Author's Note: The last chapter of this little story, that is much more heavily about Steve and Peggy.
Hero
Chapter 3
Steve quietly opened the door of Sarah's bedroom, just next door to his and Peggy's, and padded inside to kneel beside his daughter's bed. She had pushed the covers down as she slept and he gently tugged them back up over her and smoothed a few strands of her silky blonde hair away from her face.
His precious daughter, looking so very small and so very fragile, as she slept. She was so very fragile. He rested his hand lightly against her cheek and then stilled, feeling an odd little twist inside his chest as he noted the faint scratches left by Jerry's clawing hands. As he had expected, the slight reddening of his knuckles had already disappeared but the scratch marks remained, a reminder of the violence he had once more needed to engage in. It might have been for a good reason but seeing the marks of violence next to his daughter's face bothered him, struck him as wrong. He never wanted any sort of violence to come near his daughter.
He dropped his right hand and replaced it with his unmarked left one, tracing his daughter's cheek. And wondered not for the first time how he would ever bear to let her leave the house, go out of his sight, as he would need to when she grew up as she already seemed to be doing at a distressingly rapid rate. He worried enough over her now, when she was almost never out of his sight–being a parent was to worry, he had found–and tonight, Donna's experiences had brought home to him all over again the added physical vulnerability for girls. (He might adore being a father but he had also learned that being a parent was the single most terrifying thing in the world.)
He knew it was far too early to tell whether or not Sarah had inherited any of the added abilities that the serum had given to him. She was a healthy baby–thank God–who had also not inherited the physical frailty or other conditions that Steve himself had been born with, but as yet, there was no way of knowing what she might have inherited from him beyond the obvious, physical characteristics like her blonde hair, her chin, the shape of her eyes.
And as he found himself doing more and more often since becoming a parent himself, he thought about his own mother, wondering how his mother had coped with raising a sickly son all by herself, all the worries she must have kept to herself without a husband to confide in or share the burden. Steve thought every day that he didn't think he could manage parenthood without Peggy to keep him grounded, soothe his worries, especially as Peggy was much less inclined to dwell on things she could not change, was too practical and focused for that. Peggy had always been able to comfort him, make him feel stronger, better, and that had only increased with the years.
Steve could better understand now how hard his mother had fought and clung to life in her last few years so she would not leave Steve alone too soon and she had succeeded, passing within months of his 18th birthday so he had been, at least nominally, an adult. But his mother had still worried about him to the end, he knew. He remembered one of his mother's last days, when she was too frail to leave her bed, when she had summoned her strength to ruffle her fingers through his hair in one of her habitual gestures and the way she had told him, in her wan voice, You'll be all right, Stevie. You have a good friend in Bucky and he'll look out for you. And I know you; I know my boy is stronger than he looks so you'll be all right.
And he could only hope, perhaps fancifully, that wherever his mother was, she knew that Steve had managed, that it might have taken a long time but he was more than just all right now, that he had found all the love and happiness he'd ever wanted with Peggy.
Almost as if summoned by the thought, he heard the sound of Peggy's familiar steps and looked up to see her walk in, moving to join him by Sarah's bed, resting a hand on Steve's shoulder as she bent to drop a feather-light kiss to Sarah's brow.
"You'll have to teach her to defend herself when she grows up," he murmured.
"We both will. You have more combat experience than I do."
"Maybe but my experiences aren't going to be as relevant for her," he countered quietly as he pushed himself to his feet. "She's not going to be fighting alien armies."
She made a small grimace. "Let's hope she won't have to fight at all."
He sighed a little and slid his arm around her waist. "Yes, but as tonight has shown us, there are more dangers out there than spies or armies."
It was her turn to sigh and briefly rest her head against his shoulder. "Yes. Poor Donna."
"Did you get her settled for the night?"
"Yes, but getting her settled for the night was the easy part. It will take longer for her to get over the hurt, the disillusionment."
"I'm sure it will."
Peggy turned into him, sliding her arms around him. "I love you," she told him with uncharacteristic urgency.
"I love you too." He felt a flicker of warmth inside his chest as always at hearing the words, more, knowing how true they were.
