#thisweegirl

*It had taken some doing, but Peggy had managed to get Steve out of the barwithout jeopardizing her cover—even if she’d come perilously close to losingsight of her goal during the brief interval she’d been in his arms. She didn’tknow how it was that he always managed to smell so lovely, even after days orweeks in the field. It was distracting, to put it mildly.She guided him through the darkened streets, making sure to clutch at his armand gaze up at him admiringly. One never knew who was watching.For his part, Steve was giving a convincing performance—though that may havehad something to do with the old proverb about absence, and its effect on thecardiovascular system.The cottage was dark; Girard had apparently decided to give Peggy a bit ofprivacy for her meeting. She’d thought he might want to meet Steve in person,but in general the French weren’t particularly impressed by CaptainAmerica.Peggy lit a single candle, placing it on the little table next to her bed. “We’dbetter not have the lamps,” she remarked, “given that this is supposed to be anassignation.”“I don’t know if I’ve ever heard that word used outside of a book,” said Steve,good-naturedly. “I wasn’t even sure how to pronounce it, until just now.”Peggy couldn’t stop smiling, even though no one was watching them. “It’s goodto see you, by the way.”“You too. I…” He trailed off, then rallied with, “I can’t wait to hear what you’vebeen up to.”Peggy gave him a précis of everything she’d managed to accomplish so far. Itwas an impressive list, if she did say so herself.Steve seemed suitably impressed, observing, “I’ve got a whole team behind meand I didn’t get that much done. You’re making me look bad.”“Impossible,” she said, with more personal feeling than she’d intended. Sherecovered with, “Barnes was bragging that you’ve knocked out all but two HYDRAoutposts.” He’d managed to relay that much under the guise of chatting her up.“But you still wouldn’t dance with him.”“Even espionage has its limits,” she said austerely.“I missed you,” he confessed.

“Steve…”

“Sorry. Not very professional.”Perhaps it was the candlelight, or the dancing, or the wine she’d tried to givethe impression of drinking too freely, or simply the closeness of him after solong; whatever the reason, at that moment, there wasn’t a single professionalthought in Peggy’s mind.Steve seemed to be suffering from a similar complaint. They both moved towardsthe centre of the room as if magnetized, inexorable. And then somehow, she was in his arms, and they were kissing each other madly,as though it had been years apart instead of only months. When she pushed himin the direction of the bed, he went willingly, tumbling them both down ontothe faded patchwork quilt.

But when she plucked at his belt buckle, he hesitated.

“I didn’t bring,” he panted, “I didn’t think—”“It’s fine,” she told him, tugging him over her. “It’s all right. Just thisonce.”*Afterwards, lying together on the little bed, the irony occurred to her; they’ddone exactly what everyone suspected them of leaving the bar to do. At leastnow, she thought, he wouldn’t have to put as much effort into the lie.

The same thought must have occurred to Steve, who murmured,“You sure do commit to a cover.”

She smacked his bare chest.

“What time is it?” He asked it reluctantly, as though heknew he wasn’t going to like the answer.

Peggy peered at her wristwatch. “Nearly half-eleven.”

Steve was quiet.

She pulled him closer, pressed her face against his chest. She was tired of holding it in; tired ofpretending that she didn’t need him, that she didn’t miss him, that the thought of her name on his lips hadn’t kept her warm on long, lonely nights in this village where no one knew her.

“They can spare you for five more minutes, surely?”