One Single Yesterday - Chapter Five
Aug. 27th, 2013 12:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cassandraoftroyChapter: 5 of 5
Characters: Steve Rogers, Peggy Carter, Clint Barton, Nick Fury
Chapter Warnings: none
Word Count: ~3000
Summary: In the 21st century, Steve mourns Peggy at her gravesite, and discovers something he dared not imagine.
Master Post
Previous Chapter
It had been raining that morning. The grass still shimmered wetly from it, and transparent droplets clung to the letters engraved on the smooth stone before him. Steve reached out to brush away the moisture, and found himself tracing the outline of a single name with his fingertip: Agent Margaret "Peggy" Carter.
As promised, the Doctor had returned him to his SHIELD-furnished apartment only minutes after he'd departed, clad in his dress uniform, for his date. Tony had started making noises about converting some of the floors in Stark Tower into personal suites for the Avengers, but in that moment, Steve had been glad of his privacy. The others would have expected him to be happy when he returned, having gotten to see his girl again. But seeing Peggy again meant saying goodbye to her again, and the first time he'd had the minor distraction of plummeting to his demise. Now he had to live with the loss of her, just like he'd had to live with the loss of his entire world when he'd first woken from the ice… only a couple of months ago, he'd realized, counting the time he'd spent with Peggy in the TARDIS. It was too soon to face being alone all over again. The need to reach out to her, to connect with whatever still remained of Peggy Carter, prompted him to ignore his better judgment: he had to know.
He had been given a login code for the SHIELD computer system – the one that was accessible from the internet, the tech had explained. Copying the name and password sticky-noted to his laptop was simple enough even for a kid from 1940s Brooklyn, and in a few minutes, he'd found what he was after.
Peggy Carter had lived for only four months after they had parted company in the TARDIS; she'd been shot and killed in the line of duty.
He wasn't sure what he'd been hoping to find. It had been almost seventy years since they'd served together – the odds of Peggy living well into her nineties hadn't been great, even with twenty-first century medical technology at her disposal. She might well have died of old age twenty years ago. But if she had, it would've been different. He would be able to imagine that she was still living her life, just in a different time. Now… it was as though she were dead twice over.
Sleep had been impossible. Waiting until morning, he'd ridden to SHIELD headquarters and prowled the corridors for Barton, who was still being subjected to evaluations by half a dozen different departments after his subversion by Loki. He was more than happy to be Steve's accomplice and getaway driver if it meant escaping the building and the endless parade of Rorschach blots presented to him by SHIELD psychiatrists, and no one on hangar duty that morning was prepared to deny Captain America a Quinjet.
Between travel time and the five-hour time difference, they arrived in Surrey in time for an early dinner, which Steve had no interest in acquiring. Barton felt otherwise and promised to meet him back at the plane when Steve was finished.
The Brookwood Memorial was a beautiful and fitting tribute to the war dead whose remains had been unrecoverable; it appealed to both his artist's eye and the memories he carried of serving beside so many brave men and women. Standing in the center of the circular pavilion of white marble, green grass, and gray stone, he was literally surrounded by the dead, whose names were carved on the upright slabs that ringed the monument. But as much as he respected and honored the sacrifices of every soul who had fallen and been remembered here, right now the only name that mattered to him was the one beneath his fingers.
"Peggy," he breathed, then stopped; the words wouldn't come. How could he tell her everything he was feeling, when it was so overwhelming that he could barely make sense of it himself? How could he tell her that she meant so much more to him now than she had even when he was carrying her picture in his compass on every mission, to help keep him pointed in a direction that she would be proud of? How can I tell her that I need that direction more than ever now, in this crazy future where nothing is familiar and I'm so alone? She'd laugh at me, and say that we've been to crazier and more alien futures than this. And she's right… but things didn't seem so strange when she was there. Everyone here sees me as this living legend that I barely recognize, but with Peggy, I know who I'm supposed to be. Or I did…
"Colonel Phillips pushed for my inclusion here, didn't he?" an impossible voice asked from behind him. "The Agency respected our service, but was never much for sentiment."
