Chapter 4
“Have you ever looked at a painting and known you had something in common with it? Have you ever seen something so beautiful you feel like crying? When I see you, I feel that way. I feel like the deepest part of me understands something vital about you.”
― Christina Westover, Precipice
Steve’s already sour mood became more incensed as the afternoon wore on. Of course, because the general contractor was out on a different job site, the crew spent more time discussing the after work drinking schedule than actually working on Peggy’s apartment. Then one of the lazier construction workers, one Steve couldn’t say he was a fan of, had ruined the wall he had painstakingly worked on over the course of the day. It had been the last wall of the dining room that needed to be completed, and now it had to be redone because the bozo hadn’t been paying attention. And when Steve rounded on him, he gave a flippant sorry and a half-hearted offer of helping him fix it, mostly because Steve towered over him. But then it was a quarter to five, and he dropped the taping knife in his hand and walked out, any lingering fear over Steve’s anger gone.
Steve gritted his teeth, frustration peaking as he looked around the abandoned loft and finally at his ruined wall. Annoyed but determined to finish the work he had meant to complete that day, he called Miller. If he could get permission to stay on site a few more hours, the wall would be one more thing he could add to the “completed” list in his head. He’d rather just get the job done, but he also didn’t want to intrude on Peggy’s already limited privacy, which was another reason why he had been so pissed off the guys were so keen to spend their days hanging out rather than working.
Miller seemed sympathetic and told him that if he was determined to finish up he’d call up Howard Stark for permission. By the time Miller called back Steve had cleaned up his taping knives and set up his paint tools. Peggy wasn’t to be home until late, giving him plenty of time to work. While the last of his wall patching dried, Steve went down the block for a sandwich. He ate his dinner in quick bites as he walked back so that once back at Peggy’s place he went straight for his ladder.
He was never a fan of sanding walls, dust getting all over the place, even his face despite wearing a mask and safety glasses, but today he welcomed the repetitive circular motions, soothing some of his raised nerves. Truthfully, Steve had been in a haze for the past few days ever since his panic attack. They had always left him drained. He thought he had been getting a handle on them, hadn’t had such an extreme startle response in weeks. Evidently that wasn’t true.
And then, just when he thought maybe the thing with Bucky was blowing over, Steve had seen him even less than usual. He had known Bucky hadn’t meant to pick a fight, not really, but still, Steve worried that there would be no returning to their brotherly bond. Maybe the blow-up had been the last straw, causing irreparable changes to their friendship. He wanted, more than anything, to talk to Bucky, to really talk, to make sense of their fight, only Steve didn’t know what to say. And Bucky was unlikely to bring it up on his own. And the more that Steve agonized about it, the more he was sure the fight was partly responsible for the state of him just prior to the panic attack.
And yet, Steve found a little bubble of positivity under the physical and psychological mess, in the form of Peggy Carter. Her kindness and understanding had stayed with him. Not only had she talked him through hyperventilating, she had invited him to tea, sans the uncomfortable pity he was used to receiving. She had cared about the well-being of a near stranger. She had offered him a hand as he was drowning, without wanting anything in return. It seemed unbelievable. Over cookies he had learned that she followed her older brother’s footsteps into the military and that her one year anniversary of being a full-fledged New Yorker had occurred just a few months earlier. That night he dreamed of warm brown eyes, and woke from sleep with a shiver running through him.
Just after six Steve started applying the primer. Although painting walls had never been quite the way he preferred to pursue his artistic passions, he found the repetitive motions, the occasional use of color, and the finished product all suited him just fine. It had quickly became second nature, knowing just which brush to use, and knowing even before putting paint on the walls, which color scheme and texture would work best in a space. There was art to be found in beautifying a home.
He was musing upon this when the front door opened and he saw Peggy walking in when he still had plenty of work left to go.
“Sorry,” he called out inanely before she had even said anything.
He watched her set her mail down and listened to the rhythmic clicking of her heels on the wooden floor as she made her way over.
“Why is it that you’re always the last one here Steve?” she asked with an amused smile and a hand on her hip.
“You wouldn’t believe how much this clown ruined my wall. Holes had to be patched. I had been so close to finishing this room out too,” Steve said, full of renewed irritation.
“And he’s not here helping you because?”
Steve crossed his arms. “Because it was almost five o’clock and he had something better calling his name rather than doing his job.”
“Ah. Girlfriend? Wife?”
“A cold one down at Mickey’s with the rest of the slackers,” he replied bitterly, hearing Peggy snort. “I’m sorry. I was told you’d be home later.”
Peggy shrugged. “Finished up early.”
“I’ll get out of your way real quick. Won’t bother you at all,” he promised.
Peggy tilted her head and smiled at him. “Did you need some help?”
Steve screwed his eyes up in confusion. Had he let on that he couldn’t do his job? Maybe he had complained a little too much. “Oh. No, no. It’s my job.”
