#tissue warning

“Where did you go?” she asked gently, just as acquainted as any of them with the traumatic effects of the lives they lived.

Steve had to clear his throat before he could speak, the memory left him choked up and just a little heartbroken. “A long time ago,” he managed to get out, low and hoarse.

“Want to talk about it?” Natasha asked, the mask of the ever-adaptable spy slipping, revealing the friend beneath.

He shook his head, squared his shoulders, and started moving forward on the street again, the sound of music coming from the store next to them fading away, the song now different and far less triggering. “No.”

“Offer stands,” she tossed out flippantly, the mask sliding back into place as she kept pace beside him.

He managed to make it through the day, and their mission, without opening the pandora’s box of emotion that one silly song had caused, but that night he dreamed, vividly.

~*~

It was rare, to get leave. Even more rare to get leave at the same time.

Bucky stole a jeep, and the Commandos piled in, heading to the only pub in driving distance that was remotely open after a bombing raid a few weeks ago.

He didn’t know she had leave, she hadn’t mentioned it, but Peggy knew he had leave, and it wasn’t a mistake that she just managed to be at the pub, waiting at the bar, manicured nails tapping the wood nervously as he walked through the door.

He knew it wasn’t a mistake when Bucky pushed him towards her, the guys laughing and raising their eyebrows good naturedly, Peggy smiling at them like she was in on it all along.

They had been, and she had been, and Steve thought it was the best surprise he could have asked for. “You look beautiful,” he started, still a little off balance. “Nice to get out of the uniform.”

Her smile lit up the room. “Well, it was the nicest dress I had for the occasion.” She reached out, letting her hand fall over his shirt. “You clean up nice, as well.”

Steve laughed nervously. “Best I could manage. Most of the clothes I have are uniforms or from before…”

“Probably a tight fit,” she joked, letting her hand ghost over the arm of his shirt. “Though this fits well.”

“Bucky’s.” He looked past her shoulder at the guys who were looking back at them. Dum Dum raised his glass and his eyebrows suggestively, and he shook his head at them, looking back at Peggy. “Why didn’t you tell me you had leave?”

She shrugged, her curls bouncing over her shoulder. “Quite frankly, I thought Phillips would pull it any minute, right up until I left.” She turned and took a long sip of her wine. “I’m surprised he let any of us go, really.”

He was entranced by her, seeing her away from the base, seeing her seem so much more relaxed, so much happier, gave him a sense of purpose. They’d stolen kisses behind tents and held hands when they thought no one could see them in the dark, but they were still dancing around one another in a way that was both frustrating and enticing. This seemed like the first real chance they had to be themselves, to be more than Captain and Agent, and solidify the stolen moments as something much more meaningful. It was, very nearly, a real date. “Maybe… maybe we should get out of here.”

She didn’t need convincing. “Alright.”

Steve knew he’d made the right choice as the sounds of catcalls and whistles came from the Commando’s table in the back. Outside, where the air was just a little fresher and a little cooler, and he felt safe twining his hand in hers away from prying eyes that would gossip the next day.

They walked slowly up the little road, not knowing exactly where they were or where they were going, they managed to come across a small bridge on the edge of a park, just the barest hint of water trickling over the rocks beneath it as the sun started to sink in the sky, bathing them in a bright golden light.

She pulled him to a stop, looking out over the edge of the bridge. “Seems untouched, don’t you think?”

He stopped, watching her come alive in the lushness of the space. She seemed so happy to be away from mud and ranks and tents, that it almost physically hurt to know he’d have to bring her back. He took in the little park, the first hints of spring starting to bloom in the grass and trees surrounding what he was sure would be a lovely little creek once the spring rain started. “Beautiful.” He smirked, “But not quite as lovely as you are.”

Peggy rolled her eyes, unable to take the compliment. “Cheeky.”