He almost didn't turn around, afraid that he would find only an empty cemetery, and that the loneliness would crush him. But Steve Rogers had never been especially good at self-preservation.
If she had looked exactly the way he remembered her, he would have thought she was a mirage manufactured by grief. And indeed, the smart uniform, crimson lips, wry smile, and brilliant dark eyes were a perfect match for the Peggy Carter enshrined in his memory. But there was one detail he never would have imagined, if this had been a hallucination meant to ease his longing: the white cloth sling that held her left arm cradled against her chest. Though he'd read over the report from her final assignment a hundred times the previous night, and another twenty on the flight to England, his mind had recoiled from visualizing her final moments; his imagination refused to hurt her. That must mean this Peggy standing before him, alive but wounded, must be real.
He let out a sound that was half her name, half a sob, and rushed forward to embrace her. He pulled up short at the last moment, trying to find a way to put his arms around her without hurting her shoulder. With a little laugh, she closed the distance between them and tugged him close with her good arm. "I missed you terribly, you know," she sighed into his neck.
Steve wanted to take a step back and look at her, but his arms refused to unfold from around her waist. "Oh God, I thought – I thought I'd lost you forever. Again," he muttered into her hair.
"So did I, for a while," she admitted, seemingly in no hurry to disengage from his affections.
"But how? Your service record…"
She pulled back just enough to look up into his eyes. "How do you think? The Doctor…" she glanced over her uninjured shoulder, and he followed her gaze only to see the silhouette of the TARDIS fading slowly out of existence, accompanied by the oddly musical groaning of the time machine's engines. Peggy sniffed. "Not much for goodbyes, is he?"
Steve felt a smile begin to take root on his face, and he gave Peggy a careful squeeze. "Goodbyes are overrated."
"Quite right. Let's do try to have fewer occasions for them in the future."
He grinned, but then glanced up at the Memorial surrounding them. "I still don't understand, though. How did he bring you here when history has you dying in 1944? Not that I'm not happy with the change," he added.
She replied with an artful one-shouldered shrug. "Why do you think my name is on the memorial for soldiers whose bodies weren't recovered, when I was shot on British soil? I'm given to understand that he stole me right out of the ambulance."
"Well, however he managed it, I'm glad you're here. How's your arm?" He grimaced in embarrassment, realizing that probably should have been his first question.
Peggy gave her left shoulder an experimental twitch, and her grimace mirrored his own for a moment. "It's improving," she said finally. "I spent a fortnight healing in the TARDIS before the Doctor brought me here, but I couldn't bear to wait long enough for it to heal completely. But the treatments I had there should allow me to recover in a fraction of the normal time, so I'll be right as rain before you know it."
"That's great!" He found himself smiling again, or possibly still. "But we should probably head back, before they decide to court-martial me for going AWOL."
She laughed. "It would be a tragedy if they reduced your rank. 'Lieutenant America' just doesn't have the same spirit to it."
"Then we'd better get going." He finally took a step away from her and offered her his arm. She slipped her right hand into the crook of his left arm and allowed him to lead the way out of the circle of ghosts.
They entered the Quinjet to find Barton sitting in the pilot's seat with his feet up on the console, eating battered fish and potato wedges out of a faux-newspaper cone. He looked up when he heard footsteps on the deck – and stared. "Um, Cap," he said after swallowing the bite of fish he'd taken a moment before they walked in, "when you said you wanted to come to a cemetery in England to see your girl from the war, I sorta didn't expect that you'd be bringing her back with you. I mean, don't get me wrong, it's a pleasure, ma'am," he hurriedly added, dropping his booted feet back onto the deck. He rose from the chair and brushed the grease off his fingers on the leg of his pants before extending the hand to shake.
Steve was grinning like an idiot, and he didn't care. "Peggy, this is Agent Clint Barton of SHIELD."
Peggy shook Barton's hand firmly and smiled. "Agent Peggy Carter of MI5 – well, formerly of MI5 by now, certainly."
