Peggy drinks alone.
She thinks she looks the part pretty well. There’s a difference between coming to a bar alone and drinking alone, and it’s all about the posture. People that are alone and drinking are looking around, making eye contact, talking to the bartender more than five words at a time. People that are drinking alone are drinking without aim.
Peggy has an aim, though, and it’s to get a little less weighed down by memories.
“Buy you a drink?”
She glances up at the man, who’s appeared out of nowhere and already, preemptively, sat down next to her. He has a square jaw and tight eyes and he’s leering, and Peggy could not be less interested in letting someone else into her solitude.
“No,” she says. She doesn’t need to be polite, doesn’t owe him an explanation, and if he’s smart he’ll take it for what it is.
Of course, with her luck, he isn’t. “Come on, don’t be like that,” he presses— it sounds more like a whine. “It’s just one drink. Give me a chance.”
“Thank you,” Peggy says, as dryly as she can manage, and gives him a conversation-ending smile. It’s the kind of smile that shuts soldiers up because they fear what’s coming next. Very useful, especially with her short temper that comes with drinking. “But no.”
She hears the man exhale, stand up like he’s preparing to yell or get physical, and clenches the glass in her hand, her heart thrumming and mind crystallizing. She can use it as a weapon, she can get off her stool and have her foot in his crotch in half a second to the one it will probably take him to punch her, if the man behind her is involved he has a gun she noticed earlier…
The man lets out a short, shocked cry, and the thoughts halt as Peggy looks up in confusion.
There is another woman there, holding his hand in hers like she’s scolding a child, and behind her glasses her eyes are sharp and commanding.
“I believe she told you no,” she says.
The man looks back to Peggy, weighing his options, and between the two of them grumbles something unpleasant and yanks away from her. He doesn’t stalk, though, so much as slink away, which is mildly satisfying.
There’s a moment of silence between her and the stranger, figuring out where they want to go next or if they’re going to part ways, and Peggy decides she could use a little companionship.
“Peggy Carter,” she offers, trying to make it sound like an invitation to join her if she wishes, but she can’t help but glance up and down. This woman, whoever she is, is stunning and then some. She’s stunning and… poised. She’s composing herself the way normal people do but not quite, because there’s still something more in her step that she can’t completely hide.
Peggy is, to say the least, intrigued.
The woman smiles and slides into the seat next to her. “Diana Prince,” she says in an accent that Peggy can’t completely place. It’s vaguely European, but nowhere she recognizes. Her voice rises and falls on different syllables, like a song, sweet and easy on the ears. It’s not the English accent that she sometimes longs to hear, but it’s a welcome change from the stark, harsh edge that Americans use.
(If you miss it that much, her friends’ voices say in her ear, then you should go home. But she can’t yet.)
Peggy smiles back at her, surprised by how easily it comes. “Thank you for the save. Some men just don’t know when to call it quits.”
“I think you had it covered,” Diana says coolly. “But yes. They get so… persistent.”
She says it with a hint of surprise to her voice, like it’s something she’s just finding out. Peggy envies her, wherever she was that she’s just beginning to encounter that annoyance that is men that think they’re entitled to her time.
They think they deserve a dance with her. And the thought just turns her stomach like the alcohol she’s drinking doesn’t agree with her.
Speaking of which. She turns to the bartender and says, “Two martinis please.”
When she turns back to Diana, she has one eyebrow raised. “You drink like they’re going to run out,” she says, eyeing the small line of glasses next to her.