“I don’t mind. Two sets of hands are better than one and all that, yes? Let me just get changed.”
“Peggy no. Really, I didn’t…” Steve stuttered in protest, scrambling off the ladder. “I didn’t mean for y—”
His words went unheard as Peggy had headed down the hallway and closed the door of her bedroom behind her. Steve bit his lip and quickly scrambled back up so that he could prove that he was capable of doing his work. But he found himself distracted again when she came out a few minutes later. She padded toward him barefoot, wearing a plain t-shirt and leggings, her brown hair tied back away from her face. Her toenails were painted red. He’d seen Peggy wear stunning clothes before, sleek and sharp designs, dresses that perfectly accentuated her figure, making more than one caveman of a construction worker whistle at her. But this softer, domestic Peggy, he found worked just as well. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.
She sighed in relief as she stretched her arms above her and stood onto her tip-toes, stretching her legs. Steve swallowed hard.
“Feels good to get out of those clothes,” she said. “So I’ve never exactly painted a wall before, but I’m sure you’ll be a proficient instructor.”
It took Steve a huge amount of effort to stop staring. He cleared his throat.
“You really don’t need to help Peggy. It’s what I’m paid to do. Besides I’m sure you’ve had a long day.”
She hummed. “Indeed I did. But I could use a nice distraction from all the mental exhaustion. Besides, company always makes work go faster.” She smiled at him and Steve found it was so easy and natural to smile back. “Now, do I get a brush or one of those rollers?”
Company did make the work go faster. He found Peggy to be a great helper. She watched his demonstrations carefully, and repeated his instructions back as he gave them. In twenty minutes they were working side by side, and Steve was grinning as he listened to Peggy share childhood stories about her lack of finesse with finger paints.
“Whew,” Peggy let out. “Well I guess this is my arm workout for the week.”
For a moment, he was sure she had shifted her gaze pointedly to his arms, but the next moment she was back to focusing on the wall. Once the wall was primed Steve stepped down the ladder and walked over to retrieve the paint cans.
“I think we deserve a quick water break,” she said walking into the kitchen. “Unless you want anything stronger,” she called back to him.
“Just water, thank you.”
They stood a few feet apart drinking.
“How’ve you been Steve?” she asked suddenly, her voice filled with the same softness he recognized from the day of his panic attack.
He cast his gaze toward the floor. “Okay. No repeats.”
She nodded at him. “I’m still very sorry about causing you distress.”
Steve shook his head. “It’s not your fault Peggy, you couldn’t have known. I just haven’t had one in a while.” He sighed, and something in her expression, her kind eyes that made him want to tell her more. “My best friend, Bucky, we were discharged together. And he’s having a harder time than me. We’ve been butting heads, but then we got into a huge fight a few days ago. And ever since… I’ve been on edge. I think it’s why my head’s been such a mess lately. Why I reacted so badly.”
“Steve…” she said sympathetically.
“I want to help him, but you can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped.” Steve was surprised at the honesty of the words that came out of him. He felt like he had just nailed down what was bothering him most, and as depressing as the thought of Bucky not wanting his help was, he felt some distant sense of lightness at being able admitting it out loud.
“Steve,” he heard Peggy say again, taking hold of his attention onto her. “He’s your best friend, yes? You served together?”
Steve nodded. “I’ve known him since we were little kids running around Brooklyn.”
“Then the best thing you can do is make sure you take care of yourself first,” Peggy told him. “You’re a wonderful friend for caring so deeply. And I’m sure beneath it all, he cares just as much about you. Be there for him, but Steve, you can’t help someone without finding some solid ground of your own.”
“I just wish I could find the right thing to say to get through to him.”
“It would make life much easier if we knew the magic words that always seem to escape us,” she replied, nodding sympathetically. “Maybe he doesn’t want help. Maybe he’s not receptive right now. But you can remind him that he’s not alone. You can continue to remind him that the moment he wants to talk, you’ll be there.”
Steve kept his gaze upon her. Why was it so easy to talk to this woman? How had life unfolded in such a way that his path had intersected with hers?
“Thank you Peggy. I’m not sure I was in the right state of mind to say so last time but I really appreciate your kindness.”
“There’s no need to thank me,” she said with a wave of her hand as she smiled at him. “However, if you ever wish to talk, well you do know where I live.”
Steve found himself chuckling. “That’s uh, good to know,” he said wringing his hands and then nervously rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s funny, I’ve never been um… good at talking to women.”
“Oh?”
“It always seemed so scary. Never did know what to say.”
“Well, I’m not aware of your history, but I can understand if other strange women have been sneaking up on you,” she said drily.
His lips split into an amused smile. “You’re not so strange. And I was in your apartment, not the other way around.”
“True,” she replied with a laugh.