Judging by the way his spine straightened, Barton looked like he recognized the name. "An honor to meet you, Agent Carter. If you and Cap want to strap in, I'll have us in the air in no time."
Peggy thanked him, and then she and Steve emerged from the cockpit to find their seats for the flight. Steve helped her maneuver the harness with her one good arm, and before long the Quinjet was in the air, taking them home.
* * *
The uniformed young man sitting behind the desk looked up from the intercom at Steve and nodded. "He'll see you now; go on in." Many of the SHIELD personnel he'd interacted with, including ranking officers, had needed to stifle a bit of starry-eyed enthusiasm at meeting and talking with Captain America, but this twenty-something lieutenant addressed Steve in the same impassive tones that might have greeted any document courier or military attache. Steve had thought that such a reception would come as a relief, but in this case, it felt a little unnerving instead – this kid clearly interacted with actually important people frequently enough to become jaded by celebrity. It drove home the audacity of what Steve was about to do. No point in second-guessing the drop zone when you've already left the plane, he told himself firmly, and walked into Director Fury's office.
The Director was standing behind the desk, which was clear of everything except a thin computer monitor. The room itself was similarly sparse, with floor-to-ceiling windows currently tinted dark to obscure the view. "Good morning, Captain. What can I do for you?"
"Sir," Steve began, taking a moment to collect his thoughts and remind himself of what he planned to say. "You told me when I first woke up in this century that if there was anything I needed to help me adjust, I should let you know. Does that offer still stand?"
He watched Fury's reaction carefully; no one as savvy as the Director of SHIELD would agree to a request like that out of hand, without first knowing what he was promising. Fury's eye narrowed slightly, and there was a short beat before he spoke. "Anything within reason, that the organization can provide or that I can arrange myself, yes. What's on your mind, Captain?" This time the word was more than a term of address: it was a subtle reminder of rank and command.
"Nothing unreasonable," he replied. The office door had swung shut behind him when Steve had entered the room; now he dropped out of parade-rest and crossed the few steps back to the door, opening it. Then he returned to stand in front of Fury's desk, but not alone this time. "Director Fury, this is Agent Margaret Carter, formerly of MI5 and liaison to the Strategic Scientific Reserve. She will be needing housing accommodations, a stipend, and valid identity documents."
"And a position," Peggy added crisply. "You no doubt have access to my service record, and I fully intend to earn that stipend."
Fury didn't respond immediately; he simply studied them both, his expression unreadable. I guess it's not every day that a British spy from World War Two marches into your office and demands a job, even when you're Nick Fury.
But it didn't take the Director long to reach a decision – Steve supposed one didn't get to be the head of a secret military organization with global reach without being able to think on your feet. "I believe that can be arranged, Agent Carter. In fact, I have a position in mind that I suspect would suit an agent of your talents very well. We can discuss the details later. For now, if you'll head down to Personnel, we can get those ID documents and the stipend taken care of. They'll be informed of what you need by the time you get there." He turned to Steve. "Was there anything else, Captain?" This time, something in Fury's voice on the final word suggested that Fury had more to say, and Steve could expect a visitor later that evening.
"No sir, that's all for now." Steve remained a little suspicious of how smoothly that had gone, and wondered whether the other shoe would drop during his conversation with the Director later, or when Peggy found out what her new assignment was.
"Good. Then get the hell out of my office; I have real work to do." With a nod, Steve obeyed, carefully keeping the smile off his face until they were back in the outer room. The "other shoe" couldn't be too heavy if Fury was willing to go into the grumpy curmudgeon routine.
Still, he held his tongue until he and Peggy were inside the elevator. He had already learned to recognize CCTV cameras, but he also knew that such devices were rarely wired for sound. "That went better than I thought," he observed.
"There's more to it than that," Peggy retorted. "I wonder about this position he considers such a good fit for me."
"I'm guessing you'll find out pretty soon. He'll probably wait until you're all set up in your new place and properly grateful for SHIELD's generosity." He didn't enjoy the cynicism he felt toward the organization he worked with, but the discovery of "Phase Two" was still fresh in his mind. With an effort, he turned his mind to more pleasant matters. "Speaking of that… there's something I wanted to talk to you about."
