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~o~
He stands on the front porch, the cold January wind biting into him despite his wool coat. Steve Rogers is Captain America, able to face down larger-than-life enemies with courage and equanimity, but the prospect of knocking on the door before him has him shaking in his proverbial shoes (he's wearing boots, but the effect is still the same).
Still, he didn't fly three thousand miles to stand here alone on a doorstep in North London. He raises his hand and knocks firmly, once, twice, three times.
The wait seems interminable, even if it's really only a few minutes. He can hear the perfunctory click of heels on the no-doubt marble floor of the foyer, and then the door swings open, and the breath rushes out of him as though he's been sucker-punched.
Standing before him is a woman of average height, with long brown hair and warm brown eyes. She's stunning, and for a moment, he thinks he's back in 1942, catching his first glimpse of Peggy Carter giving one of the other recruits hell. He shakes his head, trying to clear old memories from his eyes, and the woman before him resolves into a kindly-smiling young woman who still quite obviously resembles the woman he remembers from years past.
"May I help you?" she says, all cultured tones and polite reserve, and Steve's face breaks into a fond smile.
"I'm sorry, ma'am," he says, finding his courage hasn't deserted himself after all. "It's just—you look an awful lot like someone I used to know."
Her brow descends into a confused frown, until something like recognition crosses her face and the frown resolves into a startled smile. "You're him, aren't you? Steve Rogers. I'd know you're face anywhere."
It's Steve's turn to be surprised, but the young woman's indulgent chuckle oddly puts him at ease.
"My aunt's told stories about you," she says. Then she steps aside, pulling the door wider. "Please, come in."
"Thank you, ma'am."
He steps inside, noting absently the marble tile on the floor, flowing in a long river through the foyer, past the stairs and into what he presumes is the kitchen. There are pictures on the wall, but he's too far away, even with his superior sight, to see who's in them. Everywhere he looks there are signs that this is a home, not just a house, and he feels himself warming inside. With quick movements, she takes his coat and scarf, nestling them among the rest of the family's gear on the rack just inside the door.
"Tea?" she calls over her shoulder as she follows the marble tile pathway through the house.
"Please," he says, following along like a dutiful puppy.
He sits at the table while she prepares a fresh pot, and he's struck by how much she resembles her aunt. The same determination, crisp movements and an economy of words as she tells him some of the things her aunt shared with her. He never once hears her speak of Peggy in the past tense, allowing something cold and dark to unclench in his chest.
He'd feared, almost a year after he woke up in the here and now, that he'd left it too late. Nick Fury had given him Peggy's address not long after he woke up, knowing that he'd want to reconnect with anyone he could. Most of the Howling Commandos had passed on already, and the Colonel as well, God rest his soul. But Peggy—sweet Peggy, who'd always seen him as so much more than the scrawny kid from Brooklyn—was still alive, he'd been told. Old and frail and no longer able to travel as she'd once loved to do, but still too stubborn to die, that was his Peggy.
Only not his, not now and not then, not really. He sighs, but if this young woman notices, she has the good grace to leave it unacknowledged. Instead, she sets the tea service on a tray and winks at him.
"I'm Sharon, by the way," she says, smiling cheekily at him, "Sharon Carter. Aunt Peg's brother is my dad." She picks up the tea service and turns for the door. "Come on, then."
He follows her, bewildered, through the house to a room at the back. He'd thought they'd take tea in the front room, talk some more about Peggy, at which point he'd be told that either she was too frail for visitors or not at home, or—and this was the more likely scenario—had passed on sometime between the time that Fury had given him the address and the time he'd mustered up the courage to use it.
Instead, he's following Sharon through a door into a lovely sitting room done in blue and dove grey, with a view of the back garden, now covered in a layer of post-Christmas snow. He can see a door on the far wall, with just the corner of a high bed in view. Sharon sets the tea service on a table near the windows and calls out to the other room.
"Tea's on. Come see, you have a visitor."