It’s nothing for her to be concerned about, but she wouldn’t know that. She doesn’t know about the drinking contests with the Howling Commandos off of German beer that the locals foisted on them in thanks for their bravery, all of them at first expecting her to pass out or throw up and later waiting for her to win out of sheer stubborn willpower. She doesn't know about the flask they all passed around as they rolled slowly to their next mission, all of them slowly feeling the buzz and burn and talking around it. She doesn't know about her not quite keeping up with Steve when he was trying desperately to get drunk, just for half an hour, just for a little bit where he could pretend he was normal and dim the memory of Bucky falling out of his reach, and how she matched him best she could to keep him company without feeling overbearing. One time she told such a dirty joke that he spat out his drink all over the table, beet-red and spluttering and where the hell did you hear that, and she inhaled at the wrong time and got beer up the back of her nose, and by the time she was done cursing Steve was in hysterics so bad he was nearly crying. It had been a bad day and she made him laugh for a minute and it felt like such an accomplishment, such a gift in the shit-show that was the war. She was proud of herself for nearly a week—
“Peggy?”
Peggy blinks fast, caught for a second between the past and the present, and catches on the clink of the glass as it’s set on the counter in front of them. The clink of glass doesn’t fit with her memory, not dainty like that. It anchors her.
“Sorry.” Peggy smiles at Diana, whose answering look is slightly concerned but mostly just a polite question of what was that? She doesn’t feel like elaborating, though, and pushes one of the glasses toward her. “One of them is for you.”
“She shares,” Diana says, smiling again.
“Oh you know,” Peggy says, gesturing to the line of glasses behind her, “I hate drinking alone. Much rather have someone to share the blame with.”
“Are we planning to make bad decisions?”
“Always.”
Diana’s eyebrows jump again, but she doesn’t look opposed to that declaration. Peggy hadn’t really meant to declare it in the first place. Most of the people she used to make bad decisions with are gone now.
Some of them far, far beyond her reach.
She must have a look on her face, because Diana asks “What are we drinking to?” and she can tell immediately that she’s not trying to pry, but is instead genuine and gentle. The voice of a possible friend asking to be let in.
The song in the background changes to something upbeat and jovial, and she hears the whoops of laughter as the dames are led out to the dance floor and their partners start to show off and spin them faster than their buddies, and her heart does that familiar plummet into her stomach.
“To possibilities,” Peggy blurts.
There’s silence next to her, and for a terrible second she thinks Diana misheard her and thinks it was a forward (awful) pick-up line, but when she whips her head over Diana is staring at her glass, too, with the same intensity and somber air.
She catches her staring and glances up. A smile flickers over her lips that manages to be both hopeful and melancholy at the same time.
“I will drink to that,” she murmurs.
-------------------------
The next time Diana sees Peggy, it’s under much better circumstances.
She doesn’t keep in touch with everyone she finds, no matter how much she’d like to— it isn’t always going to work. She’s immortal, and she has to keep on the move and keep her stories changing to keep that fact a secret. There’s a little part of her, sometimes, when she sits in a new city in a mostly-empty apartment and stares at the wall because she knows the phone isn’t going to ring, that thinks she’d like more people to know that. It’s lonely, being so long-lived. She wouldn’t be putting anyone in danger, really, since there’s no family that they can reach. It would just be a little unusual. Trouble seems to follow her around as if she has a scent it can track.
Some long-buried instinct, though, tells her that Peggy can handle it.
Peggy is, in a word, amazing. She doesn’t walk with grace the way most of the women Diana knows do— she doesn’t care about looking beautiful, she already knows she is, and what she harnesses in her movements is power. She moves like a commander, with confidence and purpose, and people part out of the way for her. They listen to her when she speaks, they do what she says, they follow her into battle without question. She makes you not only respect her, but trust her, and that’s a rare thing. She’s going to make a great leader.
If the idiots at her agency, apparently, will let her lead them.
“They dislike being shown up.” Peggy rolls her eyes. “But when they don’t know how to do their own jobs, what else am I supposed to do?”
“Clearly you’re supposed to gently nudge them in the right direction and spare their egos.”
“If their egos can’t survive my help then they need to find a different profession,” she sighs and shoulders her bag further up so it’s easier to hold, her red hat tilting with the movement. One really nice thing about hanging out with Peggy that Diana shamelessly enjoys: she is gorgeous. Drop-dead. It’s the confidence, mostly, because most people could wear hats and sunglasses and dresses and look pretty good but when she’s aware she looks good Peggy really makes any outfit she puts on.