Peggy quirked her eyebrows up, inviting him to continue, but Steve didn't speak right away. He'd rehearsed this speech in his mind more times than the conversation with Fury, but this one made him much more nervous. "Go on," Peggy finally prompted.
He swallowed against the sudden dryness in his mouth. "First, I completely understand if you want your own place, and privacy and everything. But I was thinking that, now that you're here – for good – maybe we might want to start thinking about… making things official."
A sincere smile broke across Peggy's face, but it wasn't the expression of effusive delight that television programs had caused Steve to associate with women receiving marriage proposals. "To begin with, let me make one thing perfectly clear," she began. "I do intend to stay here for good, and I am not having second thoughts about anything to do with us." She reached out for his hand with her own right one, the hand not in the sling. "But since I am here for good, and we have as much time now as everyone else does, we don't have to rush. We can have the relationship we wished for during the war."
She seemed concerned for his reaction – though he was too nervous to offer much of one yet – and stepped a little closer to him, looking up into his eyes. "I feel like I know the most important things about you, Steve; I know what you care most about, and what kind of man you are when pushed to the limits. But there are so many things about you that I don't know, and I want to – silly, trivial things, and important things, and all the rest. We can take the time to learn those things about one another now. And I think we should, so that when we do take that step, we're ready."
Hearing her say "when" filled him with a warmth that banished his nerves, and he folded her into a careful hug, mindful of her shoulder. "You're right. I'm glad we'll have the chance to do all those things. I would've missed it."
"But let me make one other thing perfectly clear," she told him, twisting just enough that she could look him squarely in the face. "If you haven't proposed again within a year's time, I shall be terribly disappointed."
"We can't have that," he grinned, and leaned down to kiss her. It'll be six months at most, he decided. Then the elevator beeped, and they had just enough time to disengage before the doors slid apart on the level of the Personnel offices. As they stepped out of the elevator, their hands found each other again, and they strode down the corridor with fingers intertwined.
Characters: Steve Rogers, Peggy Carter, Clint Barton, Nick Fury
Chapter Warnings: none
Word Count: ~3000
Summary: In the 21st century, Steve mourns Peggy at her gravesite, and discovers something he dared not imagine.
Master Post
Previous Chapter
It had been raining that morning. The grass still shimmered wetly from it, and transparent droplets clung to the letters engraved on the smooth stone before him. Steve reached out to brush away the moisture, and found himself tracing the outline of a single name with his fingertip: Agent Margaret "Peggy" Carter.
As promised, the Doctor had returned him to his SHIELD-furnished apartment only minutes after he'd departed, clad in his dress uniform, for his date. Tony had started making noises about converting some of the floors in Stark Tower into personal suites for the Avengers, but in that moment, Steve had been glad of his privacy. The others would have expected him to be happy when he returned, having gotten to see his girl again. But seeing Peggy again meant saying goodbye to her again, and the first time he'd had the minor distraction of plummeting to his demise. Now he had to live with the loss of her, just like he'd had to live with the loss of his entire world when he'd first woken from the ice… only a couple of months ago, he'd realized, counting the time he'd spent with Peggy in the TARDIS. It was too soon to face being alone all over again. The need to reach out to her, to connect with whatever still remained of Peggy Carter, prompted him to ignore his better judgment: he had to know.
He had been given a login code for the SHIELD computer system – the one that was accessible from the internet, the tech had explained. Copying the name and password sticky-noted to his laptop was simple enough even for a kid from 1940s Brooklyn, and in a few minutes, he'd found what he was after.
Peggy Carter had lived for only four months after they had parted company in the TARDIS; she'd been shot and killed in the line of duty.
He wasn't sure what he'd been hoping to find. It had been almost seventy years since they'd served together – the odds of Peggy living well into her nineties hadn't been great, even with twenty-first century medical technology at her disposal. She might well have died of old age twenty years ago. But if she had, it would've been different. He would be able to imagine that she was still living her life, just in a different time. Now… it was as though she were dead twice over.
