Chapter 10
NEW JERSEY
December 22nd, 1949
At the close of a long, chilly day at the SHIELD camp, workers streamed out one by one under a fading winter sun. Near the exit, Peggy called out Steve as he lingered by the camp’s secure entrance.
“Steve, you’re not leaving?” she asked. His response was brisk, as he checked his watch. “No, I have extra work,” he replied, his eyes briefly meeting hers before he turned away. With a small nod, Peggy reached into her pocket and pulled out a set of keys. “You close then,” she instructed softly, handing them to him.
For a moment, Steve believed he would have the quiet solitude of duty, but as he stepped into the cold twilight, a voice emerged from the nearby shadows—a sultry, confident tone that broke the expected silence. “So, Rogers…” the woman said, stepping forward into the weak light. It was Lorraine, someone Steve remembered well, boldness and an alluring charm radiating. “Are you and Carter together?” she asked, her eyes twinkling with mischief and genuine curiosity as her hands landed lightly on his chest.
Caught off guard, Steve arched an eyebrow. “No,” he replied cautiously, “Why do you ask?”
Lorraine laughed softly—a sound both teasing and knowing. “Well, you know, a girl is curious. The other time, I didn’t thank you enough for your bravery.” Her own words daring, a playful reminder of their previous encounter.
A smirk tugged at Steve’s lips. “I guess not,” he answered dryly, the memory of that act warming him against the cold winter air. Then, in an impulsive shift, they came together in a kiss that was both unexpected and charged with unspoken intensity.
Before long, the exchange deepened. “Let me show how appreciative the American women are for you,” Lorraine purred, her fingers deftly unzipping the front of his jeans, and, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, she knelt before him.
“Show me then,” Steve murmured, his tone playful yet laden with anticipation. What began as an exploration of his private parts soon escalated, utilizing her skills to pleasure him.
After a climactic moment punctuated by a whispered, “Damn, Lorraine, that was incredible,” Steve’s words mingled. “Well, mister, that wasn’t the full prize,” she countered with a teasing smile, slowly shedding her clothes. Pushed by the heat of the moment, she pressed herself against a nearby wall. Steve aligned himself and penetrated her.
Her smirk was soft as she murmured, “You know, you don’t really have to put it in there.” That playful remark made him pause and adjust—a shift in trajectory that took him from the expected to the audacious. “I didn’t know you were this freaky,” he admitted with a low chuckle as he shifted from one entry to another. “Well, we have a lot of time to get to know each other,” she replied softly, her tone promising further exploration. What followed was an encounter full of relentless, raw intimacy—each thrust, each gasp, a testament to the spontaneous, unfiltered desires.
Later, as the session wound down, Lorraine’s voice cut through the quiet with a satisfied, “That was good.” Steve, grinning widely, replied, a statement. “Hell yeah, and we’re doing it again.”
WASHINGTON, D.C.
The night had grown deep and urban lights shimmered on wet pavement as Steve made his way back home. Drawn by his previous encounter, he found himself outside the club where he had first encountered that captivating blonde dancer.
Stepping inside, he approached the bartender. “Hey, the blonde dancer, where is she?” he inquired, his voice low and curious.
The bartender’s eyes twinkled with secret knowledge. “Oh, you mean Martha? She doesn’t work here anymore. You want to see her?” he replied, sliding a small folded note across the counter. “Yeah, you know where she lives?” Steve pressed, glancing at the note. With a nod, the bartender said, “Yeah, here you go,” and Steve tucked the note into his pocket. “Thanks,” he murmured before leaving the club into the cool night, the address burned into his mind as a promise of future encounters.
Later that night, as Steve arrived at the direction indicated on the note, he was met by a soft voice at the door. “I’m coming,” he heard. Opening the door revealed the familiar face of Martha. “Oh, you’re the guy from the other day,” she remarked, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I wanted to talk to you, actually. Come in.”
“Yeah,” Steve replied simply, inviting himself in. Once inside, she gestured for him to sit in a comfortable nook away from the main room, the atmosphere was laced with a tension that hinted at more than casual conversation.
“What do you want me to talk about?” Steve asked, being able to sense her tensing up, leaning forward as the woman settled opposite him.There was a long pause before she spoke, her voice trembling slightly with emotion. “Well… I’m pregnant,” she announced, her words hanging in the air.
For a moment, Steve’s face went blank. “And I wanted to ask you if you want to be involved?” she continued softly, eyes searching for his understanding.
“What do you mean by that?” Steve questioned, his tone careful as he tried to navigate the unexpected turn.
“I know who you are. I’ve known since the beginning, Steve,” she said, her voice steadying as she explained. “And I know that your life is very busy. And I’m moving out—to Missouri, which is pretty far from D.C.—but I still want to have the baby, so I’m giving you a way out.”
Steve fell silent for a long moment, weighed down by the enormity of the situation. Finally, he said, “Honestly, I don’t see myself as a father right now.” His admission was raw and honest.
He looked at her with a hint of sorrow, adding softly, “But I’m feeling like an asshole for that.”
“Don’t,” she urged gently. “Like I said, I want to have a baby above all else, and I don’t care if the father is with me or not.” Her voice was sincere, though conflicted, understanding the gravity of the task ahead.
Steve reached out, placing a reassuring hand over hers. “But I want you to know,” he said quietly, “that if you need anything, I’ll be there.”
She nodded, a small smile breaking through the tension. “I know.” Then, with a pause that hung heavy with significance, Steve added, “But I need to know your full name, at least. I want to know how the mother of my child is called.”
“Martha Quill,” she replied simply.
“Okay, Martha Quill,” Steve said, his tone softening with acceptance. “I’ll see you, I guess.”
“See you,” she murmured as he left, the door closing softly behind him.