She has the quick thought that Etta would love her and has to shove it down. That’s not something she can do.
“If anyone can get through to them it’s you,” Diana says, and gets one of those beautiful smiles in return.
“The process is frustrating.” She shrugs and gives her a sideways look. “Do you have these troubles where you work?”
“A little. I butt heads with them sometimes, but…” She shrugs too, grinning. Peggy brings it out in her so easily. “I usually win.”
“I imagine.”
Diana laughs and nudges her. “And what is that supposed to mean?”
“Oh stop it. You know it’s the highest compliment I can give you.”
She does know that. Another nice benefit of hanging out with Peggy. She is one of the most aware women she’s ever met, and she’s powerful in that awareness. It makes Diana long for home a little less.
In the corner of her eye, she sees movement, and it makes her pause. Part of it is left over from the war, still, but she senses danger, and her instincts are usually right.
“What is it?” Peggy asks, and she clutches her bag a little tighter— not like she’s afraid, but like she’s getting ready to use it as a weapon.
“I’m not sure.” Diana readies herself, and her bracelets. She feels odd without them, without the piece of home that it offers her, so she wears them under her coat. There’s a man in the alley next to them, and he’s watching them when there’s a street full of people, and he doesn’t look right. There are some days that she thinks she’s imagining enemies because it’s still in her blood to fight, but that instinct is also to defend, and she has Peggy with her.
“There’s another man watching us on our left,” Peggy murmurs, and Diana is sure of her instinct now.
“The alley,” Diana murmurs back, she isn’t sure which one of them they’re actually watching but they’re going to get both of them and they won’t be prepared. “If they fire on the street someone innocent may get hurt.”
Peggy nods and they go down one of the alleys between the men; now that they’re aware of them, Diana can feel their eyes boring into her back. She feels no fear, though. She focuses on their footsteps, and the other end of the alley where there’s more movement.
Peggy throws herself forward toward the man that appears at the end of the alley to head them off, whirling with practiced ease but none of the grace that Diana is used to, because she’s willing to be brutal as long as she wins, and Diana turns to the other men to do the same when her heart jumps into her throat.
These ones are armed. And she won’t risk Peggy’s life to protect her secret, so she’ll do what she has to do.
Even though it’s been years since she’s done it, it’s natural, instinctive, to pivot to deflect the bullets back into their guns and knock them to the ground. It’s over in a matter of seconds, but the long-forgotten adrenaline roaring to life in her veins both drags it out and shortens it into nothing at the same time.
When they’re all on the ground, she hears Peggy breathe out heavily. “Wow.”
Diana turns to look at her— in equal parts to make sure that she’s okay, a bullet hasn’t hit her, and to see what she thinks of this new revelation. It gives her a feeling like freefall, to show someone else this side of her. Humans are beautiful creatures, yes, but they aren’t used to the more dangerous, less explainable things in their world. She always wonders who she’s going to scare off and what she’s going to start when she shows them some of the light.
Peggy’s eyes are wide, that’s to be expected, but she shuts her mouth and slowly stares at her bracelets. “What metal is that?”
“I don’t know the name for it,” Diana admits, swallowing hard. “It’s from… from my home.”
“Wakanda?”
That’s a country name she’s heard tossed around a couple times, but she shakes her head. “It’s called Themyscira.”
Peggy frowns. “I’ve never heard of it.”
“No one has.”
She sighs now and puts a hand on her hip. “You’re being intentionally vague.”
She’s right. And yet, after so much practice, she’s never figured out a good way to just come out and say it.
“I am… an Amazon.”
Peggy straightens a little with attention. “Like the Greek warriors.”
“Yes. Although Themyscira cannot just be found. It is magically protected from the eyes of men.”
Her eyebrows jump. “Magically protected.”
“By the gods.”
She expects that to get the disbelief she expects. At least something. But Peggy just stares at her, slightly nodding.