Sleep had been impossible. Waiting until morning, he'd ridden to SHIELD headquarters and prowled the corridors for Barton, who was still being subjected to evaluations by half a dozen different departments after his subversion by Loki. He was more than happy to be Steve's accomplice and getaway driver if it meant escaping the building and the endless parade of Rorschach blots presented to him by SHIELD psychiatrists, and no one on hangar duty that morning was prepared to deny Captain America a Quinjet.
Between travel time and the five-hour time difference, they arrived in Surrey in time for an early dinner, which Steve had no interest in acquiring. Barton felt otherwise and promised to meet him back at the plane when Steve was finished.
The Brookwood Memorial was a beautiful and fitting tribute to the war dead whose remains had been unrecoverable; it appealed to both his artist's eye and the memories he carried of serving beside so many brave men and women. Standing in the center of the circular pavilion of white marble, green grass, and gray stone, he was literally surrounded by the dead, whose names were carved on the upright slabs that ringed the monument. But as much as he respected and honored the sacrifices of every soul who had fallen and been remembered here, right now the only name that mattered to him was the one beneath his fingers.
"Peggy," he breathed, then stopped; the words wouldn't come. How could he tell her everything he was feeling, when it was so overwhelming that he could barely make sense of it himself? How could he tell her that she meant so much more to him now than she had even when he was carrying her picture in his compass on every mission, to help keep him pointed in a direction that she would be proud of? How can I tell her that I need that direction more than ever now, in this crazy future where nothing is familiar and I'm so alone? She'd laugh at me, and say that we've been to crazier and more alien futures than this. And she's right… but things didn't seem so strange when she was there. Everyone here sees me as this living legend that I barely recognize, but with Peggy, I know who I'm supposed to be. Or I did…
"Colonel Phillips pushed for my inclusion here, didn't he?" an impossible voice asked from behind him. "The Agency respected our service, but was never much for sentiment."
He almost didn't turn around, afraid that he would find only an empty cemetery, and that the loneliness would crush him. But Steve Rogers had never been especially good at self-preservation.
If she had looked exactly the way he remembered her, he would have thought she was a mirage manufactured by grief. And indeed, the smart uniform, crimson lips, wry smile, and brilliant dark eyes were a perfect match for the Peggy Carter enshrined in his memory. But there was one detail he never would have imagined, if this had been a hallucination meant to ease his longing: the white cloth sling that held her left arm cradled against her chest. Though he'd read over the report from her final assignment a hundred times the previous night, and another twenty on the flight to England, his mind had recoiled from visualizing her final moments; his imagination refused to hurt her. That must mean this Peggy standing before him, alive but wounded, must be real.
He let out a sound that was half her name, half a sob, and rushed forward to embrace her. He pulled up short at the last moment, trying to find a way to put his arms around her without hurting her shoulder. With a little laugh, she closed the distance between them and tugged him close with her good arm. "I missed you terribly, you know," she sighed into his neck.
Steve wanted to take a step back and look at her, but his arms refused to unfold from around her waist. "Oh God, I thought – I thought I'd lost you forever. Again," he muttered into her hair.
"So did I, for a while," she admitted, seemingly in no hurry to disengage from his affections.
"But how? Your service record…"
She pulled back just enough to look up into his eyes. "How do you think? The Doctor…" she glanced over her uninjured shoulder, and he followed her gaze only to see the silhouette of the TARDIS fading slowly out of existence, accompanied by the oddly musical groaning of the time machine's engines. Peggy sniffed. "Not much for goodbyes, is he?"
Steve felt a smile begin to take root on his face, and he gave Peggy a careful squeeze. "Goodbyes are overrated."
"Quite right. Let's do try to have fewer occasions for them in the future."
He grinned, but then glanced up at the Memorial surrounding them. "I still don't understand, though. How did he bring you here when history has you dying in 1944? Not that I'm not happy with the change," he added.
