family, assembled

"Nat, maybe we should--"

"No, it's fine," Steve said, waving them in. "I think we're done. But for the record, we're not breaking up."

“Cool,” Nat said, moving further into the kitchen while Clint made a beeline for the coffeepot. “So what is going on?”

“It’s...personal,” he told her, giving Peggy a sideways glance.  “How was Cape Town?”

“The usual,” she said with a shrug, absently taking the mug Clint handed her.  “The people that weren’t supposed to die didn’t, the people trying to kill them were less lucky.  So why is Peggy sleeping alone this winter?”

“It’s nothing, really,” Peggy said, then narrowed her eyes.  “You know, there are more mugs, Agent Barton.”

Clint paused as he brought the pot up to his mouth, looking caught out as everyone turned to look at him.  “Did you want one?”

“No, I’m fine,” she said, her expression shifting to slightly baffled.

“Okay then,” Clint said, the pot resuming its journey to his lips.  Nat turned back toward the couple sitting at the island.

“He likes his coffee,” she said with a shrug.  “So why the separate sleeping arrangements?”

Steve sighed when Peggy gave him a look, making a “go ahead” gesture with one hand. It was going to come out eventually anyway...might as well get the spy duo’s reaction over with.

“We’ve decided not to...spend the night together again until we’re married,” Peggy explained carefully, and Nat blinked before looking between them.

“Wait, you’re seriously not going to have sex again until the wedding?” she asked, looking stunned, and they shook their heads.  “But...you’ve already done it.  What difference does it make now?”

Peggy licked her lips to hide her smile before turning to Steve with an expectant expression, and he shifted uncomfortably.

“Well, you know, I was raised that...you waited until the wedding night,” he explained. “That...that’s part of what made it special.  And I just think that if we hold off until then, we can still...have some of that.”

He gave another slightly helpless shrug, realizing how stupid it probably sounded, but still feeling it was important somehow.  Nat sighed, shaking her head at him.

“You can take the altar boy out of the cathedral--”

“I’m Protestant,” he interrupted automatically, and Nat’s head tilted as she frowned.  “No altar boys.”

“My mistake,” she drawled, and he looked down as he felt a flush start up in his cheeks. Peggy took his hand and squeezed it, and he looked up to see her smiling at him.  “I don’t even know why I’m surprised.  So how long is the vow of chastity?”

“Well, Mister Jarvis claims it’s going to be a spring wedding if it kills him,” Peggy told her.  “So...six months, maybe?”

Nat clucked her tongue, one shoulder jumping.  “Six months isn’t so bad.”

“You think?” They all jumped at Clint’s voice, having all but forgotten the quiet agent was still there.  “When was the last time you went six months?  Cause I know you haven’t when I’ve been around.”

“Just because I haven’t lately doesn’t mean I can’t,” Nat said, looking over her shoulder at him. “Why would I refuse such a willing partner?”

Peggy leaned toward Steve when Clint snorted.  “Are they…?”

“I’ve stopped asking,” he said, shaking his head.

“Romanoff, you get all handsy when you go more than six hours,” Clint said, then drained the last of the coffee before setting the pot on the counter.  “There’s no way you’d make it six months.”

“Bet I could go longer than you,” Nat retorted, and Steve exchanged a wary glance with his fiancée.

“You’re on,” Clint said, and Nat turned fully toward him, crossing her arms.

“You really wanna do this, Barton?”  He crossed his arms, mirroring her posture, and shrugged.  “Alright, fine.  What do I get if I win?”

Clint tilted his head, considering her for a minute, then stepped toward her.

Not stepped, Steve realized after a second.  Stalked.

“You wanna know what you’d get, Romanoff?  Are you telling me that having me kneeling at your feet, aching for you, begging just to touch you, to watch you shiver, to bring you every kind of sexual pleasure that my very imaginative mind can dream up, to make you scream my name...isn’t enough?”

Clint had backed Nat against the counter during his speech, trapping her there with a hand on either side of her while he pressed against her.  The last words were barely audible, whispered as they were against her ear.  Steve watched, eyes wide, as the agent held the position for a beat, and a visible shudder went through the redhead.  Clint grinned, backing off with a shrug.

“I dunno, I’ll buy you a sundae or something.”

He turned, burying his hands in his pockets as he sauntered out, and Nat let out a long breath before looking back at Steve and Peggy.  “Not a word, Boy Scout.”

Steve held up his hands in surrender as she picked up her coffee and left in the opposite direction.  He lowered his hands slowly as he turned toward Peggy, who was watching the door Nat had left through with a speculative expression.

“They’re a very interesting pair,” she remarked.

“Yeah.” Steve studied her for a moment, then reached for her hand again and tugged her out of her chair.  He pulled her between his legs, letting his hands settle on her hips as her arms looped loosely around his neck.  “Not angry with me, are you, Peggy?”

Peggy sighed. “No, darling.  I understand.  Sort of. You just want it all to be as magical as it can be.”

“Thanks,” he said, pulling her a fraction closer as he dipped his head to kiss her. It took him less than a second to realize how hard the next six months were going to be--probably literally as much as figuratively.  She tasted like coffee and cheerios and Peggy, and it wasn’t long before the kiss gained enough momentum for him to have force her hips from his before he lost control completely.  Forget six hours, six minutes with Peggy Carter was a test of every ounce of his endurance.

“So...spring,” he said when they finally broke apart, his voice rough.

Mr. Jarvis swallowed, and looked at his hands. “Things are as they should be. She’s happier than I’ve ever known her to be.”

“You said yes, though, when I asked for your help. Why?” 

“You said it yourself, Captain. Miss Carter deserves the best.”

Steve was quiet for a moment. He liked Mr. Jarvis.  It wasn’t just anyone Peggy trusted, after all, and he’d been there--according to Peggy, sometimes he’d been the only one there--when Peggy needed someone to trust during the year Steve was gone. 

“If you know her as well as I think you do,” Steve said. “Then you know she doesn’t just walk away from her friends, and I’m not going to do anything to change that. I wouldn’t want to.” 

“All due respect, Captain Rogers, but I fail to see how any of this is your concern.”

“That’s just it, I am concerned.  This is a dark road your heading down, if your outburst back there is any indication--”

“It’s none of your concern,” Jarvis repeated, a razor edge to his voice. “I’m not about to take another man’s pity, Captain America or not.”

“It’s not about pity,” Steve snapped.  “Losing someone that important, that’s not something to pity.  That’s something to sympathize with, something to--”

“I didn’t ask for your help,” Jarvis snapped, standing and heading for the door.

“You didn’t ask anyone else, either,” Steve shot back.

“For what?” Jarvis demanded, spinning around to him.  “To listen to me wax maudlin in the late hours, to hold my hand and tell me it’ll be alright?  How will that help?  Because the fact is, Captain Rogers, it won’t be alright.  No one is coming with a time machine to bring my lost love back.  So you’ll have to excuse me if I find your ability to sympathize a bit hard to swallow.”

“Jarvis--”

“I had one good thing left, in a form I never expected, and now--”  He stopped, taking a deep breath.  “Now she has more important things to worry about, or will shortly.  That’s the fact of it, and something I’m learning to deal with, so I’d prefer you not attempt to derail that progress simply to make yourself feel better for taking care of the poor widower.”

Steve nodded a little as several things became clearer.  It made sense why Jarvis all but ignored him if they weren’t talking about proposal plans, it wasn’t about any sort of friendship between them...it was Jarvis’s last farewell to Peggy.

“You know that radio recording, the one from the movie?” he asked quietly, and Jarvis frowned at the apparent non sequitur.  “I dunno how Tony’s mom managed it, or maybe his dad.  But those were my last words to Peggy.  That was supposed to be it.  I was going to down in...a blaze of glory.  Well, not so much a blaze, little too icy for that.  The point is, that was supposed to be it.  We both knew it.  It was our goodbye, even if we never said it.  And then I woke up to a world completely changed, alive...but I still missed our date.  By about seventy years.  It’s not the same, I know it’s not.  And yeah, I’m...beyond happy that I got her back.  But that doesn’t change how incredibly angry I’ve been at...everyone.  At Fury for finding me, at myself for surviving, at Peggy for disappearing and at Howard, for all his genius, not being able to find me before she was gone.  I was furious at the world for being so stupidly inconsiderate, taking away everything I had, everyone I cared about and the world I knew, and not being kind enough to let me go too.  So you can be as angry as you want, I’m not gonna stop you.  But that doesn’t mean that I’m going to quit reminding you that there’s still people around.  The ‘one good thing’ you have left is still here, and I’m not going to be the one to take her away, because as much as it might confuse you, she needs her relationship with you just as much as you do.  As much as she needs me.  Probably more, really, cause she’ll need someone she can complain to when I inevitably screw something up.”

“She can complain rather boisterously,” Jarvis agreed, and Steve snorted.  “You know, when I told her that...she was dodging bullets and implosions and...incredibly ineffectual and disrespectful coworkers.  I’m just...a bit lost, which is quite a different thing.”

“You really think she’d say that?” Steve asked, narrowing his eyes.  “Cause I don’t.  I think she’d call you a fool for even thinking that.  And, personally, I’d agree.”

“I’m glad to hear you think so highly of me, Captain Rogers,” Jarvis said, but there was a hint of smile at the corners of his mouth.

Still, Steve was serious when he replied, “I wouldn’t be standing here if I didn’t.”

“You know I’m quite certain Anna would have agreed with you as well,” Jarvis told him, and Steve went still.  Jarvis never offered up information about his wife, not without prompting.  “She often claimed I was...overly sentimental.  But I’m fairly certain she didn’t mind, because she’d smile when she said it.  She had...the most beautiful smile.  And there are times...when I can’t help but think about the fact that I’m never going to see her smile again...and I can’t breathe.”

Jarvis looked down quickly, but not before Steve caught the tell-tale brightness of his eyes.  He reached out, clasping the other man’s shoulder firmly, and Jarvis took a shaky breath.

“My apologies--”

“Don’t do that,” Steve told him.  “Don’t apologize for that.  There isn’t anyone here who would fault you for missing someone you love that much. There isn’t anyone here who hasn’t lost anyone they loved.”

Jarvis nodded, then took another deep breath.  “I’ll take that under advisement, Captain Rogers.  But if it’s all the same, I’d really rather not talk about this anymore just now.”

“Sure,” Steve said, taking a step back.

“I do...appreciate your efforts.”

“Anytime, Jarvis. Really.”  Steve glanced around, wondering for a moment what to do with himself. He wasn’t totally ready to leave Jarvis alone, but was at a loss for what else to say now.

“Captain Rogers,” Jarvis said, saving him from having to come up with a random topic for discussion that wasn’t painful.  Steve looked back at him, humming in question.  “Remind me...you said you missed your date with Miss Carter…” 

*** 

Peggy didn’t know whether or not to be proud or exasperated. 

Spies though they were not, Steve and Mr. Jarvis excelled at being frustratingly vague about their not-entirely-secret plans. She’d caught them whispering in corners, only to jump guiltily apart when they noticed her. She’d seen them tossing each other sidelong glances, and heard them cease whispered conversation whenever she entered a room. She’d even caught them passing notes like schoolchildren once, but never had she been able to glean even a single clue as to what they were after.

She could’ve had it out of them if she’d really wanted, she supposed, but they were so earnest.

It seemed akin to spoiling a child’s birthday present. 

It was nearly two months later when she arrived back at her small room to find three things laid neatly on the bed: a red dress, a pair of shoes, and a handwritten note that said Ground floor. Eight o’clock on the dot. 

Peggy glanced at the clock. It was a quarter past six. 

The handwriting on the note was Steve’s; the dress was almost certainly Natasha’s doing.  The shoes were red and heeled and made for dancing, and when she checked, precisely her size. 

Well. What were they up to? 

An hour later, Peggy was running a hand over her hair, adjusting a bobby pin here and there and smoothing imaginary wrinkles from the dress. There was a fluttery anticipation in her stomach, a sort of not-quite-nervousness that kept curling her mouth into a smile. This - was different. She’d had two years of dancing around Steve, quiet smiles and almost-kisses and his particular brand of awkward flirting. There had been muddy battlefields, the smell of blood on the air, and courting loss almost as much as each other. Two years of knowing what they were, and would be eventually, and waiting for a dance that never came. 