This is not the way this usually goes.
“You don’t seem that surprised,” Diana says.
Peggy smiles— that bittersweet one that makes her look twice her age, but also so brave and full of life. Peggy meets her challenges like they’ve been waiting for her and her for them. “I haven’t told you about Steve, have I?”
Diana blinks at her. This… isn’t a coincidence she’s used to encountering. “No,” she says carefully. “You haven’t.”
Peggy smiles at her, looks down at the unconscious men on the ground, and laughs a little to herself. “It’s kind of a long story. I don’t know if you’re up for it.”
Diana can’t help it, no matter how inappropriate it is— she smiles back. “Tell you what,” she says. “Swap you stories over dinner and drinks?”
Peggy’s smile twists in a way that’s becoming familiar— the look of a woman being presented a challenge that come hell or high water she will win.
Diana can’t wait.
-------------------------
“What did you love about your Steve?”
Peggy sighs and reclines further back in her bed. Diana is amazing for this very reason: because she knows when she needs to talk because the memories are too close, and how to push into it gently enough it doesn’t hurt too much. There is no painless way, that’s the nature of the hurt, but they’re both learning how to navigate around the rough patches.
“Did I ever show you a picture of him?”
“I don’t believe so.”
She’s not supposed to have one, technically, it breaks every confidentiality seal that exists, but she found one that wasn’t in a file and wouldn’t be missed and she hid it in her bra. No one had mentioned it, so now, it’s one of her prized possessions. She has a few other pictures, of course, but they’re of after, when he was strong and famous and a war hero.
This one is from before, when no one had thought he was worth anything and he was just determined to do something he believed was right.
She reaches over to her nightstand and passes it over to Diana, who immediately breaks into a smile looking at it. He doesn’t look like much in that photo— tiny, skinny, asthmatic— but she can still see the sparkle of mischief in his eyes.
“He was the most stubborn man in the entire army,” Peggy says tightly, willing her voice not to fail her. “He was scrawny enough none of the recruiters wanted him, so he went to five different offices. Kept trying to lie his way in. He just wanted so desperately to fight for his country, to do what he believed was right.”
Diana hums and gives her a wry smile. “That sounds like someone I know.”
Peggy manages a small smile back. “I never said it was a bad thing.” She takes another breath, meaning to keep going, and chokes on it. Her voice is just gone, entirely.
How can something from years ago still hurt so much, still have such power over her?
Diana puts a hand on her shoulder. It’s steadying, and Peggy takes another breath. She won’t let this defeat her. She’s won’t let how much she misses him cripple her, because this feels like another battle and she’s always hated losing.
“He just wanted to do what was right,” she says quietly. “He was a good man— one of the best I’ve ever known— and he just wanted to protect people and keep them happy. He volunteered for the experiment because he thought… thought his life wasn’t worth anything if he wasn’t doing something with it. He was so desperate to help… and he did. But… most people didn’t know…” She swallows and scrubs at her eyes because the picture is going blurry. “How good of a heart he had. That was what made him special. He was… so good.”
And she misses that goodness so, so much— because she’s been afraid to admit it, but it feels sometimes like the war killed much of the goodness in the world, and she hates that one part of it was him.
“It never stops hurting entirely,” Diana says softly.
Peggy nods and bites her lip. She hadn’t really thought she was looking for reassurance, but hearing that instead, it stings. She was, in a way, hoping that there was a time when she could go forward. She would never forget Steve, that wasn’t a question, that wasn’t even something she wanted, she was just… just…
Stuck. Stuck comparing him to all the possible lovers she could have, seeing him in all their movements, hearing him in all their voices, and reeling from the overlaid images that she could never have that made her sick with want. Stuck wondering about what-ifs— if she had been faster, been able to talk him out of crashing the plane, thought of something different, said something different over the radio so there was one less thing she could regret when she laid awake at night. Stuck staring at his photograph, wishing him back when it did nothing, holding tight to the precious few memories of him hard enough she bled, and wanting, in equal parts, that he never faded from her life and that if he couldn’t come back and she could have closure then she could at least stop hurting quite so much, but was that disrespectful to his memory? She was cheating on someone she had never quite had, she was mourning someone who wasn’t completely dead in her mind, she was looking for something she was never going to find but couldn’t give up on.