He didn’t let her spoil it, though. “I wish I could draw you, just like this.” He looked her over, surrounded by the bright greens of the new spring, her dress and hair bouncing in the light breeze, her red lips standing out and begging to be kissed, the light in her eyes seemingly untouched by the war. His heart thudded in his chest with how beautiful she looked, how bright and vibrant. “I want to remember you like this forever.”

His words surprised her, and her smile softened. “You’ll remember me. That photographic mind of yours won’t let you forget, I’m sure, and then one day you can paint me, just like this, and they’ll hang it in the Louvre.”

He chuckled, taking a moment to look over every inch of her, hoping it would really commit to his memory like she seemed to think. “If they ever hang anything of mine in the Louvre, it’ll be because I was Captain America, not because it’s any great work of art.” He leaned on his elbows on the rail next to her, changing the topic quickly before she could form a rebuttal. “Rare to find anyplace out here that looks like this,” he mused quietly.

She wound her arm around his, leaning her head on his shoulder as she gazed out at the slow sunset. “It will take years for some places to recover… decades, even.”

Steve nodded, the feeling of her warmth against him comforting. “People are resilient. We’ve seen that already.” He reached over, letting his hand cover hers, gently moving the pads of his fingers over her bright red nails for long, quiet moments. “After the war—”

“After the war,” she sighed, cutting him off. Peggy leaned away, turning and taking his hand in hers. “There will be an ‘after the war,’ Steve.”

“I know,” he nodded, a soft smile on his lips, though her change in demeanor from soft and happy to serious and concerned did catch him off guard.

She almost laughed, huffing a bit then squaring her shoulders just like she did when she had to tell Phillips something he didn’t want to hear. “No one’s ever accused me of being overly sentimental,” she started, fighting to keep her eyes on him.

Steve just smiled, giving her hand a soft squeeze. “I think I’ve come to appreciate your… Britishness.”

She did laugh at that, and he watched just a little of the anxiety fall from her shoulders. “What I’m trying to say, what I want to say…” Peggy laughed again, a bright burst of nervousness. She turned away, mumbling to herself, “Good lord, why is this so difficult?”

Steve gave just the barest tug to her hand, bringing her back to him, eyebrows knit in confusion. “Just say it, Peg.”

She took a deep breath, and it all tumbled out. “I haven’t seen futures with people before. I haven’t wanted to… or, or needed to. Even… even with Fred it was just… I just expected it was what I was supposed to do. And then with this war, it was harder and harder to see past what tomorrow might bring. But Steve…” Peggy smiled, like she finally knew exactly what she needed to say. “Steve, I see a future with you. I see tomorrow, and the day after, and next month, and next year. I want…” She took a deep, steadying breath. “I want there to be an ‘after the war’ with you, even though I know I don’t show it much. Even though I know I can be hard to read sometimes. Even though I don’t write you long love letters when you’re away and I don’t spritz my perfume on your pillow for when you get back. I know I don’t always show it, but I want that. I want an ‘after the war’ with you.”

He knew he was grinning ear to ear. He couldn’t help it. “I want that, too, Peg.”

Peggy took a deep breath, smiling. “Good. Good. Yes.” Though she fought to keep it inside, her relief showed in how her eyes sparkled. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

Steve looked down at their hands, then back up to her. “I want to grow old with you, Peg, if you’ll have me.”

The sun was setting, shading her pink and purple, more like a dream now than anything. She squeezed his hand tight. “Yes, I think that’s quite a good idea.”

He kissed her, soft and gentle at first, but they quickly found themselves carried away and breathless, with her pressed up against the rough rock of the bridge.

Steve pulled away, her red lipstick staining his mouth, branding him as he tried to catch his breath. “Sorry, I…”

“No,” she whispered, equally as breathless. Stolen moments always seemed to end like this, and she was having none of it tonight. “No, don’t be. In fact, I’ve rented a room not far from the bar.”