Steve's breath catches in his throat as a white-haired woman, still standing tall despite the passage of years, appears in the doorway. She's wearing a prim suit in a dark blue that makes her hair shine. Her eyes, for all her advanced years, are just as sharp and all-seeing as he remembers. He sees the moment recognition lights them, the years falling away as if they'd just been caught in a time-warp.
She crosses the room slowly, until she's a mere few feet from him, and he can see tears standing in her eyes. "Nick told me you'd been found, but I hardly dared to believe it."
"I can hardly believe it myself, sometimes," he says, for lack of anything better.
She steps forward and reaches one aged hand out, lightly caressing his cheek. He closes his eyes, leaning into the touch. His heart leaps a little in his chest, aching just a bit for all he's lost, even as he's found his way back to her.
"You haven't changed a bit," she says, clearly awed by his youth and vitality.
He wishes he could say the same thing about her, but he can't. She's in the twilight of her life, he knows, and that thought makes his heart clench even more painfully in his chest.
"I know," she whispers. "It's alright." A single tear tracks its way down her cheek, and he reaches out to brush it away with his thumb. Her eyes close for a moment, pain evident in the press of her eyelids. Then she opens them again, and the pain is gone. She smiles, and he can see echoes of the woman he used to know in the one standing before him. "Come, let's have tea."
He steps aside, allowing her to move through the ritual of tea he remembers so well from his time with her all those years ago. It's then he realizes that they're alone, that somewhere in the last few minutes Sharon had quietly slipped out of the room. He'll have to thank her later.
He sits and accepts the dainty cup, its size dwarfed by his large hands. All these years later and he's still not used to feeling too much like a bull in a china shop.
When she's finished pouring her own tea, she sits down across from him, ever the prim Englishwoman. He feels slightly underdressed in his khaki's and blue button down, but if it bothers her, she doesn't show it. Instead, she smiles at him, that smile she used to save just for him, and begins to speak.
"Howard looked for you, you know."
"Yeah, I heard," he says. "Tony told me. And Nick. And—"
He could go on, about all the people who've told him what Howard Stark and the earliest versions of SHIELD went through to find him, but they're names and people she doesn't know and wouldn't care about anyway, so he keeps his peace. It's disconcerting, that they used to have all these people in common, nicknames they used to speak, each of them knowing exactly who they were talking about. But they're mostly gone now, and Steve doesn't think she'd enjoy the reminder.
"Nick says you've had a bit of a rough re-entry into the world."
Steve cringes. Rough is probably putting it mildly. "It was okay."
"Come now," she says, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. Her touch lingers long after she withdraws. "Don't forget, I remember how difficult it was for you the first time."
His mind flashes back to those first weeks after the procedure, when he'd still felt gawky and ungainly in his new body. After that first flush of adrenaline had worn off, the reality of his new body had set in. He'd found himself crashing into things and tipping things over, until he'd just learned to let go and allow his natural grace to take over. That had been a revelation, as though his body already knew how to be six foot tall. After that, it had been easy.
"Yeah, well, I guess I've grown into it a bit," he says, smiling shyly.
"So, tell me about this new world you live in," she says, deftly turning the subject to something that won't cause them both pain. "Tell me about The Avengers."
The light in her eyes is contagious, her enthusiasm genuine, and they spend the better part of the next hour—until the tea runs out—talking about his brave new world. They talk about Tony and Pepper, about the famous (depending on who you ask) Bruce Banner, about what it's like to know a god (a slightly awkward topic for all that Peggy still seems like a swoony teenager when talking about Thor), and how he gets on with a hoard of agents, including one Phillip Coulson.
It surprises him that she knows that name, especially since his supposed death was kept out of the press. No one outside SHIELD knows about Phil's stab wound, and Nick Fury intends to keep it that way. But apparently Nick lost a few pounds out of his (admittedly ample) ass when Peggy found out that he'd lied to his team in order to get them to cooperate. He's glad someone did it, because once the truth came out (about a week later, when Coulson finally woke up from the coma he'd fallen into after surgery), Steve (and Tony and especially Clint and Natasha) had to be physically restrained or else the Director of SHIELD would have been a smear on the carpet in the conference room at headquarters.