Then, six months of being properly his--of his unguarded smile when she entered a room, and the way he didn’t seem to believe his luck when he realized that he could kiss her anytime he liked, now. These days they had whole afternoons with nothing to do, where he dragged her through New York by the hand just to show her something else that had changed, or something that hadn’t. There were even a few slow, sleepy mornings, with Steve’s breath leaving a shivery warmth against the back of her neck as she woke, his arm thrown across her stomach as he slept.

And now this. 

It was half past seven before she was ready to go, and another twenty minutes spent fidgeting before she finally decided to descend the stairs.

At 7:50, Peggy stepped out of the glass doors to the tower to find a sleek, black car waiting on the street. It didn’t look to be one of Tony’s cars--in fact, if she’d been able to wager a guess, it looked like something more out of her time. When the front door opened, she half expected to see Mister Jarvis scrambling to open the door for her, but instead a red head ducked out of the driver’s seat, and Natasha, in a sharp chauffeur’s uniform, grinned at her and moved to open her door.

“Natasha, what on Earth…?”

The other woman smirked, but there was real warmth and just a bit of mischief behind it. She pulled the door open, and gestured for Peggy to climb inside.

“I heard you had a date,” she said. “Thought you might need a ride.” 

*** 

It was a feeling Peggy was slowly getting used to, that eerie sense of knowing where she was, but not. As they wound their way through the streets of New York City, she did have the peculiar feeling that this route was something that ought to be familiar to her, but for the life of her she couldn’t place it.

“This is your stop, lady,” said Natasha, pulling to a stop. She grinned at Peggy in the rearview mirror. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Natasha,” said Peggy, as she reaching for the door handle. “I’m not sure that’s even possible.”

It was nothing like what she expected.

The car was stopped outside a small urban park nestled between two other buildings, with vines creeping up the walls on either side, and two rows of small trees surrounded by tables and chairs. Small fairy lights decorated the trees, and everywhere the faint noise of rushing water, because at the very back of the park stood what appeared to be a giant, man-made waterfall, lit from the back and giving off a soft, yellow glow.

The entire thing was fenced in by a small gate, giving the impression that she was looking at something out of a fairy story. It took Peggy a full thirty seconds of staring to realize that Mister Jarvis stood next to the gate.

“I’m surprised, Mister Jarvis,” said Peggy as she approached, taking in everything around her, “that your ear is still attached to your head.”

“I was motivated,” he said dryly, reaching for the door handle. “I’ve this very stubborn friend, you see. Very difficult to surprise.”

“Sounds like an absolute menace.” Peggy said, tilting her head.

“You’ve no idea.”

They chuckled for a moment, and then he shook his head.

“You weren’t fooled.”

“Oh I knew you were up to something, Mister Jarvis,” she shrugged off her coat, and without asking, he took it from her arm. “I’ve still no idea what.”

The corners of his mouth turned upwards in the slightest of smiles as he pulled the gate open.

“Enjoy your evening, Miss Carter.” 

*** 

Every glance caught something new: the glimmer of candles on some of the most distant tables, a soft melody coming from somewhere she couldn’t place, and at the very back, a long silhouette she’d know anywhere, facing towards the waterfall.

Her feet carried her towards him automatically. He had to have heard her, but still he didn’t turn.

“What is this place?” she murmured.

“It’s the Stork Club,” said Steve. He turned then, and smiled softly; Peggy’s breath caught in her throat. “Or it used to be.”

Oh, Steve.

He was waiting in his dress uniform. In all these months of adjusting to newer and more relaxed everything, of t-shirts and blue jeans and a world that prized comfort, Peggy had almost forgotten what a figure he cut in sharp, pressed army green. Silhouetted against the backdrop of the lit waterfall, with his face caught in candlelight, Peggy’s stomach fluttered and twisted.

“Steve, this is--”

“Only seventy years too late,” he said, swallowing hard and looking up at her earnestly. He reached out a hand. “But I said I’d be here.”

Peggy’s eyes burned. “Oh, darling--”

She took his hand, and he tugged her close.

“I still don’t know how,” he murmured.

She tucked her head underneath Steve’s chin, and moved his hand to her waist. “I’ll teach you.”

Peggy let her eyes fall shut, and they danced.

True to his promise seventy years before, in the beginning, the music was slow. Her senses were full of him: the faint smell of soap and aftershave, the wool of his jacket against her cheek, and the way his fingers strayed from her hip, sometimes, to draw idle patterns on her side as they moved together.

Whether by design or happy accident, a few faster numbers did make their way onto the speaker, and Peggy found herself laughing and smiling through dancing lessons. Steve, ever the determined student, only stepped on her toes a time or two before he got hang of it, and by the time half an hour had passed it might’ve been 1945, for all she knew or cared.

“You’re quite the dancer, Captain,” she said when he twirled her against him, flush with the cold night air and faint exertion. “You’ve not been holding out on me, have you?

“No ma’am,” he responded. “I’ve just had a very good teacher.”

She reached up to pull his head down next to hers, sliding her fingers up his arms to his shoulders, her fingers playing at the skin at his collar. A slow smile spread across her face as she watched him shudder--it was a small, secret thing she’d learned about him these last months, a thing only she knew, and she delighted in it.

“Peggy--”

“Captain Rogers,” Peggy said in a conspiratorial tone, leaning close.  “Just now I could think of better uses for your mouth than talking.”

A few more idle sweeps of her fingers along his hairline and she was sure she had him; he sucked in a breath and she felt his fingertips brush her jaw as he leaned forward--but just as soon he was there he was gone again, reaching around the back of his neck for her hands.

“You’re distracting me,” he laughed, pulling her arms from around his neck and holding her hands between them. “This is important.”

She might’ve frowned (it was not, as Steve would later claim, a pout, she did not pout) because he scrambled for an explanation.

“I brought you here to ask you something.”

“Anything.”

“It’s, uh,” Steve cast his eyes towards the ground. “It’s a pretty big anything.”

It was only then that she noticed that Steve’s pulse raced underneath his wrist, and that his skin was faintly pink under the light from the waterfall.

“Steve?”

“You remember that night in the pub?” he asked, looking down at their joined hands.  “The one after Bucky died?”

That was an odd change of tone. Peggy examined him worriedly, but he only seemed lost in memory.

She relaxed a bit when she saw him smile.

“I never had much, you know. Just Mom and Bucky. And then, you know--lost Mom while I was at school, so when Bucky died I didn’t have…anything.  Except you were there, when you didn’t have to be, and you told me I wasn’t alone.

“I, uh.”  He took a deep breath, his eyes meeting hers again. “That’s when I knew.”

She frowned again, shaking her head a little in confusion.  “Knew what?”

“That I wanted to marry you.”

She knew it was going to happen a beat before his hand slid into his pocket, half a second before he folded one of her hands into his, and bent, on one knee, in front of her. Peggy’s whole body flushed warm at the look on his face--wide-eyed, reverent, and just a little bit terrified--as well as the ring nestled in the box he’d popped open--a gorgeous but not ostentatious solitaire set in a band of white gold or platinum.

“Oh--”

“One of the first times we ever talked I told you, uh,” he sniffed, and Peggy squeezed the hand she was holding. “I told you I was waiting. I just--I need you to know it was you I was waiting for, and that I’m it--I mean, not me, that you’re it, you’re -”

Peggy let out a wet laugh, running her thumb over the knuckles of his hand. “Ask me the question, Steve.”

He looked up at her, so earnest it made her heart ache.

“Peggy, will you marry me?”

She sank down to her knees beside him, in a park where The Stork Club had once been, and laid her forehead against his.

“Yes,” she said, and the word broke on a smile. “Absolutely yes.”

Steve beamed at her as he slipped the ring on her finger, then tipped her head back--and then they found uses for their mouths other than talking. 

*** 

Edwin made his way to the gym again after ensuring Miss Carter found Steve successfully.  He’d found himself there a few times in the past months when he felt his hold becoming precarious.  On the front, the medics had said that the worst injuries were ones you couldn’t feel anymore.  He supposed that could likely be translated to mental health as well, but after weeks of feeling like an exposed nerve, the emotional numb that had taken over had been a blessing.  If he could only get it to stick.

He understood that Miss Carter and Captain Rogers had no intention of leaving.  He didn’t really harbor any lingering bitterness toward Steve--then again, he hadn’t been really aware of how much there’d been before the captain had brought it up, so who could say.

The point was, he was happy for Miss Carter, that she was getting the things she so richly deserved with a man who’d proven more than worthy of her.  But it didn’t stop the feeling from coming on that his skin didn’t fit quite right over his bones once he was alone again, or the images of unending isolation in one form or another.

Whatever he’d had in 1946, every relationship he’d counted on, was changed or gone, and there was nothing he could do about that.  There was, however, something he could do to a punching bag.

Tonight, however, it wasn’t proving to be the distraction it had.  It took several minutes for him to realize it hadn’t been anyone here who drove him to a physical outlet, but the person who wasn’t.  He kept thinking of the crisp morning air, high above the city, the colors of the sunrise bleeding into the sky; of blue eyes shining brighter than any diamond could hope to achieve, of laughter songbirds envied, of soft whispered words of love that had been branded on his heart.

He was dimly aware of his punches becoming more purposefully violent, but he didn’t have it in him to care. That morning, they’d promised each other forever, but now it was nearly six months to the day that she’d been gone. ‘Until death do us part’ had come entirely too soon, as it turned out, and Edwin wasn’t sure he’d ever stop being angry about it.  It was a fire that burned him constantly from the inside out, present even when the numbing depression acted as a weak insulator. Tonight, he felt the the flames licking at every nerve ending, and black hate at the loss and the man he’d blame until the day he died choking him--

He stepped back from the bag suddenly, drawing a harsh breath into lungs that burned as his control fractured.  His head snapped up at a small noise nearby, and he made an effort to reign himself in when he saw Clint watching him warily.

“Thought I might find you down here,” the other man said in an easy tone.  “Cap popping the question to Peggy and all.”

“How did you--Natasha,” Edwin realized.  “I was under the impression that she was rather good at keeping things to herself.”

“Oh, she is,” Clint said conversationally, wandering closer and reaching for the athletic tape.  “She can hold out under pretty much any torture devised. I have some...unconventional methods for getting information out of her.”

“Noted,” Edwin said, arching a brow.  “Although I’d wager a guess that it’s more to do with you.”

Clint shrugged. “Depends on her mood.  You okay?”

“Fine,” Edwin said, looking down at his hands and willing them to stop shaking.  He sniffed and lifted one to tug his ear.  “I’m quite happy for Captain Rogers and Miss Carter.”

When the other man stayed quiet, Edwin looked up again to find Clint watching him, head tilted to one side.  After a moment, he shook his head with a click of his tongue.

“Just because you want to believe it doesn’t make it less of a lie,” he said, moving past Edwin.  “If I was you, I’d be punching a lot more than a bag.”  He leaned to the side, stretching, but straightened again with a sigh when he glanced back at Edwin.  “It’s a shitty situation, and no one can fix it.  Being pissed that time doesn’t stop, that people can still find ways to be happy when you’re miserable, that nothing you do changes the fact that she left, it sucks, but it’s natural.  So toast your friends, because they deserve it, but don’t lie to me.  You deserve that.”

Several things struck Edwin from this speech.  For one, he was positive it was the most words he’d heard Agent Barton string together at one time in six months of knowing him.  Two, there was an odd relief in being told not to lie about not being happy.  Finally…the words “she left” echoed in his mind.  His wife didn’t leave, but he realized that Clint probably hadn’t even noticed the slip.

In any case, Edwin didn’t relish the idea of being alone with his ghosts again, even while fire still burned through his veins.

“I wonder, Agent Barton,” he said slowly, “if I might still be able to take you up on that offer for...tips.” 

*** 

Part of the planning had involved reserving a room at a nearby hotel to go to after the proposal, if it all went to script.  Steve just didn’t want to share her right away, and if the predatory look she’d given him as she stripped him of his dress uniform was any clue, it was the right call to make.

