116.
Washington, DC
September 15th, 2013
Steve walks beside Isabel down a quiet street, the cool breeze of a fall morning brushing against their skin as they make their way toward the Smithsonian Institution. It's one of those rare moments where Steve feels a little out of place. The world has moved on, and though he's spent countless hours adjusting to life in the modern world, there are still moments when the weight of the past presses against him like an unseen hand, reminding him of things he can never fully leave behind.
Steve glances over at Isabel, her eyes bright with curiosity, a smile tugging at her lips as she observes the modern world around her. It's still strange to him, seeing her here, her presence solid and real when the last time he had truly known her—truly seen her—was in another lifetime. A lifetime when everything had been simpler and more dangerous, but also more alive.
As they enter the Captain America division of the Smithsonian, Steve's mind shifts back to those days, back to the war, to the Howling Commandos. There are the old videos of his time in World War II playing on the screens, clips showing Steve and Bucky, the two of them together in their prime. The men are laughing, talking, and telling stories, and it's surreal to see them there, living another life. Bucky's youthful face was on screen, the carefree laugh he used to have was unmistakable, and Steve finds himself smiling, despite the flood of emotions that threaten to overwhelm him.
Steve watches video-Bucky laugh. There's no sound, but Steve can practically hear it in his head. He remembers the filming of the video like it happened yesterday.
He had been sitting through the recording sessions for hours, and he could feel his patience thinning. The director was running them through the same scenes over and over, each more mechanical than the last. The PR films for the folks back home were exhausting, and Steve's smile was beginning to waver. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the history, but sometimes, the nostalgia was too much.
At least he wasn't alone. Behind the camera, Bucky and the rest of the Howling Commandos were sitting together, playing cards and teasing each other.
No one was trying to kill them, and that was a relief.
Steve caught Bucky's eyes from across the room.
"God, you're so bored," Steve muttered under his breath, barely containing his amusement. Bucky shot him a sharp look but kept quiet. There was no sense in stirring the pot too much.
Steve did it anyway. With a dramatic pause, he waited until the filming had reached its most serious point, then threw out the most inappropriate thing he could think of. It wasn't even something that made sense. But that was the point.
The room went silent, following a gasp, at the innocent and angelic Captain America's absolute potty mouth.
Isabel, her brow furrowing slightly at his words, looked over in confusion. "Steve," she began, but Steve couldn't help himself. He simply continued to beam at the camera, ignoring the mounting tension.
Bucky's eyes widened. For a split second, there was a silence so heavy, it felt like the weight of the world was hanging in the air. Then, just as Steve expected,Bucky started to laugh, the sound of it breaking through the awkwardness like a dam bursting open.
"What the fuck?" Bucky asked between breathless bursts of laughter, turning away, unable to contain himself any longer. Steve smiled, utterly shameless.
"You looked bored," he said innocently, the corner of his mouth twitching as he glanced at the Commandos, whose laughter was quickly spreading. Dugan collapsed on the floor, clutching his stomach, while Monty smirked, shaking his head.
"Yeah, you definitely won't make the front page now," Monty teased, his voice thick with amusement.
But the best part was Bucky. Once he started laughing, there was no stopping him. He was clutching his ribs, leaning against Steve for support as he struggled to catch his breath. Even the director couldn't hold back the smallest of smiles, though he did try to hide it behind his professionalism. But Steve knew better. The director's awe was clear—he'd never seen anything quite like it. Steve could barely stop himself from laughing too. It was too infectious, too familiar.
When Bucky finally stopped laughing, still flushed with the remnants of his mirth, Steve felt a deep sense of peace. That moment, that connection, reminded him of a simpler time—of who they had been before all the chaos, before the war had stolen their youth.
And for a brief moment, it was enough. It was enough to pretend, to forget the weight of the world and just be Steve Rogers again, standing beside his best friend, with Isabel by his side. He wasn't Captain America. Not right then. He was just Steve. And that was all that mattered.
"I think there's one last person we still need to see," Isabel says, making Steve jump. He'd been so wrapped up in the memory, he'd forgotten where they were.
"Who?"
"Peggy," Isabel says, staring at the photograph of Peggy, small, on the edge of the exhibit wall. There's a small caption about her work with the Commandos, her role as a female agent during a time when women weren't as included or wanted, when every door would be shut in her face. "I haven't seen her since 1945. I miss her," Belle says, looking at Steve. "I've gotta see her."
Steve nods. "We can go there," he agrees. He puts an arm around her, comforting. "I've seen her. She misses you as well."
The drive to the retirement home is quiet. Steve grips the wheel tightly, his jaw set, while Isabel sits beside him, staring out the window. She hasn't spoken much since he mentioned the visit. Steve understands—there's something about seeing someone from the past, someone who remembers who you were before everything fell apart. It's comforting and terrifying all at once.
The retirement home is a quiet place, tucked away from the noise of the city. The scent of lavender and old books lingers in the air, mixing with the distant hum of a television playing in one of the common rooms.
