Her handgun was still gripped tightly, safety off, finger a second away from the trigger, when she opened the door. Even though she had already looked through the peep-hole. You couldn't be too careful, anyhow.
"Sorry I'm late," said Steve. Because it was him.
Peggy took a breath, almost stepped back. But she was better than that, the door held tightly in its half-open position.
She hadn't thought of him once so far this week. Hadn't the time, even though the word "shield" passed her lips daily. "Are you here to say goodbye?"
He stiffened visibly, a slight tremor passed over him for a second. "I wasn't sure if the Stork Club was still opening these days."
It was open still, Peggy knew, she just didn't live near it anymore.
The fact that he was here meant he knew it too.
"Still waiting?" she asked quietly, and there was some inexplicable emotion coming over her, light almost too light.
Steve took another step forward, "I don't think so."
He was no apparition. Not that Peggy believed in those, but she had seen more than enough evidence for things apparition-adjacent.
And he wasn't.
She clicked the safety back on and put the handgun down.
He was solid and real.
His arms still fitted around her like before, even with whatever new armour it was that he was wearing. And hers fitted around him. Her head rested perfectly at shoulder height, his breath tickling warm against her hair, and she could hear his heart beating against his chest, and felt her own. Like they were beating together. Perfectly in sync. Perfectly in time.
"Steve," she said softly, for the first time since he'd returned to her. For the first time since God knew how long it had been since she'd allowed herself to say the name. "Steve," and she choked on it this time, the realisation flooding her and whooshing down to her feet. It felt like she was going to burst with it. "You're here. You've come back. You're here."
"Like I said, sorry I'm late." And Steve paused. "Still open for a dance?"
They put music on, of course. Peggy wanted to ask questions, but it didn't feel right. Not now. So she held off. Maybe this time, there would be time.
It was a smooth two-step tune that played, soft lilting jazz, the band strong yet careful and steady behind. The singer's voice echoing off the walls and the air around them. It wasn't really an old song, it was only a few years old, from when the war ended.
But it really had been so, so long.
Long enough for the song to feel, not quite new, but a little unfamiliar.
Wherever it was Steve had been, he still hadn't danced, hadn't practised at all. It showed painfully, which almost made her laugh. Made her feel oddly giddy, in a way, but it was also a mellow reminder of...something she didn't know.
"Are you staying?" she asked, and even after a weeks worth of missions, this felt like the most daring thing.
Steve almost stopped, and his breath caught. "I — yes. I think so."
Peggy closed her eyes, still swaying. She tried to imagine a world were this, Steve being here, was a given. But he had always been abysmal at talking to women.
"Are you sure?" she said, even though it would have been nicer, more soothing, to just let it go. Not ask. But things were different now. She couldn't afford to make dates she knew would never come. She whispered it though, even knowing no answer was just as bad as a negative. The uncertainty felt safer in a way. As if on a precipice between shallow water and deep instead of already drowning. "Where have you been? It's been five years, Steve. You have to be sure."
Steve didn't say anything, but they were still swaying.
In the corner, his strange armour lay on the ground, like a discarded invention in Howard's lab. His shield rested next to it, the paint and the Vibranium underneath scratched and cracked, burnt in ways she hadn't thought possible of the metal.
"What happened to the shield?" she asked him carefully, and pulled away just slightly to look at him properly.
"There was a fight," he answered after a pause, hesitating even after he'd said it. "We won, though."
"Good."
His hair was longer, darker. And he looked older, like the only thing that was taking care of him was the serum and all the things he felt he had to carry on his shoulders. And she didn't know what those things were, not anymore, but she knew they were still there.
From the slight slump in his posture, the weight of each breath; it was as though something had wracked him dry, but he was still standing — because he had too. And that took a lot out of you, she would know. Blue eyes served to show how tired he was, but he didn't know how to rest.
"Are you going to pick it up again?" And she nodded to the battered shield on the ground, by the wall. Because whatever condition it was in, it had still done its job.
She looked at him, taking in every weary aspect, even as he was standing.
He was different; but then, so was she.
Steve let out a shuddering breath, and it was though he was about to cry. Peggy wouldn't have minded it. It looked as though he needed it.
"I can't," he replied finally, voice weak, afraid to admit it. Afraid that someone might hear. "I can't carry it anymore. It's too heavy. I'm so tired."
Peggy sighed, smiled up at him and willed herself not to cry either, taking his right hand with her left and cupping his cheek gently with her right. Two gold bands glinted on her fourth finger. "I know," she said. "I know, darling. It's okay, you don't have to."
"I'm sorry I'm so late," he said again. "I was away, and I was so scared I would forget but, they were—"
"Was it home?" she interrupted, because she didn't think she would be able to stand it if he apologised again. "Are you going to be okay?"
Are you here to say goodbye?
They hadn't said goodbye, the last time.
"Yeah," he swallowed, and offered her a small, rueful smile. "Yes. I will."
The song ended, the band sending off with a grand crescendo and then a gentle fade. Peggy let go, a watery smile pulled on her face as well — this was supposed to be a happy moment, after all.
"So will I," she said. "I'm okay."
She stepped back and reached down to hand him the shield.
"Go home okay, darling? Go home, and then you can put it down."
Don't leave them all waiting, whoever they are.
"I'll miss you," he said. "I've missed you so much, Peg."
"I know. And that's okay. We'll miss you too. But it'll be okay. For the both of us."
Steve paused and then smiled, really smiled. Enough that it didn't make him look so tired. She wondered who it was that he was thinking of. "Yeah, it will be."
When he had left, the only trace of him being the record player still hot from working, Peggy sat down. Thought back to when he said that he was waiting for the right partner. Thought back to when they'd made their date, both with the knowledge it would never be. Thought back to when the radio had faded into static and the world had suddenly felt so very empty.
She thought back to when she finally, finally let go. Standing on the Brooklyn Bridge, the way those few drops of impossible blood had tricked out of the glass vial and down, down until the water had met it. And then how the vial had arced through the air afterwards, slipping so easily from her hand.
She twisted the rings on her finger, their solidity comforting and grounding.
"You're home early, English," came a sudden voice from the entrance.
"Yes, Daniel offered to cover for me the rest of today," she replied, resurfacing back to routine. She tugged Angie down into the seat with her, planting a kiss on her cheek.
"That guy," huffed Angie, rolling her eyes. "He only did that cos he knows it's his turn to cook tonight."
"Well," and Peggy gave her a peck on the lips this time. "Then I guess we are saved."
"Please, you're just as bad as your husband, English. Don't start."
"That's why you're also home early," Peggy replied, smiling at their shared antics.
She felt the ache in her bones from the missions this week, and sitting at her desk at SHIELD this morning, and the sleepless nights before and to come.
She sighed and let herself pause, breathing in the scent of cheaply baked sweets from the L&L, and printing ink from play-scripts, and all other things Angie. Took in the home she had made with the people in her life now. One of Howard's weird inventions sat on the coffee-table as though a paper weight. Daniel's collection of ties sat in a messy pile, all pre-tied, on one of the cabinets. Beside, the photo of him and Angie and herself when they'd all moved in.
"You okay, hon?" asked Angie, playing with her hair and watching her. Peggy leaned into the touch.
"Of course, darling."