(Predatory Peggy made a run for top spot in his favorite flavors of her, but then his favorite flavor of Peggy tended to be whichever one was kissing him at the moment.)

In the morning, he made rainbows dance around the room when the light caught the diamond on her hand, and she giggled between moans.

(Giggling Peggy became his new favorite immediately, because that flavor meant that she was truly, undeniably happy.)

“Eventually, we’ll have to return to the real world,” Peggy murmured as checkout time beared down on them, but her fingers still combed lazily through his hair.

“As far as I’m concerned, the real world can wait until after the honeymoon,” he told her without opening his eyes, and smiled a little when the giggle found it’s way to her lips again.

“To get to the honeymoon, we have to plan a wedding.”

“There’s a courthouse two blocks away.  Give me twenty minutes.”

The giggle gave way to a laugh, then, and she pushed at his shoulder playfully.  “You’re not getting off that easy.”  She turned serious when he opened his eyes, and he reached toward her to brush the hair back from her face.  “After everything...this is something I want to celebrate.”

“Me too,” he replied, kissing her quickly.  “Alright, have it your way.  Let’s go face the music.”

“It’s not as if the music is Taps, Steve!”

“No, but Tony’s at the tower,” he said darkly as he sat up.  “There’s a few modern songs that he might decide to go with that are...not polite. At all.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she laughed.

(If he had his way, laughing Peggy would be a constant flavor for the rest of their lives.)

When they did finally arrive at the tower, everyone was lounging together in the common area--including, to Steve’s surprise and delight, Mister Jarvis.  The former butler looked more relaxed than Steve had seen him yet, although he was still seated as far as possible from Stark.

Baby steps.

“Look who the cat dragged in,” Nat drawled when she caught sight of them, smirking.

Jarvis glanced at them, then stiffened a little with an awkward cough.  When he turned, Steve’s brows shot up at the shiner he was sporting.

“Mister Jarvis, what on earth happened to your eye?” Peggy demanded.

“I...managed to hit myself with a cupboard door,” Jarvis said, tugging at one ear.  “Very clumsy.”

She arched an eyebrow, scanning the group.  “Would this be the same cupboard door that apparently hit Agent Barton in the jaw?”

“It’s a very big door,” Clint said evenly.

“Clearly,” Peggy replied dryly, and Steve looked down to hide his smile as he shook his head.  He was a little surprised that going a round with Barton was what got the fussy butler to even out, but that was something to explore another time, when his mind wasn't totally wrapped around the woman at his side.

“I trust you had a good evening, Miss Carter?” Jarvis cut in, thankfully, effectively distracting her with a pointed look at her hand.

“I...did, yes,” she said, flushing a little and smiling.  “Very good.  Erm…”

She trailed off, looking up at Steve uncertainly, and he cleared his throat as he turned back to the group.  “Peggy and I are getting married.”

“Oh my gosh, that’s wonderful!” Pepper burst out, jumping up from her seat and hurrying over to hug Peggy. “Oh, let me see--wow...that’s...that’s gorgeous.  Tony, you should come see this.  They’re getting married, she’s got a ring and everything, after only six months of being here.  Isn’t that wonderful?”

Steve brought a hand up to his mouth, trying to cover his laughter at her icy tone in a cough without much success.

“Uh, yeah, baby, that’s...that’s great,” Tony said, hurrying over.  “Yeah.  I mean, I think it’s important to remember that they’ve been together, what, seventy years?  I mean, I think, relatively, we’re not doing that bad--”

“I am not waiting seventy years,” she told him, then turned back to beam at Steve and Peggy.  “This calls for champagne.”

“I think I liked you better as a Capsicle,” Tony muttered as Pepper danced away into the kitchen.

“Hey, all I want to do is marry the woman I love,” Steve said with a shrug.  “If that makes your life uncomfortable for a while, well, that’s just a bonus.”

Tony followed after Pepper, muttering darkly, and Peggy shook her head at Steve with a sigh.  He only grinned at her before looking up again as Jarvis approached.

“Congratulations, Captain Rogers,” he said, holding out a hand to shake Steve’s.

“How many times are we gonna have to go over this?” Steve asked with a long suffering sigh as he took the other man’s hand.

“Too many already, I fear,” Jarvis said with a smirk.  “Steve, then. You’ve certainly chosen a partner that is truly above compare.”

“Yeah, well, I’m just lucky she said yes,” Steve replied, winking at Peggy as he released Jarvis’s hand.

“Exceedingly lucky,” she told him, lips twitching and eyes dancing at him before she looked back at Jarvis.

“Congratulations, Miss Carter,” he told her.  He seemed to hesitate a moment, then bent down to kiss her cheek gently.  “You deserve every bit of happiness this world can grant you.”

“Thank you, Mister Jarvis,” she said, eyes glistening.

“Champagne!” Pepper sang out as she returned with a tray of glasses.  “Come on, come on, everybody gets one.  Even you, Bruce, come on.”

“I don’t really--”

“Yeah, I know, but they’re engaged, you can do one toast,” Pepper said in a tone that even the Hulk wouldn’t be able to argue with.

“Well, when you put it that way,” Bruce said, sharing a smile with Steve as he took a glass.

Steve glanced between Jarvis and Clint as they shared a look, Clint holding his glass up a little. Jarvis nodded almost imperceptibly, then lifted his glass and cleared his throat.

Edwin had barely signed the letter to nowhere when there was a knock on his door.  He hesitated--the other residents of the tower seemed to share, and thus respect, a certain need for solitude at times, and tended to leave him alone if he didn’t answer--but then stood, tucking his notebook away under his pillow.  Although the letters were something reserved for when he was alone (mostly because he was sure the others would likely doubt his sanity if they knew he was writing letters to his dead wife), he didn’t relish being alone with his thoughts much longer at the moment.

He was nonetheless surprised, when he opened the door, to find Captain Rogers standing uncertainly on the other side.

“Captain Rogers?  What can I do for you?”

Steve glanced either way down the hall before looking at him again.  “Can I come in?”

“Of course,” Edwin said, completely baffled, but more than a little curious as he stepped back to allow Steve into the room.

“It’s...about Peggy,” the captain said, and Edwin arched a brow.

“I do hope you’re not having problems with Miss Carter,” he said.

“No!  No, it’s not that, it’s...well sort of the opposite,” Steve said, shrugging helplessly.

“I’m...not certain I understand.”

“How did you propose to Anna?” he burst out, and Edwin’s mind locked up.  This was not a conversation he wanted to have, ever.  He didn’t want to talk about her, ever.  And certainly not with the man apparently set on marrying his only friend.

“I don’t see how that’s at all relevant,” he managed.

“Because you did something right,” Captain Rogers said, running a hand through his hair as he started pacing the small space.  “I’m looking for ideas.  What did you do?”

“I said ‘marry me’ the moment I had her in my arms after she successfully escaped the violently escalating anti-semitic aggressions in Hungary.”

Captain Rogers paused, swiveling to stare at him.  “...right. Sorry.  You’re right, I shouldn’t have asked.  It’s just...you know, you’re the only other person here close to her, you probably know her as well as I do, and I just...nevermind.  That was...thoughtless.”

“It was,” Edwin agreed, narrowing his eyes as he considered the other man.  Thoughtless, yes, but not malicious.  That was obvious.  It was entirely possible that the beloved Captain America really was just that nervous and hopeless with regards to Miss Carter.  That much, he could understand.  “I gave Anna her engagement ring at sunrise at the top of the Empire State Building.”  Steve’s eyes widened at the admission, and Edwin shrugged.  “We’d already been engaged two weeks, but that had been a dream of hers for years.”

“See, that’s what I’m talking about!”

“I still don’t understand what you need from me,” Edwin replied.  “Not only is the Empire State Building no longer the tallest building in the world, as far as I know, Miss Carter has no great affinity for it.”

“No, she doesn’t, but she’s gotta have...an affinity for something,” Steve said.

Edwin shook his head. “I’m sure you’d know that better than me.”

“Well, that’s the thing, there’s a lot of things she likes,” the other man replied, dropping into the armchair in the corner of the room.  “But how do I figure out what the best thing for a proposal would be?  How do I find the ring?  Where do I give it to her?  What do I say?”

Edwin blinked. “Captain Rogers, I’m almost certain that you could drop down in front of her in the middle of any street in New York with a circle of twine and she’d agree to marry you.”

“You think?”

“Absolutely,” Edwin said without hesitation.  “Are you really concerned that she could conceivably refuse?”

“I don’t think I’m gonna be sure she won’t until she says yes,” Steve sighed.  “She’s Peggy.  She could have anyone.  And there’s a lot more people now who won’t expect her to sit at home and be their little woman than there were seventy years ago.”

“Have you seen something called, I believe, ‘the internet’?” Edwin deadpanned, and Steve let out a bark of surprised laughter.

“Point taken,” he acknowledged.  “Still...I want it to be perfect.  She deserves perfect.”

“That much...I can agree upon.”  Edwin studied him a moment, then sighed.  “Alright, we need a plan.  And a ring. Not necessarily in that order.”

oOoOo

Edwin tore the athletic tape on his wrist with his teeth before tossing it aside and rolling his neck. It had been a while since he’d done this...several years, at least.  But for several years he hadn’t felt like his skin was on fire, either.

Miss Carter had interrupted his conversation with Captain Rogers shortly after he’d agreed to help, and he was more than a little thankful.  It gave him more time to ease into the idea of what was coming, and that he’d be helping.  Images of the captain carrying his bride over the threshold of a house somewhere while Edwin remained stranded in this bloody tower with Stark assaulted his mind, and the first swing at the bag came without thought.

It didn’t help that occasionally Miss Carter and Miss Potts got the idea into their head for group dinners. They were casual affairs filled with takeaway cartons and laughter and sharing, but if Edwin could manage to feel anything at all, it was acute anger.  It wasn’t fair, he knew it wasn’t, these people had done nothing to him. But every story Tony told of his father and his mother and their happy marriage made bile rise in his throat. The fact that the youngest Stark still insisted on attempting to draw him into conversation only made him more resistant.

Trusting a Stark was not a mistake he’d make again in this lifetime.

After dinner tonight, he’d tried to write another letter to Anna, but it lacked the catharsis that he was looking for.  So when he was reasonably sure that everyone was in bed, he’d crept down to the gym for a more physical exercise in futility.  He remembered boxing matches after skirmishes in India and Palestine, how ironically organized violence seemed to counteract the lingering impact of chaos and gunsmoke.

Then the war came, and he had a whole new reason to fight.  That’s when the older men in the RAF deployments started buying him drinks after he took out one of their best, because all the fear and desperation and anger had to come out somewhere.

He’d shoved all that away when he’d been unceremoniously thrown from the service and the country, and hadn’t looked back.  He had Anna, and very particular ideas about what sort of man she needed.  It had been easy, even, because any tension or anxiety could dissolved by her touch.  Unfortunately, that was no longer an option.

Perspiration was just beginning to bead on his forehead when a sound made him freeze, automatically grabbing the punching bag to still it.  He swallowed hard when he saw Agent Barton break off from the shadows.

“Jarvis?”  He glanced around, frowning slightly.  “You’re...not who I was expecting to find.”

“Yes, well,” Jarvis said, consciously changing his stance to something less combatant and more the recognized norm, fidgeting a little with the tape on one hand.

“No skin off my nose,” Clint said, shrugging out of his jacket and picking up the athletic tape Edwin had discarded.  “Tell you what, there’s the ring.  We could do a couple rounds, I could show you how to loosen up your method.”

“Perhaps another time,” Edwin said, already unwinding the tape from his hands.  “I was just finishing up.”

“Yeah, alright,” Barton replied, flexing his hand as he wound the tape around it.  Edwin nodded, then turned away, but only managed a couple of steps before Barton spoke again.  “Only...that didn’t look like someone finishing up.  That looked like someone with a bone to pick with the universe.”

Edwin’s eyes slid closed for a moment as he battled away the ever-simmering rage at the current win to loss ratio of himself against the universe.  He took a deep breath through his nose, but only shook his head before leaving the gym.  If the conversation that afternoon had proven anything, his was a very individual war. 

oOoOo 

Sitting at the table with cup of tea, Peggy Carter watched her dearest friend and the love of her life from the corner of her eye. 

