Steve poked his head around Peggy's office door and blinked. Her hair seemed to have executed a successful break-out from its pins, and Peggy herself was glaring at the brush in her hand.
"Is this a bad time?" he asked. "I can come back later."
Peggy looked up, and some of her frown lines faded. "No, come in, Steve. I'm just in a bit of disarray at the moment."
"I noticed," Steve said, trying to tread lightly. "That's quite the gale blowing out there."
"The wind itself isn't the problem," Peggy said. "It's my arm. It's rather hard to do your hair with one arm in a sling."
Steve nodded, understanding. Though Peggy was far enough into her recovery that she'dreturned to work planning the Commandos' next mission, the still-healing bullet wound in her shoulder meant that Peggy's right arm remained firmly in its sling.
"How have you been managing?" Steve asked curiously. "You've looked as stunning as ever."
Peggy blushed slightly at his praise. "I'm bunking with a few of the SSR secretaries, and one of them has been helping me with my hair in the mornings. This ruddy storm's pulled it all out though."
"What tools do you have?" Steve asked.
"What?" Peggy asked.
"I was just thinking," Steve said, "the USO girls showed me how to help with hair a bit—brush and braid it, that kind of thing. If you didn't lose your hair pins, I could probably manage adecent bun. If you wanted, of course," Steve hurried to add, not wanting to presume.
"No, that would be lovely," Peggy said. "I didn't realize your time on tour taught you so much."
Steve grinned as she handed him her brush and hair pins. "It didn't take long for the girls to realize I wasn't some heroic legend. I got turned into little brother and hair and makeup assistant pretty quick."
Peggy smiled, sitting down at her desk while Steve stepped up behind her. "Well I'm certainly grateful you were so open to learning."
Steve chuckled and began brushing Peggy's hair. She twitched reflexively the first time he touched her shoulder but then leaned into his hand, so he figured he was doing okay. Some of the tangles took a little while to work out, but Steve soon felt his hands returning to the familiar rhythm.
After a few minutes, he checked in with Peggy. "I'm not pulling too hard, am I?"
"Not at all," Peggy said. "In fact, you're better at it than Trudy is. I was just thinking about how long it had been since someone else did my hair before I got shot. It must have been years. I'd forgotten that I rather like it."
"Oh?" Steve asked. He was a bit surprised given Peggy's general preference for independence.
"It takes longer, of course," Peggy said, "and it wouldn't be practical to have it done all the time, but it feels nice on my head. It's soothing, almost like… like a warm hand on your shoulder or a tickle you don't want to escape."
"Huh," Steve said, twisting her hair up into a bun and beginning to pin it. "I wouldn't have guessed that, but it sounds nice the way you describe it." He paused, hoping she wouldn't take what he said next the wrong way. "It feels good to do too. Your hair is so soft and smooth." He could feel himself blushing, and he was she was facing away from him.
"I'm glad it's not unpleasant," Peggy said. "You're already going to so much trouble."
She reached up to feel the bun he had just finished securing and her hand brushed against his. Steve blushed more deeply, and quickly pulled his hand away.
"It's not trouble if it's for you," he said. "I'm glad to help you any way I can."
Peggy turned to face him and apparently saw just how much he meant it. "Thank you," she said, and Steve knew it wasn't just for the hairdo.
"Any time."