afternoon. Anything I need to bring home?"

"Not that I can think of." Peggy responds quietly, "will you be home for dinner?"

Steve nods, "That's the plan. Isaac, be ready in 30 minutes, okay?"

Isaac nods, dashing off.

—-

"Mama?"

She looks down to see Ivy pulling at her skirts, "why do you look sad?"

Her eyes trail up to the dust the carriage is creating as it drives away, further from the house. "No reason." She lies, "now lets go wrap those presents."

Ivy claps her hands in delight and they set off up the stairs.

—-