She replied with an artful one-shouldered shrug. "Why do you think my name is on the memorial for soldiers whose bodies weren't recovered, when I was shot on British soil? I'm given to understand that he stole me right out of the ambulance."
"Well, however he managed it, I'm glad you're here. How's your arm?" He grimaced in embarrassment, realizing that probably should have been his first question.
Peggy gave her left shoulder an experimental twitch, and her grimace mirrored his own for a moment. "It's improving," she said finally. "I spent a fortnight healing in the TARDIS before the Doctor brought me here, but I couldn't bear to wait long enough for it to heal completely. But the treatments I had there should allow me to recover in a fraction of the normal time, so I'll be right as rain before you know it."
"That's great!" He found himself smiling again, or possibly still. "But we should probably head back, before they decide to court-martial me for going AWOL."
She laughed. "It would be a tragedy if they reduced your rank. 'Lieutenant America' just doesn't have the same spirit to it."
"Then we'd better get going." He finally took a step away from her and offered her his arm. She slipped her right hand into the crook of his left arm and allowed him to lead the way out of the circle of ghosts.
They entered the Quinjet to find Barton sitting in the pilot's seat with his feet up on the console, eating battered fish and potato wedges out of a faux-newspaper cone. He looked up when he heard footsteps on the deck – and stared. "Um, Cap," he said after swallowing the bite of fish he'd taken a moment before they walked in, "when you said you wanted to come to a cemetery in England to see your girl from the war, I sorta didn't expect that you'd be bringing her back with you. I mean, don't get me wrong, it's a pleasure, ma'am," he hurriedly added, dropping his booted feet back onto the deck. He rose from the chair and brushed the grease off his fingers on the leg of his pants before extending the hand to shake.
Steve was grinning like an idiot, and he didn't care. "Peggy, this is Agent Clint Barton of SHIELD."
Peggy shook Barton's hand firmly and smiled. "Agent Peggy Carter of MI5 – well, formerly of MI5 by now, certainly."
Judging by the way his spine straightened, Barton looked like he recognized the name. "An honor to meet you, Agent Carter. If you and Cap want to strap in, I'll have us in the air in no time."
Peggy thanked him, and then she and Steve emerged from the cockpit to find their seats for the flight. Steve helped her maneuver the harness with her one good arm, and before long the Quinjet was in the air, taking them home.
The uniformed young man sitting behind the desk looked up from the intercom at Steve and nodded. "He'll see you now; go on in." Many of the SHIELD personnel he'd interacted with, including ranking officers, had needed to stifle a bit of starry-eyed enthusiasm at meeting and talking with Captain America, but this twenty-something lieutenant addressed Steve in the same impassive tones that might have greeted any document courier or military attache. Steve had thought that such a reception would come as a relief, but in this case, it felt a little unnerving instead – this kid clearly interacted with actually important people frequently enough to become jaded by celebrity. It drove home the audacity of what Steve was about to do. No point in second-guessing the drop zone when you've already left the plane, he told himself firmly, and walked into Director Fury's office.
The Director was standing behind the desk, which was clear of everything except a thin computer monitor. The room itself was similarly sparse, with floor-to-ceiling windows currently tinted dark to obscure the view. "Good morning, Captain. What can I do for you?"
"Sir," Steve began, taking a moment to collect his thoughts and remind himself of what he planned to say. "You told me when I first woke up in this century that if there was anything I needed to help me adjust, I should let you know. Does that offer still stand?"
He watched Fury's reaction carefully; no one as savvy as the Director of SHIELD would agree to a request like that out of hand, without first knowing what he was promising. Fury's eye narrowed slightly, and there was a short beat before he spoke. "Anything within reason, that the organization can provide or that I can arrange myself, yes. What's on your mind, Captain?" This time the word was more than a term of address: it was a subtle reminder of rank and command.
"Nothing unreasonable," he replied. The office door had swung shut behind him when Steve had entered the room; now he dropped out of parade-rest and crossed the few steps back to the door, opening it. Then he returned to stand in front of Fury's desk, but not alone this time. "Director Fury, this is Agent Margaret Carter, formerly of MI5 and liaison to the Strategic Scientific Reserve. She will be needing housing accommodations, a stipend, and valid identity documents."
