Peggy lay in the dark. The room was comfortable, of course, Pepper was a natural hostess, but Peg was out of her element. She was in the future. With Steve. In the house of the man she apparently raised. Steve was alive. There was a green scientist about a floor below her. Steve was here.

She rolled over, staring at the clock face;1 in the morning. Chilled, she burrowed herself under the covers. The silk nightie she was given by Peggy was certainly the style of many women of her age, "vintage" as Pepper described, but it did little to keep her warm. Closing her eyes, Peggy tried to drift off, but ten minutes later she was still asleep.

Muffled words came from the hallway.

Peggy's agent instincts perked. Like a cat, she slid from between the blankets, collecting a belt from the floor. The young woman preferred a gun or even a knife, but she could still do some damage with the belt. Stepping into the dark hallway, Peg followed her ears, deftly keeping out of sight of the doorways. She paused a moment at each door, hearing nothing, moved on, getting closer to the sound of shallow, panicked breathing. Gently, in case the hinges squeaked, Peggy edged the door open, halting at the sound of her name.

"Peggy-!" It was Steve's voice.

Peggy flipped on the light, unsure of what she might find.

Steve was sprawled on the bed, sweating bullets, eyes pinched shut as if in pain. "Peggy, no!" He flinched from something.

She grabbed his shoulder, swallowing the worry that was growing in her chest. "Steve! Steven Rogers! Wake up!"

He sat bolt upright, blue eyes protruding from his face. One giant arm swung at something only he could see.

"Steve!" Peggy pleaded one last time, taking his face in her hands. "Steve, look at me, look at me it's Peggy. I'm alright."

He gulped air like a fish out of water, glancing rapidly around the room. "Hydra…hydra they're-they're everywhere!"

She shook her head, "no, Steve they're gone."

"Cut off one head and two more will take its place!"

"Not anymore. Hydra is gone. They can't hurt you anymore. Not you, me, Bucky, anyone."

Steve's breathing slowed. He pressed his eyes into the palms of his hands, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Peggy took action, striding over to the dresser for a new shirt. "How long has this been happening?"

He shook his head and sighed. "As long as I've been out of the ice. I've heard of soldiers with a condition like mine. They used to call it shell shock."

Peggy nodded, remembering stories of soldiers from the first World War seeing things that weren't there, having violently realistic nightmares, and ducking at the sound of trucks backfiring.

"They call it 'post traumatic stress disorder', now. Or PTSD." Steve snorted, "you must think I'm crazy."

"Of course not." Taking action, Peggy began to peel of Steve's old shirt.

"What're you doing?"

"Look at yourself. You need a new shirt."

Steve took the new shirt, stood, and turned shyly from her.

"I've seen you without a shirt before," Peggy reasoned.

"I just…it's different. This is in my room, at night, on a bed…"

Peggy blushed. "I sincerely apologize for making you uncomfortable."

"Don't, the morals now are quite different from what we grew up with. Many people wouldn't blink an eye at a man changing a shirt in front of a woman these days, but me," he shrugged. "I slept through most of the morality changes. My mind is still stuck in time when you last saw me."

"Good, I liked the Steve I knew." A pause settled over the pair.

"I uh…um," he gestured to Peggy's outfit, "you look nice."

Peggy gave him a cheeky smile.

"I know, I know, I can't talk to women," he chuckled. "I um…should let you get back to sleep."

"Well, you can't sleep here."

"Why not?"

"You've sweat through the sheets. You need to sleep elsewhere."

He scoffed, "alright, where do you propose?" Peggy looked pointedly at him. "Oh. Oh."

"Just sleep, it's alright."

"Are you sure?"

Peggy extended a hand. "Come on."

Gently, he wrapped his massive hand around hers, allowing her to guide him back to her room. Steve turned out the light as they left, following Peggy like a puppy. He quietly shut the door behind them, waiting for Peggy to slide into bed before he did.

"I don't bite, Steve."

"I know." Tentatively, he slid under the covers, keeping a distance from her silhouette in the dark.

"Steve, you can go back to bed if you want."

"No, no, this is fine. Uh…can I…?"

"What?"

He moved closer to her, gently putting an arm around Peggy. "This?"

"This is good." She moved a little closer. "Good?"

"Good."

Peggy inhaled into Steve's chest. "They still sell that?"

"What?"

"Old Spice."

She felt him nod, "yeah." He paused. "Do you like it?"

"Mmhm." Another pause. "Goodnight, Steve."

"Goodnight Peggy."

Thank you everyone for reading and all the comments! Ugh, I do love some good Steggy fluff.