“Peg…” He still hadn’t caught his breath, one hand still caressing over her ass as the other untangled itself from her skirt. He wasn’t sure if he was declining her offer, or simply asking her to rethink it. So much of their restraint had been to keep her reputation safe, to protect what little credibility she had with some generals who felt she shouldn’t be where she was in the SSR. It was a reaction to say they needed to stop, to pause, to protect her.  

“I’m not waiting until after the war to love you,” she retorted, taking his chin in her hands. “Not when I have you right here, right now.”

He kissed her again as the sun set behind them. “You’re right,” he whispered against her lips, taking her hand tight and pulling his handkerchief out to wipe the lipstick from his face. “Which way?”

~*~

When he woke up that next morning with the feeling of her lips still on his and her skin beneath his fingers, Steve hoped to never hear that song again.

It was popular, though, and it felt like everywhere he went he heard the lilting soprano: in grocery stores and walking on the street and on the radio. Most of the time when he heard it he was in public, and had no choice but to grit his teeth as the lyrics cut him to the quick, his mind supplying an image like a movie that looped over in slow motion, that distracted him and slowed his body down and made his heart beat quicker.

By somewhere around the twentieth time he heard it, he sat down and found the lyrics online and read them word by word, ignoring how his eyes welled up and how he felt an emptiness deep in his gut.

At least he knew the enemy now, knew the words that had snuck past his conscious mind and triggered what should have been a happy memory but was now only a signal of lost opportunities… lost time…

Lost love.

~*~

“I do wish you’d stop coming, Steve.”

Her words seemed at odds with the way she cradled his hand in both of hers. He lifted his other hand, setting it on top of hers gently, gripping her hands so, so softly. Sometimes, he was afraid she’d break under his touch she seemed so frail. “What do you mean?”

She laughed, and he saw the spirit that, no matter how her body failed her, was tough as nails. “I’m barely lucid these days.” The laughter was less frivolity and more self-pity, though, and he felt her fingers grasp at his as she kept their gazes locked, serious. “I don’t want you to remember me like this.

“Peggy,” he whispered, his words failing him.

There was no reassuring smile left for him. “I don’t want anyone to remember me like this.”

He looked away, hiding tears that had formed in his eyes. “I can’t just leave you here alone.”

Her whisper was soft and resigned. “I won’t know the difference.”

He left her, hours later, unsure if he should heed her request or hope she forgot it by the next time she showed up. He sat on his bike, trying to force himself to re-center, when a car stopped on the street a few feet away at a red light, windows down, the only song he didn’t want to hear at the moment blaring from its speakers.

He shoved his helmet on, knowing that at the very least, people wouldn’t be able to see his tears through the face shield.

~*~

Weeks later, the song had been replaced by some innocuous pop hit on replay on radio stations, and he started to breathe easier in public when there was ambient music playing. He thought maybe, just maybe, he could hear it and not think of her, of that day in 1945, of her lying in the bed at the nursing home, and be hit like a freight train with pain and loss.

Which is why, when the familiar heartbeat started to play one morning as he was cracking an egg into a frying pan for his breakfast, he was surprised to find the radio in pieces in his hands, the smoke of the burning egg breaking him out of the trance that had taken time, and the radio, from him.

He supposed it was safer if he stuck to his records. At least with those, he knew what kind of memories and melancholy he was in for with each mournful trumpet. He’d never imagined a song could cause physical pain before, but as he cleaned up the burnt egg and pulled the sparking end of the radio’s cord out of the wall socket, he couldn’t doubt that there was something about that song, something about the way this woman sang those words, that broke him just a little bit more each time he heard them.

~*~

He let his hand run over the cloth, just as soft as he remembered, though he didn’t remember the line of neat stitches at the hemline. He hadn’t known, until right this moment, she still had it.

“Steve?” Her voice floated through the hallway and back to him in the bedroom. He looked up just in time to find Peggy peeking around the door frame, smile on her bright red lips. “Find me something suitable to wear for this mystery date?”

A different him, a younger him, would have been embarrassed at being caught going through her dresses even though she’d asked, despite all that they shared now, but he was neither embarrassed nor bashful about it. “Sorry, got caught up.”