He bent to brush his lips lightly against hers but she had other ideas and rose up on her toes, her lips parting as she kissed him back fervently, deepening the kiss into a heated exchange of lips and tongues, the sort they rarely engaged in outside of their bedroom.
When the kiss ended, they were both a little breathless. "I think we'd better move this into our room, don't you?"
Her lips tipped upwards slightly. "I suppose we should refrain from scarring our daughter's innocence too early."
He returned her smile, looking down at their sleeping daughter one last time, before he turned with her and they retreated into the privacy of their bedroom.
In their bedroom, she kissed him again. "I do love you, Steve. I know I don't say the words often but you have to know I love you. I've always loved you."
He cupped her face in his hands. "I know." And he meant it. He saw love in every glance of her eyes, every teasing little smile, felt it in every kiss and every touch. And he knew it because he'd seen proof of it in the picture of his old, real self she'd kept on her nightstand, the same picture he had once seen on her desk in her office.
"Good. Donna told me that I'm lucky and she's right."
He shook his head a little. "I'm the lucky one."
She gave him one of her small, arch smiles. "All right then, we're both lucky."
"Yes, we are," he agreed and lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her.
When he drew back, she brushed her lips against his chin in a quick little peck. "You should know, you're about to become the subject of gossip in the office."
He blinked. "I am? Why?"
"What you did for Donna tonight is going to get around. The gossip network in the office is even more efficient than the one in the army camps and you're already an object of curiosity among the secretaries."
"I don't see why. I lead a very mundane life these days." And he loved it, loved the routine of it.
The corners of her lips tipped upwards in that way that had always drawn his attention to her mouth and made him want to kiss her—and so he did, a fleeting touch of his lips to hers, just because he could and he loved that too.
"You think that but the secretaries find it positively fascinating that a man agreed to be a house husband and take care of a baby while I work."
He grimaced a little. He knew that was true in the eyes of the world but… "Your work is important. And I can draw from anywhere." He had already spent years belonging entirely to the world; he was so much happier now, in this life in which he belonged only to Peggy. He didn't bother to state that out loud because she, of all people, already knew that.
"I know, love, but I'm afraid the secretaries don't quite view it in that light."
He made a rueful face. "Well, I am used to being talked about and as long as that's their only reason for being curious about me, I don't mind."
"No more publicity circuit for you?" she teased.
"No, thank goodness."
"I suppose I'll just have to keep you all to myself then."
He laughed softly. "I'll try to ensure that you don't regret it."
The smile tugging on the corners of her lips deepened a little. "My darling," was all she said before she rose up on her toes to kiss him long and lingeringly and he fell into her kiss as he always had, always would.
The kiss ended slowly and he drew back only enough to rest his forehead against hers as he waited for their breaths to slow, his thoughts to clear a little.
It was a minute or so before she spoke again, her voice quiet, "Thank you for what you did for Donna."
He lifted his head to meet her eyes. "I hardly did anything."
"Yes, you did," she contradicted. "You were her champion when she needed one and as she said, you barely know her."
"I don't need to know her to know that it's wrong for a man to beat up a woman."
Her expression softened. "It doesn't make a difference to you but most people don't care enough to step in to defend someone they don't know."
He had never understood that attitude but he knew she was right, acknowledging the point with a grimace.
She lifted a hand to touch his cheek in one of her habitual caresses and he tilted his face into her touch. "Was it difficult, having to threaten someone?" she asked softly.
By now, he felt no surprise at how easily she read him, could cut straight through to the heart of the matter. He gave a little sigh. "It brought back a lot of memories. It's been a long time since I've been in anything approaching a fight and longer still since I've confronted a civilian, a person without any combat training or anything."
"So you wouldn't even need to try."
"Exactly. I had to remind myself to stay in control which I haven't had to do in a while."
She grasped his right hand in hers and lifted it to study it, seeing the faint scratch marks from Jerry's struggles.
He inwardly winced and made as if to lower his hand but she only tightened her grip on it, raising his hand to kiss his knuckle, his wrist over the scratches. "You know you don't have to hide from me."
"I know but it's not exactly pretty."
"And you don't like that it's not a fair fight," she finished gently.