It isn't until she admits that Phil is her nephew (the eldest son of her youngest sister) that the truth becomes clear. And not just why she knows Phil, but why it seemed that Phil was so—he doesn't want to say obsessed, but if the shoe fits—with him. Family legacies and all that, and Steve feels like he's got an extra connection to the agent now, and one he's looking forward to exploring when he gets back to the States.
"Can I ask you something?" he says, over an hour into his visit.
She frowns at first, probably because he hasn't been shy about asking questions up to now, but the frown soon resolves into an understanding smile.
"You want to know if I ever married."
His gaze darts away, hands fidgeting with the now-empty tea cup. He feels guilty for asking, as if it's not his business, somehow. And it isn’t, not really. He was dead, for all intents and purposes, so he doesn't feel like he really has a right to—well, he knows it's awkward and silly and—
"It's okay," she says, taking his hand and squeezing it. He looks at her, and finds her smiling, that familiar warmth in her eyes again. "Believe it or not, Howard and I spent some time together, after you'd—well, after you'd gone."
"You and Howard Stark?" he blurts, unable to reconcile his memories of her with the thought that she would have accepted the companionship of someone so viscerally allergic to monogamy.
Peggy just chuckles. "Yes, Howard and I. For a little while, we were the only two people who remembered you, really remembered you. We found comfort in each other, especially when Howard would come back from one of his search expeditions. It was awful for him, feeling as though he'd let you down. Eventually, we went our separate ways. He married Maria and had Tony, and I met a nice young man after the war and settled down. We were never able to have children, but we were happy together."
"That's all I ever wanted," Steve says, and he honestly means it.
She squeezes his hand gently. "Dance with me, Steve."
He smiles, remembering a moment seventy years ago, and a promise he made. This isn't The Stork Club, and he's about seventy years too late, but he can do this. He has to do this. "Yeah."
He stands up, holding out his hand for her to take. She struggles to her feet, leaning on him a lot more than he'd expected, so he pulls her close and wraps his arms around her frail body. She's a couple of inches shorter than he remembers, even in the modest heels she wearing, and they're not moving much, just swaying really, to the music that isn't really there.
They stay like that for long minutes, basking in the glow of a memory that neither of them remember, but they cherish it all the same. Finally, Peggy pulls back, her watery smile reflecting his own. She lays a hand on his cheek, and it's as natural as breathing when he bends down and drops a chaste kiss on her lips.
When he pulls back, he can once again see the woman he used to know smiling back at him, but it's wistful now, and he knows their moment is over. He presses a kiss to her forehead, and smiles down at her, knowing this will be the last time he sees her alive.
"Thanks, Peggy."
"You're welcome, Steve," she says quietly.
Before his resolve fails him completely, he strides out of the room, not even looking back to see if she's watching him go. It's so much like the last time he saw her, and he knows he might never leave if he doesn't go now.
He stops to thank Sharon on his way out (his mother taught him manners, and he finds that he can't completely abandon them, even all these years later and feeling like he's about to shatter), and then he's out of the house and headed for his hotel, not even bothering to pull on his coat until he's down the block.
Tony had given him use of one of his jets, so he can leave anytime he wants to, but he finds that he doesn't want to wait until morning. He's raw and wounded, and he just needs to get home, so he quickly packs his bag and calls the pilot from the cab. The sooner he puts London in his rearview mirror, the better.
~o~
The elevator dings, waking Steve from the semi-comatose state he'd been in since he'd boarded the jet in London hours ago. He pushes himself off the wall and trudges to his front door, his duffel slung over his shoulder.
As soon as he opens the door, he knows he's not alone. The lights are dim, allowing the twinkle of night in New York City to light the room with its neon glow. There's music in the background—Sinatra's Body and Soul, if he's not mistaken. He remembers seeing Coleman Hawkins perform the original with Bucky at some nightclub in Manhattan before the war, but he finds that the soulful version that Sinatra did suits his mood better.