Steve felt lighter than he had all day, a surprising feeling to have after sharing so many private thoughts. He turned his attention back to the wall, and Peggy was right behind him, reaching for her roller and asking about where she should begin. They naturally eased back into their immediate rapport.
“You know, I still think it’s absolute nonsense for Howard Stark to remodel a well-maintained loft, but I can now say I have a better appreciation of the effect of freshly painted walls,” Peggy told him.
“Why is he remodeling your place? If you don’t mind my asking.”
He found himself amused by her drawn out sigh, clearly one of disapproval.
“Because Howard Stark is a drama queen who is just fine with having his butler break up with his girlfriends but can’t handle them breaking up with him,” she told him with a roll of her eyes. “He always needs a project. He just happened to pick one that most interferes with my life. I’ve known Howard for years, and one of these days he will drive me absolutely mad. But I have to admit he’s been a good friend to me.”
Steve couldn’t deny that he felt a bit of relief and hearing that Peggy and Howard Stark were just friends.
“Is that how you ended up in this loft?”
Peggy nodded, dipping her roller back into the paint. “Yes, I helped him out of some trouble last year, and then I had some trouble with the building I was staying in before. Let’s just say he owed me in more ways than one and so when he offered, it seemed like a fair exchange.”
Steve grinned. He sure was growing more and more curious about her life, about how she had helped out billionaire Howard Stark. Every new facet he discovered about Peggy drew him in further into the heady web of her personality. This included her ability to seemingly pick up new skills at lightning speed.
“You’re a fast learner,” Steve told her with admiration, as their rollers met in the middle of the wall.
“Thank you, I had an excellent teacher.” Steve shrugged modestly. “Really, you’re quite good at painting. I’ve noticed that you have very steady hands.”
Steve’s lip quirked at the compliment. “Actually, I went to art school,” he told her later, once he had switched over to his angular brush to fill in the edges.
Peggy’s eyes lit up like this was a pleasant and meaningful discovery. “Really?”
Steve nodded. “Just for a year. The one I could afford just before I joined up.”
“So you are a painter.”
Steve ducked his head a little at her matter-of-fact description of him. “Used to paint, yeah,” he admitted. “More of a drawer than anything if I had to say.”
“Used to?” Pegged asked. “You don’t paint at all anymore? Not even just for yourself?”
“A little. More since I’ve been back in New York than in the last five years.”
“I’d love to see,” she said with a bright and interested smile.
Steve found himself pulling out his phone and showing her a few pictures of his most recent paintings and even a few charcoal sketches.
“Steve!” she exclaimed. “These are spectacular. Tell me about them.”
He found himself ducking his head again, ears growing hot. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had any interest in him or his hobbies or his silly attempts at painting. Peggy spent a few long minutes studying his work before returning his phone and they turned back to painting.
Steve found himself easily sharing stories from art school, of freshman projects and how he’d always liked the way pencils scratched marks onto paper. He even told her about the time Bucky snuck into his life drawing class only to be forced to sit through an hour long session with a nude model that was neither young nor female as he had assumed. Bucky had sulked through the entire class uncomfortably, sketching haphazard harsh lines and still ended up impressing the pretty girl behind him. She found his rough, uncoordinated strokes “genius” and a “refreshing interpretation of the way life sculpts the body as it ages.” Of course only Bucky could get a date out of a class he didn’t attend, in a school he wasn’t enrolled in, while Steve could hardly get a girl to look at him.
For some reason, sharing even that story of his pathetic inability to hold a girl’s attention was enjoyable. He wasn’t embarrassed at the reminiscence, and the memory no longer held the sting of being constantly overlooked. Extraordinarily enough, Steve thought it had something to do with the peculiar look Peggy had given him as he talked, at the way her tongue peeked between her lips, obviously just to sooth what was likely a parched lip, but it was a nice effect anyway.
“I think you should keep at it,” she commented with a casual breeze.
The wall was finished and the sun had long since set. Steve climbed off his ladder and watched as Peggy regarded their work. She had a spot of white paint on her cheek and one just below her elbow.
“You’ve got paint on you,” Steve said, gesturing to her cheek, finding her attempt to swipe the dried paint off with just the flat of her thumb endearing. He bent forward to gently rub it off with a clean rag from his pocket. Only her cheek jerked away as she started laughing at him. He was momentarily humiliated, ashamed that he dared to make such a move.
“You’ve got paint in your hair,” Peggy said between laughs, like this was the funniest thing she had ever seen. He looked at her quizzically, as he reconciled her laughter as joyful rather than spiteful. “Frosted tips. Just like an early 2000s boy bander.” Her laughter was full of silly giggles so contagious that Steve felt warmth spread as the laughter rumbled through his chest.
As he walked from the subway station to his apartment, Steve realized that he was still grinning, that he must have held that expression the entirety of his commute. He couldn’t remember the last time he had smiled so much.