They were, ostensibly, watching television. Even as summer waned into autumn, baseball lingered like a bad head cold, and Steve, Peggy had found, could be as easily roused for battle by a Yankees game as he could by an incursion of enemy soldiers--once upon a time, it would have been the Dodgers, but he’d apparently been embittered when they won the World Series and then left Brooklyn, all while he was sleeping under the ice. It was something she’d discovered only recently, and might have found amusing to watch if it hadn’t been for two things. 

The first was this: Most people had a tell. Mr. Jarvis, for example, tugged at his ear when he lied. When he was uncomfortable, Dr. Banner tended to shift from foot to foot. When faced with a topic she did not wish to discuss, Agent Romanoff cracked a joke or simply left the room. 

Steve Rogers, on the other hand, was so blatantly abysmal at lying that his entire body was a tell. 

Prowess in battle excepted, Steve was not a particularly graceful creature. He wasn’t clumsy, but he did often move as a man used to taking up much less space. Most of that shaky awkwardness had long since fled--except when he was uncomfortable. 

Usually, when Steve watched television - baseball especially, she’d found - he would lean forward, engaged. Now he seemed to be trying to take up as little space as possible, mumbling something under his breath while giving her the most conspicuous side-eyed glance she’d ever seen in her life. 

Oh, bless. 

Mr. Jarvis mumbled back, and Peggy took another sip of tea. 

The second thing was that she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Mister Jarvis had no interest in baseball. 

She should, she supposed, be happy that Steve had managed to draw Mister Jarvis out, even if only a little bit. He’d been only barely short of a complete recluse lately - not that she blamed him, but it was becoming...worrying. Drawing him out was becoming more and more of a trial, and she worried that he never quite seemed to settle. It was good to see him, and even better to see him with Steve, who’d seemed to warm to him when Peggy first told him about how they’d met. 

Mr. Jarvis said something - whatever it was, Peggy couldn’t hear,- and Steve chuckled, glancing in her direction. 

Oh, that wouldn’t do. 

Getting up and putting the tea things away, Peggy made her way over to the common area. Steve was facing away from her, gesturing animatedly towards Mr. Jarvis, who seemed to be regarding him intently, until--

Until he saw her.

Peggy’s eyebrows shot upwards as the look on Jarvis’ face as she crossed the room towards them. The look could be considered nothing less than alarm, and as she crossed the room the two men stopped talking and Steve spun around in his seat so quickly she thought he might fall out of it. “Uh, hi,” he said.  “We were just, uh--”

Steve spluttered for a moment, looking entirely like a little boy who’d just been caught out at doing what he wasn’t supposed to.

“Captain Rogers was kind enough to explain to me the game of baseball.”

Peggy arched an eyebrow.

“Was he, now? And how are you finding it, Mister Jarvis?” 

“Oh...fascinating.” 

Mister Jarvis’ hand twitched--likely, Peggy thought, towards his ear to tug on it, but he looked at her and thought better of it. Instead, he coughed nervously and attempted to look interested in whatever was happening on the screen. 

“That’s, uh,” said Steve, pointing at the screen. “That’s called a double play. See how they tagged the bases like that? That means both those guys are out.” 

Steve looked at Peggy and smiled--the guileless, unassuming smile of a schoolboy hiding something he shouldn’t have behind his back. She looked at Mister Jarvis, but he was quite deliberately avoiding her gaze by staring stone-faced at the television. 

“You’re quite sure there’s nothing either of you would like to tell me?” 

“Nah,” said Steve, scratching the back of his neck -  at the same time that Mister Jarvis said “Not a thing.”

She could press the matter. It would be entirely possible to have the information out of them in the space of a stern glance and a few well-placed questions, if she chose, but--

--the two men traded what she was sure they thought was a conspiratorial look.

“Well, I do hope that whatever you’re planning comes to fruition soon,” Peggy said, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow at their panicked looks.  “Because if not, someone will find out, because, honestly, you two are the absolute worst at espionage.”

She waited a beat as they exchanged another guilty look, then impatiently clucked her tongue before turning away.

At least they were getting along.

oOoOo

“So the ring should be ready next week--how’d you figure out her size anyway?”

“Good sleuthing,” Jarvis replied immediately.

Steve tilted his head, not quite believing him, but still impressed.  “Whatever you say.”

“Incidentally, you may want to return this to Miss Carter,” Jarvis said then, and Steve grinned as he dug another ring out of his pocket and shrugged.  “I’ve seen her wear it before on her right ring finger, then simply estimated half a size down for her left hand, being the less dominant one.”

“Huh.”  Steve took the ring and toyed with it a second.  “Did you have to do that with Anna?”

“I did not,” Jarvis replied shortly, then rolled his eyes at Steve’s curious expression.  “My wife knew I’d be getting her a ring eventually. It was much more straightforward. And, I might add, entirely irrelevant. Have you decided on a venue?”

“Venue for what?” Tony asked behind them, and they both froze before pivoting around to him. “Are you having a party?”

“Uh, no, Tony,” Steve told him, shifting uncomfortably as the tension that always seemed to appear whenever Stark and Jarvis were in the same room ratcheted up.  “It’s just a...thing I’m doing.”

“Shindig, then,” Tony said. “That’s alright, shindigs are good. We can have schwarma again--hey maybe you can even stay awake for it this time!  I can--”

“It’s nothing that concerns you, Mister Stark,” Jarvis cut in.  “If you’ll excuse us--”

“It’s something for Peggy, isn’t it?” Tony asked as they started to turn away, and Jarvis and Steve both stopped again and exchanged a look.  “Oh, please, you two aren’t exactly masters of stealth.  So come on, how can I help?  I can find a place, pretty sure there’s no one that says ‘no’ or ‘reserved’ once someone else says ‘money is no object’--”

“I’m quite certain we can handle this without your assistance,” Jarvis interrupted again, his tone now icy.  “Shockingly, there are no plans for accidental pyrotechnics or near-death experiences, so it’s really not your area of expertise.”

He spun on his heel and began to stalk away, while Steve shrugged a little helplessly at Tony.  The millionaire was watching Jarvis’s retreating back with a tense expression, a muscle working in his jaw.

“I’m not my father you know!” he burst out, and Jarvis once again halted.  When he turned, even Steve took a step back from the burn in his eyes.

“Is that truly what you believe?” he asked in a quiet, dangerous tone.  “You believe you’re nothing like him, despite being the United States’ foremost military weapons contracter?  Despite a lab stocked with any number of rockets, grenades, and artillery, enough to take down an entire country’s military forces?  Despite the fact that none of that was enough, that you had to create yourself a suit and fashion yourself into a god, a hero among the ordinary people, equal to those of Captain Rogers’ caliber, for no other reason than you had the funds and the ingenuity and the vanity and no one to tell you ‘no’.  How many people have you hurt, accidentally or by association, do you think?  How many people are out there mourning the loss of loved ones because you didn’t know when to stop?”

“I’m not...I’m not the government’s weapons contractor anymore,” Tony said, although his voice lacked his usual snide bravado.  All Steve could do was stare--it was the most he’d heard Jarvis say at once in the months that he’d been there, and it...wasn’t good.  He couldn’t help wondering if Peggy was aware of how angry and bitter her friend still was.

Not that he didn’t deserve to be.  But Tony didn’t deserve this either.

Now, Jarvis sneered at Tony, continuing on his tirade before Steve was able to shake off his shock. “Well, I’ll be sure to scratch that off the list.  I’m thrilled that that helps you sleep better at night.  You want to prove you’re not your father, Mister Stark?  Think of all the people that have been lost because of your cursed family name.  Bring just one of them back; that would be the truly impressive feat.  Until then, as far as I’m concerned, you’re just as guilty as him.  He’d be proud, I’m sure--it’s the Stark legacy.”  Tony was silent, looking down at the ground.  “Right.  I think we’re done here.”

He straightened, tugging at his suit jacket, then turned and strode away down the hall.  Steve shifted, torn--he couldn’t leave Jarvis like that, but he’d never seen Tony look so...defeated.  Even after nearly dying from flying into a black hole, even when all of them took an emotional hit when Coulson died, he’d still been full of idiotic sarcasm and pride.  Now...he just looked small, slumped in on himself.

“Stark--”

Tony sniffed, looking up, then cleared his throat.  “Don’t bother.  He’s right.”

“Where are you going?” Steve demanded when he turned away.

“To make Dad proud,” Tony muttered, walking away in the opposite direction Jarvis had taken.

“Look away, Nat,” Clint warned behind her.  “This is...not for the faint of heart.”

“Did you really wear all these?” she asked, stepping closer to one that made him look a little like Robocop.

“Oh yeah,” Steve said, winding his way between two of them to lean on the shoulder of one sporting a loin cloth and bell bottom boots. “I think that we should bring this one back, personally.”

“This is amazing,” she whispered.  “Steve, come here, take my picture.”

“Gladly,” he said, pulling out his phone.

“What...how…” Clint managed in a dazed voice, looking around as Natasha posed next to the skirted one, kissing it’s cardboard cheek.

“The internet is so helpful,” Steve said, taking a couple of shots of Nat.  “And Kinkos. Did you know they’ll print anything?”

“I thought you were supposed to be the good guy,” Clint said, scowling at the cutouts.  “The morally upright out of all of us.”

Steve sighed, looking down for a second.  “You know, I did promise someone a long time ago that I would try to be a good man.  And looking at this…”  He paused, looking over his work again, then grinned.  “I think he’d say it was amazing too.  He was friends with Howard Stark, after all.”

“You’re a menace,” Clint said, backing away out the door again.

“Where are you going?” Nat asked.

“To find a furnace.  Stark’s gotta have one around here somewhere.”

“At least we both know we can pull off tights!” Steve shouted after him, then grinned at Natasha.  She crossed her arms, turning to stand next to him and survey his small army of fashion disasters.  She sighed, smirking as she shook her head.

“I gotta hand it to you, Rogers,” she said, glancing up at him.  “I didn’t think you had it in you.  But this is...very good.”

“Yeah, it’s not bad,” he said.  “But this is nothing.  Wait til he sees his bedroom.”

Nat’s eyes widened, and she glanced back at the doorway. “I take it he has new wallpaper?”

“Oh yeah,” Steve said, grinning at her.  “The purple really brightens the place up.”

Just then, they heard a shout from down the hall.

“ROGERS! I HOPE YOU’RE NOT ATTACHED TO YOUR KNEECAPS!”

Steve looked down the hall, then back at Natasha proudly. “I think he likes it.”

“Miss Potts, if you’d prefer, I’m sure we could find other arrangements--”

“No, Peggy, it’s fine, I was just...surprised.”

Peggy exchanged a look with Steve as Pepper moved past them toward the wine rack.

“Really, it’s fine--”

“Tony promised to let me take a vacation with his credit card if he blew up anything,” Pepper cut in, not looking up from the wine bottle she was examining.  “I’m thinking we’ll have a nice Christmas together.”

Peggy fought a smile as she glanced back at Tony, who looked away as he pulled out his phone.

“Did you know, Pepper, that I once slugged Tony’s father?” she asked, turning back to Pepper.

“Just once?” Pepper asked, and they smiled at each other. “I like you.  You can share my wine.”

“We really need to work on how you make friends, Agent Carter,” Steve said, and Peggy kissed his cheek before following Pepper into the kitchen.

***

Peggy wasn’t entirely sure what woke her up.  Maybe it was Steve burrowing close, or maybe she was still getting used to the new place, or maybe just a strange sense of something wrong.  But one of the first things she noticed, blinking against the lingering shroud of sleepiness, was that Steve was shivering.

She turned with some difficulty, his arms tight around her as they were.  His eyes were still closed, but as he took a deep breath, his teeth chattered.  She frowned in concern, holding a hand up to his cheek--he was warm, but not really more so than usual, with the way he ran hot after the serum.  So, not a fever.  Still, he curled into her like he was trying to siphon off her warmth in his sleep.