Peggy never seemed anxious about his little moments here and there, when a memory or loss hit him and he needed a minute to shake it. She was just as well acquainted with those moments, and those kinds of losses, herself.

Just like so many friends he’d lost, so many people he’d left both by circumstance and by choice too many times over now, everyone he seemed to know had lost something to the ravages of war.

She stopped, slipping into the room quiet as a mouse in her bare feet and robe, her voice calm and gentle. “No matter. I just need to get dressed. A preference?” She moved to him, the violet scent of her powder still hanging around her from just finishing her hair and make up for their dinner out. She took the dress from his hands and smiled fondly. “Oh, I remember this one. And our little… walk… that night.”

She held it up against her and shifted side to side, a vague model of it, as she smiled brightly.

The memory still punched him in the gut, even with her right there in front of him. He knew the singer wouldn’t be born for decades yet, and still he could have sworn he heard that damn song ringing in his ears.

She let the dress fall to her side, reaching out to take his hand. “Something wrong?”

He’d been back for months, and yet he still worried that she didn’t understand. “I remember,” he whispered, looking away. “I remember you on that bridge, smiling at me like we had our whole lives ahead of us.”

She held his hand tight, her voice low and serious, “We do.”

“But we didn’t,” he whispered fiercely, turning back to her. “Not when I was there- in that future or that timeline or whatever it was.” He shook his head and lifted the fabric of the skirt in his free hand, looking at the cloth as if it held the mysteries of the universe. “All I had left was this memory of you, standing on that bridge, with your hair waving in the wind and your bright red lips smiling at me like you didn’t have a care in the world. I had that memory so clear it felt like I could touch it, and it was everything I’d lost.”

She dropped the dress and it fell from his fingers between them as she moved closer, cradling his face in her hands. “I’m right here, right now, Steve.”

He couldn’t stop the heavy weight of his voice. “I’d lost you, and I’d lost my future when I woke up there.” He pressed his forehead against hers. “I lost my ‘after the war,’ because when I woke up there was just one fight after another and the war was never over.”

“It’s over now.” Her voice was thick with her own emotion as her thumb traced his cheek. “And you found your way back to me.”

“Peg,” he didn’t like the way his voice cracked when he said her name, but there was little he could do to stop it.

She pulled him close, kissing him fervently. “You’ll never have to remember me again, Steve.” She nuzzled her cheek close to his, pulling him even closer. “I’m right here. And God himself couldn’t tear me away from you again, do you understand?”

He clutched at her, holding her tight, as he nodded against her neck.

“We’ll stay in tonight, yeah?” She pressed her lips against his neck, and not or the first time he was struck with how thankful he was for this second chance.

~*~

He thought it was fitting that the first time he heard it again was right after her funeral, right after he was done shaking hands and consoling grandchildren and was still half dressed in his suit with no tears left to cry.

He hadn’t been avoiding it, truthfully hadn’t thought about it in years. But as soon as he heard that lilting soprano again, he stopped in his tracks.

This time, he sat and turned the radio louder.

This time, he could remember not only that moment of her on the bridge, telling him she wanted a future with him, but that night in her house, only months after he’d shown up on her doorstep.

He remembered the way she looked when they got married by the Justice of the peace.

The way cuddled next to him on the couch, scowling as soon as the Captain America Adventure Hour came on the radio.

The way she smiled at him when she told him she wasn’t deathly ill, but rather pregnant.

The way she looked with their daughter at her feet and their son on her hip, playing dolls as she talked with Phillips about national security over the phone.

He remembered all of these things and more: ever blinding smile, every tear, every laugh in their time “after the war” together.

He didn’t shake, didn’t freeze up, but rather felt a small, warm feeling in his chest: happiness tinged with just enough loss that the song still felt like an old, unwelcome friend.

He waited until the last, breathless notes were sung and snapped off the radio, done with music for the night.