North Star
Night is the hardest for him.
Since he was pulled from the ice, he's had trouble sleeping; plagued by nightmares of ice and crushing metal, of dreams of holding Peggy against him as they sway—either way, he wakes with a sheen of sweat and a hollowness in his chest that is so consuming, he doubts it will ever leave him.
There is no longer safety for him at night. Once, when he was young, he found comfort in the blanket of night. He enjoyed the idea that in the darkness, he could be just Steve. No one could see how small he was. No one could judge him on how frail he appeared. No, he could be whomever he chose, be with whomever he chose, in that darkness.
But the safety he felt then, tucked away in his bed at the Barnes' house, listening to Bucky's steady snore, is now gone. Forced to be Captain America, the myth and legend, furring day, he finds that he no longer wants to even be Steve Rogers in the dead of night; when the quiet that once felt inviting now engulfs, pressing in on him from every possible angle, his sharp memory of his past life doing nothing but cutting him open, leaving him wounded and open to the darkness.
He leaves the city once, desperately hoping that the drive will calm him. And it does, for a moment. The cold wind rushing past his face, cooling his heated skin, pricking at his eyes, pulling at his hair. The city blurs past him in bright, golden streaks of light, merging together to give him the illusion that perhaps he really is a time traveler. Maybe this was how he can get back to when he felt real? But the lights disappear as he leaves them far behind, speeding through the winding country backroads. He has no idea where he is or where he's going and frankly, he doesn't care. He stops when when runs out of gas.
He pulls the bike off the road and leaves it, making his way over a beaten wooden fence and up a large hill. He sits at the top, absorbing the view. He can see the city out in the distance, barely a shimmer on the horizon. There are spots of light here and there, homes dotting the farm land. He can see for miles and miles. He can breathe here, taking in the chilly stillness of the autumn midnight.
Then he begins to eye the stars. Somehow he is surprised that they are exactly the same as before. He half expects the night sky to be completely changed and shifted, since everything else around him feels so different and disconnected. And yet, there they are, twinkling back at him.
"I can find the North Star. I don't see why I should need much else." Peggy's low whisper cuts through the autumn air as she and Steve wait out the night. They, along with the rest of the Commandos, are scattered about the French countryside after being forced to abort a mission to infiltrate one of the Reich's strongholds.
The pair are pressed together, Steve around Peggy, as he uses his body as a makeshift heater. And for as much as he is enjoying being this close to her, he gets the sneaking suspicion that it isn't much of a burden for her either. The way her fingers are delicately tracing the lines of his hands is a bit of a give away, he thinks.
"But didn't you ever see shapes of things in clouds?" Steve is having a hard time balancing his incredulity at Peggy's dismissal of Astronomy, and how distracting she is when she's this close.
"Of course I did. I just never could seem to see what Michael saw when he looked at the night sky." The mention of her late brother gives Steve pause. It is the first time she's mentioned him by name since she told Steve of his passing. He holds her just a fraction tighter.
"Mind if I have a go?"
"Be my guest."
Steve stares out into the black blanket pricked with light. Surely he can find something a bit more interesting than the Big Dipper... He grins when he sees it.
"Ok," he takes her hand in his, his palm pressing against the back of her hand, lifting their arms to the sky. "Point your finger at that big one there." Steve guides her finger tip.
"See it?" Peggy nods her head.
"Ok, that is Algol, the Daemon Star. That's the eye of Medusa. Now, follow that line of faint stars up to that really bright one. There," Steve guides Peggy's finger along the skyline. "That is Mirfak, the brightest star in the constellation and the heart of Perseus."
Steve pulls her hand, outlining Perseus' limbs and finally, his head.
"Anything?" Peggy sighs, pulling their hands back into the warm fold of their arms.
"I see the stars, I do, I just can't picture them looking like anything. It just looks like a bunch of dots. I'm sorry." Steve's chuckle is so low, that Peggy feels it work its way through her.
"It's ok, I get it. Creative thinking isn't your strongest suit. Not to worry, that's why I'm here. To do all the creative work for—" Peggy's open hand connects solidly with the side of Steve's head. Not enough to hurt, but enough for him to get the point. That gets a full belly laugh, stifled by his mouth pressed against the collar of her jacket as he fights to remain quiet. After several breathes to collect himself—
"It's fine, I still love you either way."
It takes him a moment, but he realizes Peggy's body has tensed under his arms. He feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as he comprehends that he just told Margaret Carter he loves her, for the very first time. The quiet night suddenly feels charged, Steve's skin prickling with heated anticipation for her response.
"You love me?" Peggy asks quietly. Neither one make a move, afraid that they'll fracture the moment.
"Of course I do," Steve whispers back, scanning the portion of her face he can make out in the dim moonlight. And when he sees the hint of a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth, it's as though a flood gate opens within him. Suddenly, all of the admiration and adoration that he had been containing neatly for the last year is flooding his body, having been granted the permission to flow freely. His skin grows impossibly hotter and he knows that he's flushed from his scalp to his toes, even if she cannot see it.
"I've never loved anything or anyone as much as I love you, Peg," Steve presses against her neck, pushing the words through the layers of wool and imagining them spilling across her skin. Her fingers find themselves woven into his hair, stroking at the roots and holding him against her.
"You know I love you too?" And her voice is so quiet that for moment, Steve thinks he may have misheard. "I love you too, Steve."
He sits, chewing on his lower lip, eyeing Perseus with distain. It's not fair. It's not fair that Perseus was allowed a life with Peggy, no matter how distant or remote. He is envious of those stars for being allowed to even watch her live her glorious life, all the time knowing he was buried under 6 tons of ice, not dead, but certainly not living.
It's not fair that he can't even look at the stars any more without hating everything he missed, hating how the stars are exactly the same while life carried on without him. His life, the life he should have had, the life that was stolen from him.
Yes, he may find the modern world difficult to cope with, but at least that is a problem he knows he can solve. The struggles during the day will ease with time. No, it is the struggles that haunt him at night that worry him the most, because often times, he wonders if he will ever be able to forget. But what he hates the most is the fact that he doesn't want to.