“Steve?” she whispered, stroking his cheek gently, and he groaned, another violent shudder running through him before his eyes fluttered open.  “Are you alright, darling?”

He closed his eyes again for a second, then twisted and reached for the heavy jumper hanging from a post on headboard, sitting up to tug it on before snuggling down again.  He pulled the covers up around them, holding her against his chest.

“You’re not too warm are you?” he murmured, pressing his lips to her head.

“No.  Not yet, at any rate,” she told him, brow still furrowed in concern.  After all, he’d been the one able to weather Russian winters with little more than a leather jacket over his uniform and a fire in front of him on the coldest nights.  “Steve--”

“I just...have trouble getting warm sometimes,” he whispered.  “I guess seventy years in the ice had to leave some effect.  Pretty sure it’s in my head, but--”

“Well,” she said, leaning up to kiss his cheek when he trailed off with an air of embarrassment.  “I think that means it’s high time you started getting some return on all those nights you kept me warm on watch, don’t you?”

She wrapped her arms around him and wound one leg around his, and after a moment, the shivers stopped.  She felt his lips on her hair again a moment before his breathing became slow and even once more, and she squeezed a little.  She’d probably wake up needing a cold shower, between his heat and the heavy covers and the early June temperature, but she decided it was a fair trade off.

He’d been cold long enough.

***

“Alright, here’s the deal,” Natasha said without preamble, walking into the kitchen with Pepper.  “We’re stealing your girl for the day Rogers, and this Stark Industries no limit credit card says you won’t argue with me.”

Peggy blinked, and Steve opened his mouth, then closed it again and shook his head.  Pepper rolled her eyes, plucking the card out of Natasha’s hand and stepping in front of her.

“I told you I should’ve handled this,” she said, shaking her head.  “Peggy, we’re taking you out shopping.  You need new clothes from this decade, ones that you aren’t stealing from Steve and actually fit.”

“Not that I mind you taking my t-shirts,” Steve added, slipping his arms around Peggy’s waist.  “You look great in them.”

“That’s your ego talking, Rogers,” Natasha said, and this time, Pepper nodded.

“Peggy needs actual clothes of her own,” she said, then turned to Peggy.  “So, you in? Figured we could make a day of it, shopping, manicures, hair salon, the works.  I could use a girl’s day out.”

Peggy eyed the two women; she’d never got on particularly well with women on the whole.  It wasn’t really a disliking factor, it was just wildly different interests and occupations.  However, Natasha had already proven to be more her ilk--she quite liked the spy who seemed to have adopted Steve like a lost puppy--and she couldn’t help thinking that anyone who could manage to run a Fortune 500 company and wrangle a Stark into something resembling good behavior was someone Peggy could respect.

Also, she really did desperately need more clothes.  The Doctor had been kind enough to let her take a few things from the TARDIS, but her wardrobe was still incredibly limited, and clearly dated to a large degree.

“Go,” Steve said, kissing her hair and taking her coffee cup.  “I’ll clean up breakfast.  Enjoy yourself.”

Peggy nodded, already moving away from him. “I’ll just go change.”

It was hours later when Steve’s reading was interrupted by Pepper and Natasha plopping down on either side of him, Pepper giggling in a way that hinted at a lot of champagne over the course of the day.   He frowned when Natasha grabbed his book and snapped it shut.

“I was reading that.”

“Calm down, bookworm,” she said, petting his shoulder in a way that hinted that she had also taken part in the champagne.  “We’re about to be your new best friends.”

“What?  Why?”

The why became incredibly clear when he looked up to see Peggy enter the room.  His jaw fell open a little when he took in the hair, cut and styled so it once again matched the photo in his compass, and he sat up a little straighter when he noticed the clothes.  The forties style fit her figure well--obscenely so, he’d had plenty of experience trying to not look at her hips and remind himself to breathe--but this was...nice.  Fitted black trousers, high black heels, black vest over a white button up, sleeves rolled and the top buttons popped.  She bit her lip, giving him an uncertain little smile as she spun on her toes.

“What do you think?”

Steve continued to stare for a second, trying to form words and failing.  “Uh. I...think...I have two new best friends.”

He stood, stepping closer and slipping his hands over her waist.  His thumbs brushed over her ribs, hidden underneath the layers of cloth, while she raised her arms to loop them loosely around his neck.

“You like it?”

“I love it.  Do you like it?”

“Strangely, yes,” she said, tilting her head and raising her eyes thoughtfully.  “There’s several interesting developments in fashion, Steve--I’ve never known denim to be quite so ubiquitous.  And the undergarments--my god, this decade understands female comfort so well, not to mention the interesting fabrics and patterns--”

His eyes grew hooded as several...fascinating visions danced through his mind’s eye.

“I could show you those, too,” she said, giving him a sexy smile that would have had him growling if they didn’t have company. Instead, he took her hand, pulling her out into the hall, intent on a very different fashion show that ended up with some very pretty clothes brightening up his otherwise boring floor.

“You’re welcome, Cap!”

***

It was a long time coming.

It took half an hour to finish her hair, sitting at the makeshift vanity in her room and brushing the curls softly against her palm. In this new day and age Peggy had any number of hot tools that she might’ve used to speed the process along, but there was something in the ritual of getting ready - unpinning her hair, letting it fall and then shaping it into place - that was as much a part of the date as the date itself. 

The dress she chose was a deep burgundy, with lips and nails to match, and the outfit finished off with a fine string of pearls and heels just tall enough to keep her from seeming Lilliputian next to her towering date. There was also new pair of nylon stockings--real ones, with proper seams--that had taken some real searching to find, and something lacy underneath that she’d only recently discovered was Steve’s particular weakness.

None of this was strictly necessary, as she’d been constantly reassured by her very modern friends--she didn’t have to put in so much effort, and wasn’t it exhausting?  Yes, she and Steve weren’t going to any particular lengths to keep themselves from one another, not anymore, not after the war and their separation made short work of getting familiar. They were familiar now in more ways than she’d ever dreamed, but that was part of why it was so endearing that he’d shooed her off to the room she never used and told her he’d pick her up at six o'clock sharp for dinner and a picture. 

At six o’clock, she was not disappointed. 

“Captain, you are...impeccably on time,” she said with a laugh, opening the door at the knock - but the old joke didn’t seem to register. Instead, Steve’s mouth hung open for a moment when he saw her, before he snapped it shut with effort. 

“You’re beautiful,” he said, seeming to forget himself as he fumbled with something in his hand. “Um, sorry, hi.” 

“Hello,” she said with a smile - a smile that widened when Steve reached over to pin a small flower to her collar. He stole a kiss when he was finished - a kiss that might have gotten out of hand, if he hadn’t leaned back and cleared his throat. 

“We’d better go,” he said, offering her his arm. “Or, uh,” his eyes drifted back through the door of her bedroom, to the empty bed beyond.

“Yes, I think we’d better had,” she said, looping her arm through the crook of his elbow and giving him a meaningful crook of the eyebrow. “Lest your natural instincts kick in and we’re late after all.”

“No, no, we’re going out,” he said firmly, with such conviction that Peggy had to giggle.

Peggy laughed, and picked up her purse from the hook on the wall before she shut the door behind them. 

Oh, but did she ever enjoy watching the tips of his ears turn pink. 

Dinner was lovely. Peggy managed to draw two new shades of pink out of Steve, and one particularly delicious smoulder as her hand found his knee under the table. They ate pizza--which she was learning was a ubiquitous food in the modern era, but also rapidly becoming one of her favorites--in a dimly lit shop near the cinema, Peggy sneaking an extra slice of pepperoni while Steve regaled her with things he’d like to show her.

“Have you even seen what a grocery store looks like, now? They’re huge and they have everything. Oh, and Disney World, Peggy! You oughta see what Walt Disney did with himself, there’s a whole theme park in Florida. Someday I’m gonna take you.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t been already,” she said. “It seems like the sort of thing you’d love.” 

Steve paused, shrugging and taking a swig of his beer “Didn’t really wanna go alone.”

Oh, darling. 

The cinema, it seemed, was a more casual affair than it had been just...well, just last month, by Peggy’s recollection, but then again everything was a more casual affair. Still, old-fashioned though it might have been, their way of doing things did have its perks. Steve looked very fit in his suit, and as he leaned his arm across the back of her seat she caught the scent of his cologne - something heavenly that he must’ve kept for special occasions, because it was certainly new to her. Her reasons for snuggling in were purely mercenary--during the war she’d never gotten this close to him unless it was cold and miserable, and though she’d had plenty of opportunity since, Peggy had every intention to make it an utterly ordinary occurrence. 

They were seeing a children’s movie, something about a Scottish girl with very large hair and a bow and arrow, but Peggy hadn’t been paying enough attention to remember the name, too occupied with the fit of Steve’s suit to care. Animation had apparently come a long, long way in sixty-five years, but the real show was in watching Steve’s face as he watched it.

He shook his head in disbelief, leaning over to whisper in her ear. “Can you believe this? Tony said it’s all done with a computer.” 

She was regaled with several different things that Tony had said, but hardly heard any of them. There was the long column of his throat to admire, and the way his fingers traced absent patterns on her arm, and an experiment to be conducted on whether or not he would shiver when she laid her hand on his thigh. There was a moment where she was briefly distracted by the movie--“I’ll be shootin’ for my OWN hand!”, bravo--but after an hour had passed the temptation was just too great. Biting her lip, Peggy leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his neck.

“Peg--” he shivered, and shifted in his seat, his hand coming up to tangle in her hair. 

“Captain Rogers, I am busy.” 

“But, but we’re in--”

Peggy leaned up, cocking an eyebrow. “Surely you know how necking in a theater works.” 

Peggy grinned at his shy smile and nod, and then returned to her good work. She’d spent more than enough time daydreaming about leaving lipstick on his collar, and she had a lot of catching up to do. 

A long time coming, indeed. 

***

“Alright, you, White Stripes, heads up,” Tony said, to absolutely no effect.  He rolled his eyes, nudging Peggy.  “That’s you and Jarvis.”

“Is it?” Peggy asked, glancing down at herself, then at Jarvis.  “I don’t understand, neither of us are wearing stripes, white or otherwise.”

“It’s--nevermind, look, I’ve got something for you,” he said, handing over a cell phone for each of them.

“Will it...explode?” Jarvis asked, looking up from his newspaper and taking the device gingerly.

“What?  Why would--nevermind,” Tony said, remembering who his father was.  “No.  At least, not if you don’t want it to.  They’re phones.”

“How...compact,” Peggy said, turning the device over in her hands.  “It would appear you’ve forgotten the dial, however.”

“Uh, no, it’s--here--”

He pressed the button to wake up the screen, then swiped at it to unlock the phone.  Peggy blinked, staring down at it.  Jarvis watched closely, then repeated the actions on his own device, his eyebrows shooting up as the screen came up.

“I’ve already put all of us in as contacts, so if you need anything--”

“We won’t have to grow hoarse shouting down the hall?” Peggy suggested, then shook her head.  “Honestly, all this technology now, it’s as if your father put something in the water.”

“Only if he started in Silicon Valley,” Tony said, still toying with Peggy’s phone while Jarvis swiped at his phone with narrowed eyes.

“A valley made of silicon?” Peggy asked.  “That seems very Howard.”

“No, it’s--nevermind.  You can text people too, it’s like...telegrams, but faster. Here, look.”

He leaned over, typing out a message to Steve--Hey hot stuff, when will I get my hands on that patriotic ass?--as he leaned over to show her.

“Then you just press send, and if you press this, you can see any conversations you have going with anyone else.  You can send pictures too--Oh, I can get you a...selfie...stick…”

He slowed to a stop when she got a new text:

Your room or mine?  I’ve got a few more patriotic parts that wouldn’t mind being explored.

Tony stared at it a second, trying to decide whether it was more disturbing that the text he’d sent was believably Peggy, or that Steve “Yes, my moral compass is stuck at due north” Rogers had replied the way he did.  Both, probably.

“Gross,” he said finally, handing her the phone.  He shuddered when she licked her lips and smiled, turning away.  “Since Cap has apparently mastered the cell phone, you can get the rest of the tutorial from him.  Just...make sure you wash your hands first.”