Steve and Isabel make their way to the quiet, sunlit corridors of the retirement home where Peggy Carter now resides. The place, carefully designed to be warm and welcoming, feels like stepping into the past—into a world that's moved on without him, even as he clings to the pieces that remain. Steve leads the way down the hallway, his boots oddly loud against the polished floor. Isabel follows, her fingers twitching slightly at her sides.
He tightens his grip on the small bouquet of flowers in his hand, glancing at Isabel. She hasn't spoken since they left the car, her expression unreadable, her fingers twitching slightly like she's bracing for impact.
Peggy is well into her nineties now, but still sharp, still carrying that fire that Steve had admired in her all those years ago. Age has stolen some things, but not her spirit.
When they step into her room, the late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the floor, painting the walls in soft gold. Peggy sits propped up against pillows, a light blanket draped over her lap. Her once dark hair is now a crown of silver, her face lined with time and wisdom, but her eyes—the same piercing, intelligent eyes—find his, and recognition flickers.
Steve swallows the lump in his throat, stepping closer.
"I was wondering when you'd come back," Peggy says, her voice still strong, though tinged with the frailty of age. There's something wry in her tone, something so Peggy that it almost knocks the wind out of him.
He lets out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "I've been busy. I'm sorry, Peg."
Her eyes soften. "You always were." She studies him for a long moment before tilting her head. "How are you settling in?"
"Better now," Steve admits. "Getting used to it all, slowly. And, uh… well, someone followed me here."
Peggy's brows lift slightly, curiosity sparking in her gaze. "From the forties?"
"Yes," he nods, glancing back at Isabel, who has been lingering in the doorway, as still as a shadow.
She hesitates, her fingers gripping the strap of her coat. But when Peggy looks at her—really looks at her—the steel in Isabel's spine bends just a little. Peggy's brown eyes flicker with recognition. She frowns at Isabel, with confusion and concern.
"Come here, darling," Peggy urges gently, after a long while, holding out her hand.
Isabel steps forward cautiously, as if afraid this moment might shatter if she moves too quickly. When she's close enough, Peggy reaches out, her hands trembling slightly, and clasps Isabel's.
For a long moment, she just stares, eyes misting over, her breath catching in her throat.
Isabel studies every inch of Peggy's face, which she once knew so well, covered in wrinkles, her hair greyed, her skin sun damaged, her eyes still bright.
"You look exactly the same," she whispers, her voice breaking.
Isabel breathes slowly, deeply, staring. "So I've been told."
Peggy breathes a laugh. "Can't really say the same for myself," she acknowledges.
"Peg…" Isabel breathes. "I…" She trails off, not sure what to say.
"Sit. You look faint," Peggy says.
Isabel obliges, sitting in the chair, staring at Peggy. "I went and saw Becca," she finds herself saying. "I've seen… her. I'm sorry… I keep staring at you."
"It's okay," Peggy reassures.
"I kind of thought I'd never see you again," Isabel whispers.
"That makes two of us." Peggy squeezes her hand, reassuringly. "Oh, darling… what did they do to you?"
Isabel's lower lip trembles as she exhales sharply. "It's all a little blurry."
"They tried to wipe her memories, Peg," Steve explains. "Just like they did to Bucky all those years ago."
Peggy looks disappointed.
"It was Hydra, Peg. I'm so sure," Isabel explains. "They took me, and… I remember almost nothing of what happened. Then, one day, I woke up standing on a street in Washington, and Steve was there."
Peggy's face contorts with grief, her fingers tightening around Isabel's. She shakes her head, a single tear slipping down her cheek. "I searched for you, you know," she murmurs. "After you disappeared, I had the whole of SHIELD looking for you."
"Thank you," Isabel says, quietly, sincerely.
"Your parents were at SHIELD everyday driving the search, making sure we never gave up. I searched for years myself, leading the case, searching every lead. But always came up short."
"If it was Hydra, they work in the shadows," Steve says. "You probably never would've found her."
"We kept searching for Bucky, for the Valkyrie…" Peggy trails off, looking away. "I failed you all."
"No, Peg," Steve interrupts, his voice gentle but firm. "That isn't true. We never expected that from you. You did everything you could. We're okay now."
Peggy swallows hard, blinking rapidly, as if she's trying to hold back the weight of too many years of regret. But she nods, her fingers still curled around Isabel's hand.
They spend hours reminiscing, voices low but warm, threading through stories of the past, of the changing world, of the people they had lost and what they had gained. Laughter finds them in unexpected places, though it's laced with something bittersweet.
Eventually, though, Peggy begins to fade. The sharpness in her gaze dulls, her words slowing, her breath evening out. Steve watches as the exhaustion settles into her bones, as her eyelids flutter, her mind drifting somewhere far away.
Then, suddenly, she blinks up at him. Her expression shifts.
She looks at him like she's seeing him for the first time in seventy years.
Her brows knit together, confusion settling in the lines of her face.
"Who… who are you?" she asks, her voice quiet but uncertain.
Steve feels something inside him crack, deep and aching.
He swallows hard, past the lump forming in his throat.
"It's me, Peggy," he whispers, his voice barely more than breath. "It's Steve."
But there is no recognition in her eyes anymore.