"And a position," Peggy added crisply. "You no doubt have access to my service record, and I fully intend to earn that stipend."
Fury didn't respond immediately; he simply studied them both, his expression unreadable. I guess it's not every day that a British spy from World War Two marches into your office and demands a job, even when you're Nick Fury.
But it didn't take the Director long to reach a decision – Steve supposed one didn't get to be the head of a secret military organization with global reach without being able to think on your feet. "I believe that can be arranged, Agent Carter. In fact, I have a position in mind that I suspect would suit an agent of your talents very well. We can discuss the details later. For now, if you'll head down to Personnel, we can get those ID documents and the stipend taken care of. They'll be informed of what you need by the time you get there." He turned to Steve. "Was there anything else, Captain?" This time, something in Fury's voice on the final word suggested that Fury had more to say, and Steve could expect a visitor later that evening.
"No sir, that's all for now." Steve remained a little suspicious of how smoothly that had gone, and wondered whether the other shoe would drop during his conversation with the Director later, or when Peggy found out what her new assignment was.
"Good. Then get the hell out of my office; I have real work to do." With a nod, Steve obeyed, carefully keeping the smile off his face until they were back in the outer room. The "other shoe" couldn't be too heavy if Fury was willing to go into the grumpy curmudgeon routine.
Still, he held his tongue until he and Peggy were inside the elevator. He had already learned to recognize CCTV cameras, but he also knew that such devices were rarely wired for sound. "That went better than I thought," he observed.
"There's more to it than that," Peggy retorted. "I wonder about this position he considers such a good fit for me."
"I'm guessing you'll find out pretty soon. He'll probably wait until you're all set up in your new place and properly grateful for SHIELD's generosity." He didn't enjoy the cynicism he felt toward the organization he worked with, but the discovery of "Phase Two" was still fresh in his mind. With an effort, he turned his mind to more pleasant matters. "Speaking of that… there's something I wanted to talk to you about."
Peggy quirked her eyebrows up, inviting him to continue, but Steve didn't speak right away. He'd rehearsed this speech in his mind more times than the conversation with Fury, but this one made him much more nervous. "Go on," Peggy finally prompted.
He swallowed against the sudden dryness in his mouth. "First, I completely understand if you want your own place, and privacy and everything. But I was thinking that, now that you're here – for good – maybe we might want to start thinking about… making things official."
A sincere smile broke across Peggy's face, but it wasn't the expression of effusive delight that television programs had caused Steve to associate with women receiving marriage proposals. "To begin with, let me make one thing perfectly clear," she began. "I do intend to stay here for good, and I am not having second thoughts about anything to do with us." She reached out for his hand with her own right one, the hand not in the sling. "But since I am here for good, and we have as much time now as everyone else does, we don't have to rush. We can have the relationship we wished for during the war."
She seemed concerned for his reaction – though he was too nervous to offer much of one yet – and stepped a little closer to him, looking up into his eyes. "I feel like I know the most important things about you, Steve; I know what you care most about, and what kind of man you are when pushed to the limits. But there are so many things about you that I don't know, and I want to – silly, trivial things, and important things, and all the rest. We can take the time to learn those things about one another now. And I think we should, so that when we do take that step, we're ready."
Hearing her say "when" filled him with a warmth that banished his nerves, and he folded her into a careful hug, mindful of her shoulder. "You're right. I'm glad we'll have the chance to do all those things. I would've missed it."
"But let me make one other thing perfectly clear," she told him, twisting just enough that she could look him squarely in the face. "If you haven't proposed again within a year's time, I shall be terribly disappointed."
"We can't have that," he grinned, and leaned down to kiss her. It'll be six months at most, he decided. Then the elevator beeped, and they had just enough time to disengage before the doors slid apart on the level of the Personnel offices. As they stepped out of the elevator, their hands found each other again, and they strode down the corridor with fingers intertwined.