***

Edwin looked up when Peggy entered the lounge area, looking a little lost.  She didn’t see him at first, just looked around with a faint sigh, hands on her hips. She rolled her eyes with a self-deprecating expression when she did catch sight of him.

“For a place with so many people, it’s astonishing that there would ever be a moment alone,” she said.  “Where on earth is everyone?”

“Well,” he said, pulling his telephone out of his pocket and pulling up the calendar.  Handy devices, these new phones.  “Agents Romanoff and Barton are in Sudan, Mister Stark is currently at a conference in Ontario while Miss Potts is attending a meeting in London.  I’m not entirely certain what’s become of Doctor Banner, but he’ll likely turn up here or on the news in short order.  And, as I’m sure you’re aware, Captain Rogers has left on a rather severely classified mission in India.”

Peggy blinked, staring at him.  “How on earth do you keep track of all that?”

He held up the phone in answer, and she nodded, glancing around again as she hooked a piece of hair behind her ear.

“Miss Carter, are you alright?” he asked after a moment, frowning at her obvious unease.

She shrugged, looking down at her hand as she picked at a fingernail.  “It’s silly, really.”

He continued to watch her until she looked up, and she let out an exasperated sound as she ran a hand through her hair.  “He left in a plane.  Which is completely understandable, because he had a mission halfway around the world, but it’s the first time he’s left since we got here, and in 1945--”

“--that was the last time you saw him,” he realized, then sighed.  “Oh, Miss Carter…”

“Honestly, it’s maddening,” she said, letting out a laugh even as her eyes grew bright.  “I’ve become one of those women I always hated in stories, getting all weepy and mooning about whenever their love so much as left the room.”

“I hardly think the situation is comparable,” he replied softly, and she sniffed, blinking away tears and licking her lips before returning her eyes to his.

“That was the first time I kissed him, you know,” she told him, and he tilted his head in curiosity.  “Before that...blasted plane.  Right in front of Colonel Phillips, too.  I don’t know what came over me, we’d been so careful up until then.”

“I doubt Captain Rogers minded,” he said, arching a brow, and she let out another laugh, one that sounded a little more like herself. “I think there’s an inverse relationship between propriety and wartime, in any case.  There’s far too many moments pressed thin by the weight of last chances to consider ramifications.”

“Perhaps,” she admitted, wrapping her arms around herself as she looked around again.

“I first kissed Anna because she threatened to never speak to me again if I didn’t,” he blurted.  He still had...difficulty talking about her, but this was Miss Carter, and he could think of nothing else to comfort her.

She blinked at him, seeming to confused to remember for a moment that she was sad or worried.  “I beg your pardon?”

“It was after I took her to dinner...that she asked me to.”

“She asked you to dinner?” Peggy asked, a small smile forming on her lips.

“Yes, I’m afraid I made something of a mess of that,” he said, burying his hands in his pockets.  “That, and several articles of clothing.  It may shock you to learn, Miss Carter, that I have not always been the charismatic, charming, debonair Don Juan that stands before you now.”

“Astounding,” she replied.  The faint smile melted after a moment, and she looked for a second more vulnerable than he could immediately recall seeing before, except perhaps in cases involving the vial.  “Were you frightened?  When you went back to England and she was still in Hungary?”

“Terrified,” he answered, without hesitation, and she nodded before looking down.  She looked up after a moment, glancing around as she took a deep breath.

“Well, Mister Jarvis,” she said finally.  “Since it would seem we have the place to ourselves for the time being, how would you like to join me in reviewing some of the cinema we missed?”

Given that his other choices for diversions were cleaning everything--again--or writing another letter to a dead woman to torture himself, an afternoon with only Miss Carter and no expectations suddenly sounded...relieving.

“Miss Carter, I can think of no better way to pass the time,” he told her honestly, finding his own lips twitching in response to her brilliant grin.

***

“Psst, Tasha!”

Nat looked up from her book, glancing around the empty room before twisting around on the sofa to look back at the door.

“You know there’s no one here, right?” she asked Clint. “You don’t have to whisper.”

“I’m trying to get in the spirit of the thing,” he told her.  “Come on, I have something to show you.”

“What is it?” she asked suspiciously, even as she set down her book and got to her feet.

“It’s a secret,” he said, putting a finger to his lips. It never stopped being surreal to be told by a deaf man to be quiet, but she just shrugged and followed.  She’d known him entirely too long to still keep a running catalogue of everything weird about him.

He led her down the hall to what looked like a high school AV room from 1983, which should have been weird given the other insane tech in the tower, but this was Tony Stark so of course this existed too.  He sat her down in front of a screen, standing behind her to start an old reel to reel machine.

“I swear to god, if this is Space Dogs--”

“No,” he said.  “You’re still wrong about that, by the way.  But this is just for you.”

There was a stage with chorus girls in patriotic uniforms, and as the music swelled, a man stepped out from behind the curtains in a very familiar looking outfit--

“Oh my god,” she whispered as the girls began to sing--

“Who’s strong and brave, here to save the American way?”

“Not all of us can storm a beach or drive a tank, but there’s still a way all of us can fight!”

“OH MY GOD,” she repeated, at a much higher volume, grabbing Clint’s arm.  “Is that really--”

“YUP.”

“Are those tights?”

“And hot pants,” Clint said, grinning widely when Nat glanced back at him.

“Who will campaign door to door for America, carry the flag shore to shore for America?” the chorus girls were asking when she looked back at the screen hands over her mouth as she tried not to squeal in excitement.  “From Hoboken to Spokane, the Star Spangled Man With a Plan!”

The grainy, black and white Steve saluted the audience with a cheeky grin that practically twinkled.  Nat jumped up, climbing over her chair and onto Clint, legs and arms wrapping around him as she kissed him hard.

“This is the best day ever,” she told him seriously when she released his lips with an audible pop.

“And you haven’t even seen the movies yet,” he told her.

“There’s movies??”

She watched the dance sequence three times, and Steve punching an overacting Hitler another four, before venturing on to a movie that was every bit as ridiculous as she’d hoped.  Clint abandoned her at some point only to come back with popcorn, setting another chair next to hers and catching pieces of popcorn she tossed up with his mouth whenever there was a lull in the action.

She decided to save the rest for later, mostly so she could get Bruce and Tony in on the action, but gave Clint another heated kiss before leaving the little AV room as a thank you for giving her the best gift ever, aside from her collection of nutcrackers.

It got a little out of hand, but she wasn’t particularly sorry about that either.

When they did finally make it back to the living room, Clint still tugging his shirt back over his head, the day only got better when she saw Steve on the couch.  He was flipping through some sports channels, one arm stretched across the back while he waited for Peggy to join him, and he raised the remote in greeting when he saw them. To his credit, he only raised one puritanical eyebrow and their slightly rumpled appearance--though, to be fair, Clint pretty much always looked slightly rumpled.

She paused for a second, then danced over to the other couch, whistling quietly as she picked up her book.  She kept her eyes on it even as she caught Steve stiffen in her peripheral vision, continuing to whistle and turning a page nonchalantly.

“Where did you hear that?” he asked, turning his head toward her slowly.

“Oh, some old dance number to sell war bonds,” she said with a shrug.  “Clint found it, thought I’d like it.”

“Why?” he asked Clint, who shrugged as he dropped down on the couch beside Nat, raising his arms automatically when she lifted her legs to his lap.

“Just seemed like something she’d enjoy.”

“Nat--”

“I gotta say, though, as great as that dance number was,” she went on, eyes still on her book, “the movies were way better.”

“The movies?” he echoed, sounding a little strangled.

“Oh yeah,” she said.  “Everything you could want, action, machine guns, blondes in tights...and that was just the leading man.”

“You did fill out those tights rather nicely,” Peggy said, leaning on the back of the couch beside him, and he looked up at her in utter betrayal.

“Et tu, Peggy?”

“What?  It’s the truth.”

“You don’t still have those shorts, do you?” Nat asked, finally looking up at him.  “I bet they’d be great for when training drills turn into impromptu dance numbers.”

“Yeah, okay,” he said, jumping up and taking Peggy’s hand.  “Come on.”

“Where are we going?” she asked, practically jogging behind him.

“I dunno.  Not here?”

“You mean the Star Spangled Man doesn’t have a plan?” Nat asked, feigning shock, and he whipped around to point a finger at Clint, who was clutching his stomach and laughing too hard to breathe.

“This will come back on you, Barton,” Steve threatened. “When you least expect it, I’ll--”

“Whatever, man,” Clint said, still laughing.  “Worth it.”

“I am never going to live this down, am I?” he asked Peggy, deflating a little.

“Aw, cheer up,” she said, brushing a lock of hair out his eyes and leaning up to kiss his cheek.  “You did a lot of good on that tour, and raised a lot of money for the war effort.”

“Yeah, I guess,” he said, still pouting a little.

“And you really did make such a cute chorus girl.”

“Peg!”

***

“Alright, Clint and Natasha, you take the west entrance, Rumlow and his team are watching the back, and Peggy and me will take the front.”

“Make sure you don’t take all the fun,” Nat said, revving up her four wheeler and taking off with Clint on the back.

“Do you think she meant that for you or me?” Peggy asked, adjusting one of her gloves and checking that her gun was loaded.

“Yes?” Steve guessed, and she smirked at him.

He took a deep breath, looking back at the building complex while he waited for everyone to get in position.  It was nondescript but for the soldier patrolling the gated entrance, but it still made him itch as he cast a sideways glance at Peggy. The last time Peggy had been on a mission with him, apart from that...very last one, she’d gotten shot in the shoulder.  She’d been fine, mostly, just a couple of raised scars and a fractured shoulder bone that had healed quickly, but it had shaken him.  It wasn’t that she was a woman, she’d always been more than capable of handling herself.  It was that she was Peggy, one of the only people who genuinely thought he was enough, and the idea of losing her had made him cold to the core.

But now she was with him, here, in 2012, and bored, which meant more missions.  Which was fine--great, even, he liked knowing he had someone watching his back again. He just...wasn’t totally sure what he’d do if something happened to her now.

“Steve?”

Steve blinked, realizing suddenly that Peggy was giving him a confused look and tapping at her ear.  Then he heard Natasha call his name on the comms, and he shook himself, focusing back on the moment.

“Right, sorry,” he managed.

“Settle a bet for us,” Rumlow said.  “Were you making out with Carter?”

“Yeah, I’m not answering that,” he replied, shaking his head when Peggy grinned.  “Alright, everyone in position?”

With the affirmative from the team, he headed for the entrance with the Peggy, shield and gun at the ready as they crept through the trees.

Peggy held up a hand as they approached, and Steve hung back, just out of sight.  She holstered her gun, taking a deep breath before approaching the guard, and Steve narrowed his eyes at the extra swing to her hips in her close fitting pants.

“Hello,” she said brightly, and Steve rolled his eyes. “Sorry, got a bit turned around, first day, you know how it goes, one minute you’re looking for the canteen, getting your boss some coffee, and next thing, you’re...outside the gate and all the trees look the same.”  She let out a short chuckle, smacking her own head as she let out an exaggerated and audible sigh.  “So, um, I was looking for building seven?”

“Uh.”  Steve almost felt for the guy, he knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of Peggy’s smile.  “Yeah, um, I’m not sure if…”

“Oh, please, it’d be a real favor if we could just...keep this between us.  I’d be...very appreciative.”

Steve huffed out a breath gently and glanced around as she grabbed the guy’s arm and squeezed a little.  He still looked uncertain, until she flashed him another one of those potent smiles.

Steve shook his head and sighed as the guard turned, holding his ID up toward the RFID reader.

“I guess, if it’s your first day, wouldn’t want you to get in too much trouble--”

He was cut off by the butt of Peggy’s gun cracking against his skull as the gate clanked open.  Steve approached then, nudging the guy with his boot.

“I can’t believe he fell for that.”

“Same idiots, different decade,” Peggy said with a shrug, stepping over his prone body and into the complex, then looked back at Steve.  “Are you coming?”

He stared at her a second, then shook his head again as he followed.

“Was that really necessary?”