Of course she knew, would understand. She always had. "No," he agreed. Using his strength in a fair fight or when he was the outmatched one, he was fine with but going up against a civilian went against the grain, made him feel rather like one of the bullies he had always hated even if he knew that it was different. "I know it needed to be done and he needed to be taught a lesson, as would any man who would hit his own fiancée, a man who hurts any woman…" He didn't like having to do it but he also understood that the only language a bully understood was bullying, a demonstration of greater physical strength.
Her expression hardened a little. "I'm sure you showed him more mercy than I would have done. I've never met this Jerry myself and I admit I didn't have the best opinion of him just from little things Donna has said about him but even I didn't imagine he would beat her."
"What had Donna told you about him? She said she loved him so I assumed she would have praised him."
"She mostly did. And the things that bothered me were nothing very serious, just comments she made here and there of things he'd said that sounded condescending or insulting to me." Peggy grimaced. "But I hoped for her sake that I was being overly sensitive. So many men think nothing of casually belittling women. I've gotten used to shrugging off such comments but it doesn't mean I like it."
He felt a renegade little flicker of amusement. "I suppose you can't go around punching every man who says something insulting the way you did to that Gilmore Hodge back at Camp Lehigh that first day."
She huffed a little laugh. "You remember that after all this time?"
"I would hardly forget the first time I saw you and you were incredible."
"I doubt that. I was only trying to make a point so the other recruits wouldn't feel empowered to keep up with the insults."
"I figured. You have to stand up, push back, otherwise they'll never stop."
Her expression softened and he saw the memory of that long-ago conversation in the car on the way to Dr. Erskine's experiment site flash across her mind. "The Steve Rogers philosophy of dealing with bullies, I remember."
Some more of his lingering tension dissolved, warmth blossoming inside him at the memories. So many memories and after all those years in the future where all his memories of Peggy had been accompanied by pain–and he knew that her memories of him had been similarly painful to think about in the time when she had believed he was dead–and now, years after he had returned to her, it was… precious to him how easily they could talk about their shared past. Some parts of their past still hurt and they did not speak about them with any ease even now. For him, the thought of Bucky's supposed death during the war still bothered him because of knowing all that Bucky had suffered as a result of that–all the more so now when he knew that Bucky was alive somewhere enduring God-only-knew what horrors to turn him into the Winter Soldier and Steve didn't know where so he couldn't even try to take any action. While for her, the memory of his own supposed death in the plane crash still pained her. But for the most part, their shared past had become more a source of occasional teasing, not of pain.
"And tonight, one more bully was taught a lesson," she added after a moment before going up on her toes to nuzzle a kiss to his cheek. "My hero."
He managed not to stiffen or react in any way but wasn't surprised when she still drew back to study him. After all this time, her understanding of his moods was almost instinctive and even from the beginning, she had always somehow been able to read his emotions. "What is it?"
"I'm not a hero anymore, if I ever was. I gave all that up, remember?" He tried to sound light but even to his own ears, his tone sounded brittle, rather stiff.
"If you ever–of course you were a hero and while you might not be Captain America anymore, you're still a hero. You've been a hero your entire life."
He scoffed in spite of himself. "How heroic is it to decide to stop being a hero and live a normal life instead?"
"Do you regret it?"
Belatedly he realized what he'd said and how his words could be interpreted and slid his arms around her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "No. God, no, not even for a minute. I could never regret being with you."
He felt her relax a little but a faint frown lingered. "Then what is it? Something is bothering you and it's not just about what happened tonight with Donna and Jerry."
He hesitated. He hadn't thought, hadn't intended to mention it, not so much a deliberate concealment but because he had told himself it wasn't that important and then he had been distracted by Sarah and her fractiousness yesterday. "The casualty lists from Korea were in the paper yesterday. It's clear the troops over there are outmatched, outnumbered, and I couldn't help but think that, well, they could use Captain America's help and without it… more boys are dying."
He felt her stiffen slightly. "Yesterday? This has been on your mind since yesterday morning and you didn't tell me?"
"I would have mentioned it but then with Sarah being in one of her moods and then you had a bad day at work too, it mostly slipped my mind and I didn't think it was that important."
"Steve." There was a faint hint of an edge to her tone that had him straightening to attention almost in spite of himself. "First of all, if something is troubling you, don't keep it from me. I want you to tell me about it. I might have had a frustrating day at work yesterday but I would still have wanted to know."