He drops his duffel and moves into the living room. The canyons of the city stretch out before him, visible through the floor to ceiling windows; he hadn't expected to love living in Stark Tower—or Avengers Tower, as the media has now dubbed it, much to Tony's chagrin—because he'd loved living in Brooklyn, with its small-town feel and friendly, generous people. But he can't deny that the views are spectacular, and living with his friends—and the Avengers, against all odds, have become his friends—is one of the best parts about living in this century. They'd learned to laugh together, fight together and comfort each other when things didn't exactly go to plan. It's a good life, and Steve's finally come to accept that it's his life now, too.
"You're home early."
His eyes dart to the couch, where Maria is looking at him, stretched out in lounge pants and a warm sweater, a book lying forgotten on her lap.
Steve shrugs. "Didn't want to stay."
She stands up and crosses the room to him, not peppering him with questions about the trip, just quietly pulling him to her and wrapping her arms around him. He melts into her embrace, closing his eyes as he savors her warmth and vitality. He tangles his fingers in her hair, worn long and loose just the way he likes it, instead of twisted into the severe bun she wears when she's Lieutenant Maria Hill of SHIELD.
He appreciates that she's not asking how it went. He's not sure he can put it into words without falling apart. It was hard to see the woman he remembered being so full of fire and determination reduced to a frail shell. Such a contrast to the woman in his arms now, though he knows they're cut from the same cloth.
He suspects that's why he'd been attracted to Maria from the beginning, but he knows she's not just a substitute for the woman he can't have anymore. Peggy was tough and determined, dedicated to her mission and fighting the battles that need to be won. Maria is all of those things, but she's also vulnerable and kind, and allows him to see her weaknesses, not so he can protect her, but so he can help fill the gaps and make her stronger. This thing with Maria is so much more real than anything he'd ever had with Peggy, and he wouldn't trade it for anything.
He relaxes into her arms, and they begin swaying as Sinatra's voice fills the room. It's not the Stork Club, but in a way, it's better. It's real, a memory he'll be able to cherish for years to come because of its simplicity and the love that's living within the moment.
"It was hard," he says, after a few minutes, "seeing her that way."
"I'd imagine it was hard for her, too," she says. "You haven't changed, but she has."
"Yeah."
He sighs, pulling her closer and burying his nose in her hair. He loves this woman, and he knows that's a gift. He couldn’t have imagined being here with her when he woke up almost a year ago, but now he can't imagine his life without her. She's patient with him, helping him learn the culture and adapt to the technology in this modern age. He appreciates having a guide through the strange land he finds himself in, but what he loves more is the wonderment he can see in her eyes each time he encounters something new. It's like she's experiencing it all for the first time through him, and he's glad he can share that with her, maybe beat back some of the cynicism that seems to live in the 21st century.
"Tony's talking about another movie night," she says, sometime later, when the music's run out but they're still swaying to the song in their hearts. "Maybe some Thai food involved, if you're interested."
"Mmmmm," he hums, just the thought of Thai making his mouth water. He hadn't been hungry on the plane, but now he finds himself with an appetite. "I think I could be persuaded. You?"
Maria chuckles. "Sure. As long as the girls get to pick the movie this time."
"Talk to Pepper," he says, pulling back. "She'll make sure you girls get your chance."
She smiles up at him, pushing up on her toes as he leans down to meet her. Their lips brush, and though this kiss is chaste, it's nothing like the one he shared with Peggy mere hours ago. There's a spark here that was somehow missing in that one, proof of a love that's growing and changing them both.
"Music's stopped," she says as they continue to sway.
As if on cue, the song starts again, JARVIS making sure they want for nothing. Steve looks down at the woman in his arms, her eyes shining with love and affection, and his heart swells. This isn't their first dance, far from it. But she's the last person he'll ever dance with. He'd thought, once upon a time, that it would be Peggy, but he knows now that their first dance was also their last. He can't find it in himself to care. This is the woman he wants to spend the rest of his life with, and that's more than enough for him.
"I love you," he whispers.
Her smile grows. "I love you, too."
This may not have been the way he'd expected his life to turn out, but he's okay with that. This dance is worth everything he's been through to get here.
~Finis