“You said you wanted to come in quiet and under the radar,” she reminded him.  She glanced up at his...probably less than thrilled expression, and rolled her eyes. “Oh come on, it’s not as if I didn’t know that if things had gone badly, your shield would have spun out of the trees and knocked him out cold before he could even get his gun out.”

“Yeah,” he admitted.  “You know what would have been nice though?  If that had just been Plan A to begin with.  Just saying.”

“Probably, but where’s the fun in that for me?”

He looked down at her warily, all flushed cheeks and bright eyes.  “You are enjoying this way too much.”

She only grinned up at him, her tongue running over her teeth, and he felt a smile come to his own lips in spite of himself.  He had...really missed her.  It was really easy to forget, with everything lost and far away, how much they’d managed to have fun, even during a war.

It felt closer now.

“So,” she said, looking around a corner of a building. “Where do you want to start?”

He looked around her, considering for a second--then stopped when there was an explosion to the south.  He sighed--so much for coming under the radar, but at least everyone was running away from them now.

“By splitting up,” he told her.  “I’m not totally sure where the agents are, and there’s a lot of buildings to cover, even with Nat and Clint.”

“Yes, sir, Captain, sir,” she said, not even looking up as she crept toward the edge of the building.

“Hey,” he said, taking her arm and pulling her back around, lifting his other hand to her cheek as he kissed her.  He ran his thumb over her cheekbone when he raised his head a far too brief moment later.  “Go get ‘em.”

“And you,” she murmured, leaning up to give him another quick kiss before scurrying away.

He went the other direction, bringing his shield back around to his arm.  He used it to break the lock on the first building he came to, only to find himself in a room with eight other very armed and very cranky looking men.

“Hi,” he said, looking around.  “Would you believe that I got lost on my way to the canteen on my first day of work?”  Several guns raised in response, and he sighed, reaching for his own.  “Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

It took a few minutes to dispatch all of them, and he put his gun away as he looked over the unconscious, but not dead, bodies.

“Couldn’t just give a guy directions,” he said, clicking his tongue as he left the building.  He was about to check the next one when the ground shook with another explosion, and he booked it in the direction of the sound.  He could practically hear Bucky’s voice in his head, screaming that we RUN AWAY FROM THE EXPLOSIONS, STEVE, YOU’RE GOING THE WRONG WAY, when--

“Wahooooo!”

Steve stopped, blinking as a very large man driving what appeared to be a very small golf cart with a couple of guys hanging on to the top rolled out of the smoke.  There was also a very familiar bowler sitting on the driver’s head, with sergeant stripes stitched on--

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he muttered, watching the golf cart turn into a drift that it should not be able to do before hitting a wall, sending both guys on top into the brick and into unconsciousness.  He looked back at the building currently burning cheerfully, focusing on the small band of men stumbling toward him.

“SHIELD?” he asked.

“Yeah,” one of them answered, an arm wrapped around what was probably a few bruised ribs.  He coughed, wincing, then focused on Steve.  “Hey, you’re Captain America.”

“That’s what they tell me,” he replied, turning back to the golf cart as the large man unfolded himself and made his way toward them.

“Hiya, Cap!”

“Dum Dum Dugan,” Steve said, shaking his head.  He couldn’t even be that surprised, that was just how completely weird his life was now.  Why not throw in another ghost from his past in a building complex in the middle of nowhere, Lithuania?  “We gotta stop meeting like this.”

“What’re you doin’ way out here, Cap?” Dugan asked.

“Extraction,” he said, glancing back at the other men. “Ostensibly.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Dugan said, looking past Steve at the burning building when he turned back.  “I got a little bored waiting for Fury’s flunkies.”

“Thanks,” Steve said, eyebrow jumping.  “At least you found a way to keep yourself entertained.”

“Always do,” Dugan said, grinning at him before pulling him into a bear hug.  “It’s good to see you, Cap.”

“It’s...a little shocking to see you,” Steve replied, pulling back to look at him.  “Alive.”

“Yeah, that’s a...long story,” Dugan told him, shrugging.

“They usually are,” Steve said, smiling.  “It’s good, though.  Really good.  And...it suddenly makes a lot of sense why Fury was so insistent about me being on this mission,” he added, making a mental note to send Fury a new eyepatch or something.  And probably another ten dollars.

“Yeah,” Dugan said, his smile faltering. “Listen, Cap.  I don’t think I was ever as happy as when I found out they found you, and seeing you on the news was--well, I’m a little upset no one invited me to your party in New York--”

“Not.  A. Party,” Nat said, suddenly striding through the smoke with Clint.

“You’re really gonna have to let that go,” Clint told her, notching an arrow and letting it loose to hit another soldier on a roof behind Dugan.

“Anyway, I um...I need to tell you something,” Dugan went on, looking worried and...ashamed.

“What is it?” Steve asked, suddenly concerned. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, it’s…”  He paused, swallowing.  “I lost her, Cap.  I tried to look out for Peggy for you, but I lost her.  I looked for so long, with her brother and Howard, she was your best girl, I couldn’t let you both down, but I lost her--”

“Oh, honestly, Dugan, would you please stop blubbering?” Peggy asked from behind him, and Dugan’s eyes widened before he turned around.

"Hiya, Peg!” he said, and Steve blinked at the genuine cheerfulness in the voice that had been anguished a second ago.  “Long time no see!”

“Too long,” she replied, and even her eyes were a little damp as she stepped closer to hug him.  “I didn’t think you were still around.”

“I didn’t think were around sixty five years ago,” he said, hugging her tight for a moment before releasing her.  “What happened to you?”

“Oh, that’s a--”

“Long story,” he finished with her in unison.  “Gotcha. Well, the point is, you’re okay, and so’s Cap.”  He kept one arm around her, throwing the other around Steve.  “Howling Commandos, down to three idiots who don’t know when to quit.  Still good though, right?”

Steve swallowed hard, pushing away thoughts of who was still missing, then nodded, clapping Dugan on the back.

“Yeah,” he agreed, looking past Dugan for a second to Peggy.  “Still good.”

“So,” Dugan asked, looking between them.  “You two get hitched yet?”

“Oh, for god’s sake!” Peggy blurted out, ducking out from under his arm.  “Do you think Director Fury would really miss him if we left him in Lithuania?”

Steve grinned as Dugan released him, reaching for Peggy and kissing her quickly before Rumlow showed up with a report on the rest of the complex.  Not a bad first mission for her.

***

“By rights, I should have died...hooo, about three years after Peggy vamoosed,” Dugan guessed, clinking his poker chips together and glancing at his cards before putting a chip in front of him.  “Bet five.  Yeah, I took a hit not too far from here from some weirdo Bill had us chasing, ripped me damn near in half.”

“Raise ten,” Peggy said, wearing a ridiculous green visor she’d stolen from Bruce.  “So what happened?”

“Your brother,” he replied, then nodded at Tony when he called.  “Well, and his dad.”

“That’s funny,” Tony said mildly, glancing at his cards.  “He always seemed better with destruction.  Just ask Jarvis--wait, let me leave first--”

“Tony,” Steve said quietly--not quite a warning, not quite not.  “Give him a break.  There’s a lot to your dad you didn’t see.”

“Alert the media.”

“Raise five,” Bruce cut it, throwing his chips into the growing pile.  He caught Peggy’s raised eyebrow and shifted in his seat, looking down at his cards. “So that doesn’t actually answer the question.  I mean, correct me if I’m wrong, but I think ‘Howard Stark happened’ could be a pretty blanket explanation for a lot of things.”

“Too right,” Peggy murmured, fingering her cards as Steve called and dealt another card in the river.  “Although, Bill is somewhat novel.”

“I’ll tell you the same thing I told him,” Dugan replied, rapping his knuckles on the table to call.  “Start out with the basic understanding that you have no idea what your brother is really capable of, and we might be able to get somewhere.” Peggy snorted, raising the bet again. “Anyway, Bill didn’t like me getting hurt like that in the line of duty, not so close to headquarters, and not being able to do anything.  I was one of his first agents, you know--me and Jones and Dernier.  I think he would have had the same reaction if it was either of them.  Never could quite tell though if it was just sentimentality, or the fact that we knew you. Didn’t want to lose that piece, I think.”

“So where does my dad come in?” Tony asked, eyeing Peggy for a second before raising the bet another ten.

“Something he made, he called it the Infinity Serum,” Dugan replied.

“Of course he did,” Bruce murmured.

Steve chuckled as they both saw the bet in turn, adding, “Hey, the Starks have never exactly been known for subtlety.  Futuristic technology, explosions, grandstanding...but not subtlety.”

“That much never changed,” Dugan said, shaking his head. “Good god, the stories I could tell about his fights with Thompson, the way he called him out in the papers--”

“Dugan,” Peggy cut in with a tired tone, massaging her temple.

“Right, sorry.  Anyway, this serum, it was something he’d made from the german doctor’s notes--”  He paused as every eye snapped up to meet his.  “Yeah, I thought that might get your attention.  Don’t get too excited.  It was part of it, yeah, but not all of it.  Basically the poor man’s Rebirth.  It helped heal me up, and make it a little harder to get hurt, and apparently keep me alive…”

“Infinitely?” Peggy suggested.

“Near enough, anyway,” he said with a shrug, starting another round of bets.  “None of the extras Cap got, and I sure as hell didn’t get a shield, but I’m still kicking some bad guys asses, and I’ve still got my bowler, so I guess there’s that.”

“Well, it’s good to have you back,” Steve said, reaching over to clap Dugan on the back.

“Same to you, Cap,” Dugan said, pushing his hat up a little as he looked at Peggy.  “So I know Rogers spent the last few decades as a human snowcone, but what about you, Peg? What in blazes happened to you?”

“Would you believe...time travel?” she asked, and he laughed out loud before grinning at her.

“I’ll tell you what, doll, at this point, I’d believe anything.”

“I’ll tell you what I have a hard time believing,” Peggy said, putting her chin in one hand as she leaned on the table. “This...Infinity Serum.  Who else has used it?”

“Above my pay grade, Agent Carter,” he said, shaking his head, while Steve narrowed his eyes at Bruce, who still had yet to call or bet.  The scientist was staring down at the back of his cards, looking deep in thought as he tapped on them absently.

“But not Howard?” Peggy asked.

“Erm, excuse me,” Jarvis said, entering the room cautiously. “Miss Carter, you asked me to let you know when word came in regarding Agents Barton and Romanoff.”

“Yes, Mister Jarvis, everything went smoothly?” she asked. Dugan shot a look at Steve, who shrugged resignedly--there would likely never be a time when Peggy didn’t somehow have her finger on the pulse of literally everything going on around her, whether it directly involved her or not.

“As near as I can tell, yes,” Jarvis replied, looking down at his phone.  “They arrived at the Triskellion in Washington DC twenty minutes ago, and have estimated their arrival back at the tower as--oh dear, sometime between tomorrow afternoon and...next Tuesday.”

“That sounds about right,” she said, nodding.  “Thank you, Mister Jarvis.  Are you sure we can’t deal you in for the next hand?  You must be lonesome out there on your own.”

“I assure you, Miss Carter, I am quite alright,” he replied, ducking his head a little.  “If that will be all?”

She nodded, then sighed as he left the room.  Steve reached for her hand, squeezing gently, and Tony took a long drink from his scotch.  Only Bruce seemed unfazed, still lost in whatever he was working out in his head.

“I don’t think taking the serum seemed like a good idea to old Howie,” Dugan said quietly, his eyes still on the door Jarvis had left through.  “He already had enough ghosts for one lifetime.  Hey, Banner, you gonna bet, buddy?”

“Huh?”  Bruce looked up, blinking when he realized everyone was looking at him.  “Oh, yeah, sorry, raise ten.”

“Alright, cards out,” Steve said as everyone met his bet.

“Oh you have got to be kidding me,” Peggy burst out when all the hands were revealed to give Steve the pot with a full house, beating out Peggy’s pairs and Bruce’s three of a kind.  “You never even raised!”

“I didn’t have to,” he said, winking at her as he collected the chips.  “You did all that for me.”

“Unbelieveable,” Peggy snapped, sitting back with her arms crossed and huffing.