It was like going mad. And she didn’t think Steve would resent her for wanting not to hurt every day when she remembered him.
“I imagine not,” Peggy says, and in spite of her best efforts her voice cracks as Diana takes her by the shoulders and pulls her backwards. She feels so small in the face of these overwhelming feelings, like she’s being battered by a hurricane. “But… but…”
“But it does get better,” Diana says gently. “And you learn to… live with it. To move on. And that’s all we can do for them.”
It sounds terrible, it sounds like exactly what she’s been trying to do every day and only halfway managed, but Diana is trying to help and the thought does make her feel a little lighter. Peggy manages a soft smile for her.
“There you go.” Diana gives her a quick, light kiss on the temple and lets her lean on her without shame. There’s a smile in her voice, but mostly she’s just understanding. And kind, almost unbearably so. “And tomorrow it will be a little easier.”
And out of everyone who’s told her that, Peggy believes her the most.
-----------------------
It takes a while for Diana to get into the new headquarters of S.H.I.E.L.D., but in the end it’s well worth it.
Peggy smiles at her from the director’s desk. Being behind that desk suits her, Diana thinks. Not because she’s made for deskwork, by any means, but because it’s the desk from which she controls a great deal of people, and Peggy is a fighter but she’s also a director. She commands troops with an ease Diana could never truly master. She can guide, but she can’t command.
Peggy takes command. Because she’s confident and very, very good at it.
“I can’t believe I needed an appointment to see you,” Diana says in greeting.
Peggy rolls her eyes. “I’ll talk to Shannon. She means well, but that’s a little ridiculous.”
“You’re a director now. Your time is precious.”
“Yes, but, in my mind, seeing a friend counts as a good use of time.” She pauses, mulling something over, and Diana can see the spark in her eyes. “You wouldn’t have to wait for appointments if you worked here, you know.”
“Subtle as always, Peggy.”
“I’m serious,” Peggy says. “S.H.I.E.L.D. could use people like you. Or the SSR. Or anywhere, really.”
“But mostly S.H.I.E.L.D.” Diana can’t help but smile. “You really wanted the initials to spell that, didn’t you?”
Peggy sobers, just a touch, but she’s smiling. The hurt will always resurface, always linger, but now she can smile through it. It’s great improvement. It’s a sign she’s going to be okay.
“A coincidence,” she says, shrugging like it doesn’t matter. “And… I don’t know. It’s the kind of place he would have approved of. It’s a… reminder, kind of. Of what it’s meant to be. So I don’t stray from it.”
“You can’t stray from a path that’s your own.” Diana says, on the fine line between friendly counsel and her own firm beliefs. “And Steve’s path isn’t yours. Your path is yours.”
Peggy looks up at her, smiling wryly. “Trust you to pick up on something I didn’t even notice myself,” she says, but there’s no uncertainty in her eyes even now, and that, more than anything, is how Diana knows she’s going to be okay. “But I choose to be the kind of person that Steve inspired me to be. That’s my path. And he’s always going to be a part of that.”
Diana smiles. “I’m glad.”
There’s a moment, silent and serene, and Diana braces herself. She’s here for a reason. She has to carry it out. “I…”
“You’re leaving, aren’t you?”
Her breath rushes out of her in a surprised laugh, and all she can do is nod. Apparently she’s transparent. Right now that’s a kindness. She wasn’t sure she would’ve been able to actually go through with it.
“I figured there was a reason you weren’t returning my calls,” Peggy says, shaking her head, and comes out from behind the desk at last. It’s not much distance, physically, but it has the feeling of stepping down. She takes Diana’s hands, steady, firm, and looks into her eyes. “There are better ways to do this, you know. For next time.”