"I was going to mention it but with everything else, it didn't matter that much. I could handle it and it's my problem anyway, my guilt. You have enough to deal with."
"I know you can handle it. You're the strongest person I've ever met and not because of Dr. Erskine's serum either. But I'm your wife; we're a team and isn't the entire point of marriage that you don't have to deal with things on your own? If something is troubling you, I want to know about it so I can help you deal with it. And that's true no matter what happens at work. You can't think that the petty annoyances I run into at work mean more to me than you do."
"I don't think that," he hurriedly assured her, the faint hint of something almost like hurt in her tone as she finished lashing at him. "I know you're always there for me. You always have been," his voice softened. "I'm sorry." He sighed a little, making a rueful face. "I guess it's something of a habit still. I was on my own for a long time."
He really had been. Not just as Captain America but even before then, when he had simply been Steve Rogers, he'd gotten accustomed to managing on his own, not sharing his troubles, because his mother had always been busy, needing to work to support them, and then she had been ill so he had been even less inclined to add to his mother's burdens. And even the presence of Bucky had not changed that. It was bad enough that he had needed to rely on Bucky to protect him from the local bullies; he hadn't wanted to turn to Bucky for anything else. He'd hated being helpless, had always avoided asking for help for that very reason. He suddenly remembered Bucky coming to find him after his mother had been buried, how he'd told Bucky that he could get by on his own. And Bucky's response, Thing is, you don't have to. I'm with you til the end of the line, pal. Something gripped his heart and squeezed at the thought of Bucky. But even then, in spite of Bucky's promise, managing alone had already been a habit for Steve. And after that, during his years in the future, he'd spent more than 10 years alone for all intents and purposes, even in spite of the friends he had made in the Avengers, and it had become even more of an ingrained habit to keep his own troubles to himself.
He might tell himself that he had adjusted to life with Peggy in the nearly four years since he had returned to her–and for the most part, in the day to day routine, he had. He was settled into his identity as Grant Carter, Peggy's husband and Sarah's father. His hand and brain had gradually relearned all his old skills with drawing, his training, his artist's eye, returning to him. But even so, he was realizing that all his years as Captain America had left their mark on him in ways he couldn't always predict.
She cupped his cheek with her hand. "I know, darling. But I'm here now."
He caught her hand in his, turning his head to press a kiss to her palm. "I am sorry, Peggy. I'll do better."
"You'd better," she responded with some of her usual tartness.
And he knew she had forgiven him.
She sobered. "And as for what's going on in Korea, I know the news is terrible but I thought you wanted to be done with all that, the missions, the battles, taking on the burden of dealing with other people's evil. That's why you came back to this time, isn't it?"
"I came back to this time because I had to see you again. Given the chance to see you, I had to do it. I'd spent too many years missing you not to try. I stayed because I couldn't leave you again, not once I knew you loved me, wanted to be with me." His voice softened, his chest filling with all the emotions he'd felt then. That moment, that realization, was the happiest of his life, even with all the happiness that had followed in the years since, because that had been the first, the beginning, coming after all the hardships and unhappiness of his time in the future.
He'd started with the easier, the simpler truth, and paused before he went on, "And yes, I wanted to be done with being Captain America." He briefly shut his eyes and not all his effort could keep his expression or his voice entirely steady. It had been a long time since he had thought so much about his years as Captain America, a long time since he had dwelled on all the emotions that had buffeted him after the end of the war with Thanos, all that had driven him to make the choice he had and come back to Peggy, to this time, and to stay. "It had just been so long, so many years of fighting, and after everything that happened, I was so tired. Tired of fighting, of serving, of being at the beck and call of the rest of the world."
With a quick movement, Peggy wrapped her arms around him, resting her head against his shoulder. "I know, love, I know. You wanted to live your life."
He closed his arms around her, a little sigh escaping him as he pressed his cheek against her hair. And felt better, calmer, just from her touch, her strength.