“Ah, don’t take it so hard, Peg,” Dugan said, collecting the cards and shuffling them quickly.  “Soon as you make an honest man out of Rogers, half those winnings will be yours.”

“Half that pot is mine,” she muttered, even as Steve grinned and stood, pausing at her chair to lean down and kiss her cheek.  “You’re lucky I adore you.”

“Yes, I am,” he said, making his way into the kitchen for another beer.  “And if you start playing your cards better, I might even let you make an honest man out of me.”

“Your standards for dates are very low,” Clint observed, making an oof sound and cutting a look at Nat when she dropped into his lap. “How do you even keep Pepper around?”

“Charm and grace,” Tony replied easily.  “That, and I named her head of my company.  It seemed to smooth things over a little.  Jarvis, you coming?”

The former butler looked up as he crossed the room toward the hall, then cleared his throat.  “If it’s all the same, I think I’ll pass.”

“Oh, come on, what could you possibly have to do tonight that’s not watching a movie with us?” Tony whined, gesturing with the remote.

“Very little,” Jarvis said, fixing him with a cold stare that all but screamed, “thanks to your father.”  Tony looked away, coughing a little and pulling up the DVD menu.

“Oh, Mister Jarvis, please join us,” Peggy said, turning to look over the couch at him.  “It might be a good time, get you out of your head for a bit.”

“Yeah, come on, Jeeves,” Natasha added, squirming a bit to get more comfortable between the arm of the easy chair and Clint’s thigh.  “It’ll be fun.  Maybe we’ll even get you to take off your suit jacket.”

“What’s wrong with my jacket?” he asked, frowning as he looked down at himself.

“Please, Mister Jarvis?” Peggy asked again, and Tony exchanged a glance with Steve at the cajoling tone.  Not something you heard often from Peggy Carter, but was complete doom to anyone who had it directed at them.

Sure enough, after a long look, Jarvis sighed.  “If I watch this film with you, will you then let me go in peace?”

“Absolutely,” she promised, and he made an irritable click of his tongue before taking the other easy chair and sitting stiffly.

“Wait, hang on, we can’t watch a moving picture without popcorn,” Steve protested suddenly.

“Movie, Cap.  Just movie.  I can’t--JARVIS, have we got any popcorn?  Other Jarvis,” he added when the human Jarvis arched an eyebrow at him.

“Unfortunately, sir, while I can start the microwave and stop it before the popcorn is burnt, my capabilities do not extend to actually putting the popcorn in said microwave.”

Peggy snorted before managing to cover her smile with her hand, and even the human counterpart seemed to thaw a little at the robotic snark.  Tony rolled his eyes and hit play.

“Fine, I’ll make popcorn. I’ve seen this a million times anyway. Be back in a minute.”

He paused at the door, waiting a beat, then grinned when he heard Peggy groan as the music started playing over the opening credits.

“You have got to be joking!”

Dad always said the one thing Mom hadn’t argued about when making Betty Carver was the music.

By the time he got back with the popcorn, Agent Carver--triage nurse and, reasonably, super secret agent--had already punched at least four people, and was sighing impatiently when the great and glorious Captain America arrived on the screen.

“You’re late.”

“Couldn’t call my ride.”

Tony glanced at Peggy and Steve to see them share a smile before Steve pulled her tighter against him. Peggy looked up at him when he handed them a bowl of popcorn.

“When was this?”

“1956,” he told her. “Big revival thing going on, someone thought it’d be fun to turn the old radio show into a movie.  Mom was just getting big, so they figured she’d help sell it.  Which she did...but not the way they were expecting.”

“I can’t imagine fifties husbands and fathers were thrilled with this,” Bruce said, arching an eyebrow at the nurse, rolling her eyes on screen as a Nazi lost consciousness from the sedative in her lipstick.

“The men in the forties wouldn’t have been either,” Peggy said, then sighed.  “I do miss that lipstick, though.”

“I can get you some,” Nat assured her.

“Just don’t get them mixed up with your regular ones, alright?” Steve asked, glancing between them.

“I would never do that to you, darling,” Peggy said, and Tony coughed at Steve’s doubtful look.

“I must say, I’m rather impressed with Miss Martinelli’s portrayal of you, Miss Carter,” Jarvis put in. “She is really very talented.”

“You have no idea,” Peggy said with a grin.  “Remind me to tell you later about how she saved me from arrest with strategic crying...another thing forties men were astonishingly uncomfortable with.”

Tony had heard that story more times than he could count.  Mom had been ridiculously proud of the fact that she’d managed to save “English” from the meatheads she worked with, and even Dad had usually smiled when she told it.

“Anyway,” he went on, “the arguments Mom had with...everyone, really, from the producers to the screenwriters to the guy who made the coffee--Mom knew coffee--went down in Hollywood history.  They gave in to everything, eventually; if you asked Mom it was because she was determined, if you asked Dad it was because they were afraid she’d end up suing them and making it herself.  And a cult classic was born.”

“Oh, I hope Thompson saw it,” Peggy said with feeling.  “With his wife.  And I hope she loved it.”

They all quieted down then, munching on popcorn and watching Betty Carver and Captain America kick ass and take names, not necessarily in that order.  Tony winced when they got to the part, late in the movie, when Captain America’s plane went down.

“I'm gonna need a rain check on that dance.”

“All right. A week next Saturday at The Stork Club.”

“You've got it.”

“Eight o'clock on the dot. Don't you dare be late. Understood?”

“You know, I still don't know how to dance.”

“I'll show you how. Just be there.”

“We'll have the band play something slow.”

Dad had gotten Phillips to get him a transcript of that, for accuracy.  Mom said she cried when she first read it, and that she wished she’d known what had happened before Peggy had disappeared.  It broke her heart that Aunt Peggy was in pain, that that’s why she’d been so prickly when Mom first met her.

Tony glanced at the real life couple again as static was heard on the radio in the movie and Peggy sniffed.  Tears were shining in her eyes as Steve kissed her hair; Dad had always said he’d never seen a pair so in love without even sharing a dance, something incredibly irritating when it was involved in another lecture about whatever girl Tony had happened to be caught with at the time.  

Jarvis was also watching them, his expression unreadable.

He coughed a little, breaking some of the tension.  “Might want to pay attention to the last scene, Jarvis.”

The scene changed to Betty Carver in a diner as a voice over read the condolence letter in her hands. She looked up as it finished, her expression sad but courageous, as a man in a suit passed by her booth to sit in the one behind her, back to back.

“Agent Carver,” the man said in a sotto voice, staring straight ahead.  “I believe I may have some information you and the rest of the SSR might be interested in.”

“Well then, let’s have it,” Betty said, tucking the letter in her jacket as she sipped at her coffee.  He passed a package between them in a way that was pretty much the exact opposite of stealthy, and Betty pulled a sheet of paper out of it and glanced over it. “Mister Fancy, it would appear that it’s going to be a very long day.”

“MISTER FANCY?” Jarvis burst out as the end credits began to roll, and Peggy doubled up with laughter.

“If it helps,” Peggy choked, “she did say you had nice shoulders.”

“It doesn’t,” Jarvis said darkly, narrowing his eyes at the screen.  “Although she is correct, if I do say so myself.”  That only made Peggy laugh harder, until she was wiping tears from her eyes.  “Well, I’m glad you found some amusement in it, Miss Carter.”  He cut his eyes to Tony, looking reluctant, then managed, “Your mother was very talented.  You should be proud.”

“I am,” Tony told him.

Jarvis nodded, then stood. “If that’s all--”

“Oh, Mister Jarvis, please stay a bit longer!”

“Really, Miss Carter, if it’s alright, I’d much rather take my leave,” he said.  A look passed between them of silent communication, and he shook his head a little before turning to the others.  “I bid you all good night.”

“He gonna be alright?” Clint asked when Jarvis made his exit.

“I’m not entirely sure,” Peggy said, sounding a little sad as she watched the door her friend left by, then took a deep breath and turned to them again.  “Now, Tony, you called that a...what was it?  D-V-D?  It looked like one of those music discs, does that use lasers too?”

Tony groaned and picked up his empty popcorn bowl.  “Banner, you’re up.  I took the last one.”

oOoOo

“I wanna ask you something,” Steve said, lounging on Peggy’s bed as she got ready for sleep.

“Just the one thing?” she teased with a smirk.

“Well...it’s...Jarvis,” he said slowly, and she tensed.

“Steve, I told you--”

“No, I know, I get that,” he interrupted, waving a hand.  Any insecurity he’d had about that aspect of her relationship with Jarvis had fled after the first night.  “I was just wondering, you two don’t seem like you’d get along all that well at first glance.”

“Well, to be fair, I did deck him the first time we met,” Peggy said, and he snorted.  That sounded like the Peggy he knew and loved.  She looked thoughtful for a moment, then shrugged.  “I think...well.  He was there when I needed someone to be there.  He made a point to remind me that I wasn’t alone, that I didn’t need to be...that the people who tended to get hurt around me weren’t a flaw in me.  He took a great many risks for me, and proved to be a loyal friend, even when I didn’t want one.  I intend to repay that favor, at least.”

Steve sighed, taking her hand and pulling her down onto the bed next to him.  “I don’t think he’s going to make that very easy.”

“Well, then, it’s a good thing I don’t surrender easily,” she countered, and he smiled before leaning toward her to kiss her.  As he pulled away, she added, “I expect it rather the same with you and Agent Romanoff.”

Steve tilted his head, considering this.  He and Natasha had hit it off from the start; there was a bit of her that had reminded him of Peggy, the strength and total unwillingness to back down, but she was different.  She was Natasha.  He instinctively trusted her--after Barton had had his...issues because of Loki, he only needed Nat’s nod to assure him that Barton could be relied on.  And for all the fun she could poke at him, she never judged him for his quiet moments; she never gave him anything but respect, and demanded nothing but the same in return.  That’s probably the why, out of the strange little team Fury had assembled, he felt closest to her.  

“Suppose you’re right,” he finally said after a moment.  “We do make strange friends.”

“That we do,” she agreed, then moved to straddle his hips as his hands found hers.  “After all, we did know Dugan.  I saw him, you know, before I came here.  In Russia.”

“Oh yeah?” Steve asked, trying hard to concentrate on keeping his tone light as Peggy ran her hands over his chest.  

“Mhm, when I was investigating Howard’s supposed treason.  You’ll be happy to know he’s still incredibly obnoxious.”

“Dugan or Howard?”

“Yes.”  Steve chuckled, kissing her lightly when her arms looped around his neck, then she pulled away with a sigh.  “I do wish there was something I could do for Mister Jarvis, though.  Whatever Howard might have done, Tony didn’t even exist yet.”

“Yeah...well, if it means anything, Tony is...a lot like his dad,” Steve said, eyes widening as he shook his head.  “Worse, in some ways, with that chip the size of the Bronx on his shoulder.  Howard could drive me up the wall, but Tony and I nearly came to blows.”

“I’m not saying he’s not without his own faults,” she said, shifting a little as a frown appeared between her eyebrows.  “But he should be judged by those, surely, and not those of his father?”

“Well, sure,” he said, shrugging a little.  “But Anna was Jarvis’ wife, and she’s gone.  It’s hard, when you don’t have any closure or anyone to blame, just...loss.  It’s really easy to lose perspective in all that anger and pain.”

He looked down quickly, fighting the sting that came with his own words--that level of anger and pain hadn’t helped matters when he’d first met Tony, either.  All he’d been able to see was an egotistical little punk who couldn’t take anything seriously while Steve was being thrust into a battle for a cube that had cost him everything already.  That wasn’t Tony’s fault either, and Steve was pretty sure already that a lot of Tony’s...everything was a front--also a shared trait with his father--but it still happened.

“Just give it some time,” he said finally, looking back up at Peggy.  “He might still come around.”

“I suppose,” Peggy said, looking at him critically for a moment before shifting again on his lap in a way that seemed much more...purposeful.  “But in the meantime...there’s some...other things we could be talking about right now.”

Steve drew in a sharp breath as she angled her head and kissed his neck.  “Is that right?”

“Mhm.  Or, even, not talking at all,” she added, raising her head with a sultry look that made him swallow hard as his hands tightened convulsively on her hips.