“I thought it would hurt less,” Diana admits, willing her own voice not to shake, “But I think there is no way to part from someone that isn’t painful.”
“No,” Peggy agrees, “There isn’t. But… people are starting to catch on, I take it.”
A few people have wondered at how she looks the exact same as when she met them, yes, but mostly she just takes precautions. She’s already been putting this one off too long.
“I’ll let you know where I am,” she promises, because at least that will keep the tears at bay and let her follow through with this. “You can come visit me. But I can’t come visit you anymore.”
Peggy’s wry smile twists until it looks more like a grimace. “I’m going to miss not waking up alone.”
“You’ll find someone else. Someone nice and normal.”
Peggy darts her eyes up, amused now. “Have you seen my life?”
Yes. She has. Diana laughs and pulls her into a hug. She tries to be gentle, usually, afraid to break a human on accident, but right now she finds herself clinging as she hasn’t for quite a while. Maybe since she left London, Etta and Sammy and Charlie and Chief. That’s how precious Peggy has become to her.
When they pull back finally, with some difficulty, Peggy puts a hand to her cheek, stroking her hair off of her jaw, and kisses her on the lips one more time. Chaste and quick, but it holds so much meaning. “I wish you the best,” she says, and now, finally, her strong voice is starting to quake.
Diana closes her eyes and presses their foreheads together, stroking her cheekbone in turn. Maybe, if she focuses enough on the way this feels, if she breathes deep enough, she’ll remember it clearly enough to draw comfort from it. Maybe it won’t be so lonely at the next place, until she finds someone else she can let in.
They won’t be Peggy, but they’ll be close. As close as anyone could be.
Too soon, Peggy sighs, and that means their time is up. She feels the deadline, too, apparently. Now that Diana knows time exists, every encounter has a ticking clock behind it, and she is constantly racing against it, trying to save the people she loves.
She is never going to be fast enough. She is never going to have enough.
“Take care,” Diana whispers, and pulls away from her.
She’ll be back, but she cannot be in love with Peggy Carter forever, and when she walks away she locks those emotions deep inside of her and knows Peggy will do the same.
She needs a constant, someone to grow old with her, and Diana isn’t it.
-----------------------
Diana hears the news about Captain Rogers’ plane from France and is on the flight to New York the first chance her work permits.
It’s a miracle, everyone says, but to her, with her knowledge of the gaping hole his departure left in Peggy’s life, it seems like fate. Like a glimmer of hope in the bleak world. It finally gave something back, after everything it’s taken.
There are hurdles to leap, since she’s not technically in S.H.I.E.L.D. and Peggy isn’t director to override her lack of access anymore, but finally, she’s here, standing in front of a tall, well-sculpted man, who looks at her attentively but with the resignation that he’s not going to know who she is or what she wants.
At least she comes bearing good news.
“Can I help you?” He asks, putting down his water bottle and stepping away from his punching bag. There are a lot in the corner, waiting to be destroyed. She’ll have to tell him about the kind she uses, to save S.H.I.E.L.D. some expenses.
“Diana Prince,” she says, smiling, because he hasn’t aged a day since the pictures she was shown in 1945 so she knows exactly who he is.
He blinks— not caught off guard, but wary. “Steve Rogers,” he says.
“I know who you are, Captain.”
He straightens instinctively, before he can even realize he’s doing it. He recognizes her as another soldier at the very least. She recognizes that and the inherent understanding in his eyes, and that’s enough to tell her all she needs to about why Peggy loves him. He’s listening to her. He’s respecting her, even having woken up from an era where it wasn’t expected. He’s waiting, and understanding, and if she asked him to do something to help her he seems the type to do it, come hell or high water.
It’s a small ache in her heart, that her Steve can’t come back the same way, but for now she just relishes the small victory she brings with her on this visit to her dear friend.
“I want to talk to you,” Diana says quietly, “About Peggy Carter.”