He paused, trying to organize his thoughts. "It's just that reading the news about the war in Korea and again tonight, in going to confront Jerry, I was reminded of all I have, all I can do, thanks to the serum. My strength, all that allowed me to be Captain America, can be a burden but I was reminded that it's also a privilege. And I can't help but wonder if it isn't… selfish of me to have just stopped being Captain America, to decide I didn't want to be the world's hero anymore." He had always wanted to do what was right and he had tried to do just that for so many years. Choosing to come back to Peggy, to live his life with her, was the first decision he'd made in years that had been just for himself, even if at the time he had also honestly felt as if his decision was not about what he wanted as what he had needed. He had needed to lay down the mantle of being Captain America, needed a break from it all. He supposed he should have realized that making such a decision and living with it could never be that easy.
He didn't want to lose the life he had made, couldn't even bear to think about leaving Peggy and Sarah. And more than that, he had a duty to both Peggy and Sarah, a duty as a husband and a father, and he would never, could never, break the promises he had made to them both.
But it didn't mean he wasn't torn, didn't entirely absolve him of the guilt he couldn't help but feel. A guilt that felt stronger now because he was stronger, had recouped his emotional reserves after these years of peace, living with Peggy. It had taken a long time, almost two years before he had stopped feeling the dragging weight of the grief and the exhaustion that had gripped him in the aftermath of the last battle with Thanos. But now that he no longer felt that dragging weight, it was harder to justify his leaving the Captain America identity behind.
She drew back just enough to look up at him. "Steve, the problem with taking responsibility for dealing with all the evils of the world is that it never ends. There will always be wars and other evils to fight, that's the nature of the world we live in, the constant never-ending struggle. And it's too much for any one person. No one person can bear the weight of the world, not even you with all your strength, and it's not fair to expect it of yourself. You gave up so many years of your life, devoted everything you had–your mind, your body, your life–in order to save the world and you did, you have, again and again. You aren't–you can't be–responsible for the fate of the world for all time. You've given enough, more than enough, for any one man. And wanting to live your life after sacrificing so much for so long is not selfish; it's human and you shouldn't fault yourself for being human."
He met her eyes, those beautiful, steadfast eyes he'd loved for so long, the eyes of the person he trusted the most in the world. And if she said it, he believed it. He felt the tight knot of guilt inside him loosen, start to dissolve. He let out a breath. "You're right, as usual." He was not the indispensable hero.
Her lips twitched just a little. "And don't you forget it," she returned, infusing some of her usual tartness into her tone.
"I won't," he promised. And meant it. He might need to remind himself of her words now and then–knowing himself, he was sure he would–but he wouldn't forget. And Peggy was right, as she usually was, when she pointed out that dealing with the evil in the world never ended. If he had learned anything at all in the future, it was that being Captain America was not the sort of job, the sort of role, that allowed for anything else. Being Captain America required everything, the full measure of his time, his energy, his commitment, his life. Just the thought, the memory, was exhausting. He had spent more than a decade being Captain America and nothing else and even if he wanted to–and he did not–he didn't think he had it in him to be Captain America and nothing else again, not anymore.
Maybe, if there had been a way for him to be Captain America and still have this, a life and a family to center him, give him more strength when he needed it, he could have but he had long ago realized that Captain America could not have a family. It would be too dangerous, if anyone ever discovered that Captain America had a child, another source of his genetic material to provide a means to try to recreate Project Rebirth. Steve had seen too much of the world and what some people were willing to do in order to create enhanced beings and the thought of anyone learning of Sarah's existence made everything in him turn cold. No, he could either be Captain America or he could have a life of his own, a family; he could never have both. There was a reason he had needed to become Grant Carter and that would never change.
"And Steve, you are still a hero. I know, you don't like being called a hero," she added, forestalling him when his lips parted. "But it's still true. You might not be a super-hero anymore, now that you're no longer Captain America, but you are still a hero. You've been a hero your whole life."
He raised his brows at her. "I wasn't a hero before Dr. Erskine came along," he objected. "You of all people ought to know that. You saw me before the serum. I could barely manage a single push-up without collapsing." And yet, she had still, somehow, seen something worthy of respect in him. He felt warmth coil inside his chest at the thought, the reminder, even as he retained some skepticism. She was the only person who would say he'd been a hero even before the success of Project Rebirth.
"A hero isn't defined by how many push-ups they can do or by simple physical strength. You of all people ought to know that," she returned his own words to him with a faint teasing lift of her brows. "A hero is defined by what they do, whether they will do what other people won't to help others. And you've always had that in you. With all due respect to Dr. Erskine, all the serum did was make it so that other people could see you as the hero you already were."
"Dr. Erskine said something like that," he responded slowly. "That the serum only amplifies what a person is, doesn't change them." But he still felt that his old self, when he had just been Steve Rogers, was the furthest thing from a hero he could think of. If he'd been a hero, it was thanks to the serum. Captain America was the hero, not Steve Rogers.
"Dr. Erskine was right, God rest his soul. He saw that you already were a hero so you deserved to have the serum." She paused for a moment and then added, quietly, "You know, even now, after all this time, the single most heroic action I've ever seen is when someone threw himself on top of a grenade in order to save the lives of people he barely knew and who hadn't shown him any kindness."
Absurdly, he felt some heat creeping into his cheeks. He tended to feel rather foolish when he thought about that moment, about throwing himself onto a dummy grenade. But the way she had phrased it, the way she looked at him… "They might not have been kind but that didn't mean they deserved to die." The sort of minor bullying his fellow recruits had subjected him to was what he'd experienced all of his life to that point, so much so that he hadn't thought much about it, especially because it had been the Army and he had been so desperate to prove himself as it was.
"No, of course they didn't, but the fact remains that you were the only one who didn't run from the grenade."
"Not the only one," he objected. "You didn't run either. You ran towards the grenade too." And had almost scared the living daylights out of him when he'd realized that. He had barely known her beyond thinking she was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen but he still hadn't been able to stand the thought of her being in danger.
She paused and he saw that he had, for once, surprised her, distracting her from her train of thought. Surely she hadn't forgotten what she had done. "I'd had some training in disarming explosives. I didn't think beyond that."
He should have figured she had some relevant training, some knowledge, that might have helped. It was who she was, always so smart, so capable. "Still. It wasn't only me. You didn't run either."
She wrinkled her nose a little, adorably. He felt a flicker of amusement, mingled in with tenderness, because he knew that his Peggy didn't consider herself to be heroic anymore than he considered himself to be so. After all, they were a pair in that too. By now, it no longer surprised him when he thought of ways in which he and Peggy were alike. For all their differences, for all the gulf in their circumstances–born an ocean apart, her into a life of privilege while he'd been born with nothing, not even good health–somehow, he and Peggy thought alike in many ways, valued the same things, so that she understood him better than anyone else he had ever known. And that had never changed, in spite of all the years they had spent apart, in spite of all his years in the future that had changed him in ways he wasn't sure he could explain.
"What I did isn't the issue here," she demurred with an attempt at her usual briskness. "Most people will risk themselves in order to save their family, their friends, people who are important to them. It takes a hero to save people who they don't know and have no reason to care about. You've always done that, just as you did to protect Donna tonight."
A memory flashed into his mind, of her face, her voice, as she told him, You were meant for more than this, you know. From the beginning, she had thought that he was meant to be a hero. And not for the first time, he thought that he could never have become Captain America if it hadn't been for her, for her faith in him.
"Well, if I am your hero, I suppose it's only fair since you've always been my hero too," he tried to sound light, his lips curving, although he meant the words. She had always been a hero to him. Because she was that kind of person too, the sort of person who would fight to save people she didn't know. It was why she had joined the SSR and still worked there and to his mind, what Peggy did showed more determination and courage than anything he had ever done because Peggy, for all her abilities and her training, was a woman fighting for her place in a man's world, as well as being more physically vulnerable, while he had the benefit of the added strength and abilities the serum had given him. It didn't require as much courage to go into a battle when he knew that he had the advantages of enhanced physical strength and accelerated healing.
She gave a little huff of a laugh. "I guess we're a good match then."
"We definitely are," he agreed and lowered his head to kiss her.
She tightened her arms around him, her lips parting, as she returned his kiss and soon enough, the kiss had deepened, escalated, until he caught her up into his arms and carried her the few steps over to their bed before lowering her onto it and joining her. And the world narrowed down until there was only them, him and her, together, in a blur of lips and hands and tongues and bodies, as they celebrated another way in which they were perfect together. He was with his Peggy and he knew he was exactly where he belonged.
~The End~