Chapter 8
“When a seed sprouts, it's a violent process. The skin breaks and splits in two. Something dies and something is born. Anytime you paint a strong or violent image, you may be expressing that part of yourself that's opening in order to let the new emerge.”
― Michele Cassou, Life, Paint and Passion
It was surprisingly easy to get Peggy out of the car and into her building. She didn’t fight him at all.
“What about the car?” he asked, arm wrapped tightly around her waist. “Doesn’t Jarvis need it?”
“He’ll manage. Stark’s got a fleet. I’ll have him pick it up tomorrow.”
She didn’t fight him in the elevator either, although she drew the line of support at actually letting him carry her.
It was clear she was in plenty of pain, and that it was taking its toll. He worried about the extent of the damage. Still, she held in her groans, allowing only subtly pained breaths and physical flinches.
Her stubbornness amused Steve, how she literally had to be wounded in order for her to give up control. Even still Steve fought to take care of her. Inside the apartment, she steered him in the direction of the couch, only for her energy to flag in the entryway. She hissed, her fingers digging into his arms for support.
“Okay, that’s it. I’m putting you straight to bed. There’s no way you’re going to be able to move later,” he told her.
“But I have to clean my leg up.”
“You are going to do nothing but lie still. I’m going to patch you up for the last time tonight and then you’re going to sleep.”
“My hero,” she said flatly, making him crack a smile.
“I feel more like your nurse. So I’d appreciate it if you didn’t pop any more of my well-sewn stitches.”
“Cheeky bugger,” he thought he heard her mutter under her breath.
But she still refused to let him carry her, resorting to limping and hissing. He had had enough when at the door of her bedroom, she wanted him to turn her around so she could grab her bathrobe. In one smooth swoop, he picked her up, her legs easily swung over his arm.
“Steve!” she exclaimed in disapproval. “It was five more steps.”
“Well that’s five more than you need to be taking right now,” he countered. The next moment he set her down, careful not to jostle her, at the foot of her bed. “Don’t move.”
She scowled back.
He found her bathrobe hung in the bathroom and brought it right back to her, where she was still scowling.
“I’ll be right back,” he said once he handed over the silky robe. “I’m going to wash my hands and grab the kit.”
She nodded, kicking off her heels.
Steve took his time scrubbing his hands clean, and gathering all the necessary supplies. He figured she could use a moment to herself and she probably wanted to change. He made a point of knocking at the half-open door before reentering.
“I’m quite decent, nurse.”
The shimmery gold dress laid in a crumpled heap atop her shoes, and she lied back on her elbows, the red sash of her robe tied into a bow.
He set down the supplies and shrugged off the jacket, draping it neatly on the back of a nearby chair. Then he slipped the holster off.
“Should I put this on your desk for now?”
“That’s just fine.”
He nodded, safely arranging the holster and her borrowed gun before turning back to her. Her palm was ghosting over her wound, her face tight, with whatever was left of her iron will. Steve pulled the chair over and without prompting, Peggy lifted her leg into his lap.
He went right to work, unwrapping the partially torn gauze, wincing at the mess before him. In addition to the ripped stitches, her knees were scraped, early bruises visible just above and below the scratches.
“Only two stitches pulled, that’s better than I expected,” he reported.
“Really? Feels like more.”
Steve shook his head as he started to clean the wound for the second time that night. “I don’t even know how you managed to rip two stitches. Especially on your outer thigh.”
“I’m just that talented,” she said dryly before hissing as he rinsed the flesh. “Although I imagine it happened when that sociopath grabbed me after I kicked him.”
He remembered the hit, how precisely she had struck him, with a force he couldn’t believe, and the satisfactory smacking sound as the guy slumped.
“It was a really great kick,” he admitted.
“Thank you, I’m quite proud of it. Although I prefer a good jab to the jaw.”
Steve chuckled. That wasn’t hard to believe, especially when he’d seen a few of her punches. He thought Peggy in that dress was a sight to see. But Peggy in action, commanding a scene… that was a whole other level.
“How’s the pain?”
“Infuriating,” she said. “I really have had worse. But admittedly, this is no picnic in the park.”
“It’s a lot of stress on the same flesh wound in a single day.”
She grunted in agreement, just before he started with the sterilized needle.
“Not long ago, Jarvis was stitching me up just like this. Only on the other leg,” Peggy admitted. “Guess I have a matching set now.”
Steve wondered about her relationship with Stark’s butler. She seemed very comfortable with him, especially if he had also stitched Peggy up before.
“So you’ve known Jarvis a long time?”
“Actually, I’ve only known him… I guess it’s been well over a year now. He’s been a good ally. A good friend. And I suppose he reminds me a bit of home.”
“And you work together?”
“Not in any official capacity. However, where Stark goes, Jarvis is not far behind cleaning up his messes. And so he used to tag along. Actually, back then I saw him more than I did Howard.”
“Used to?”
Peggy nodded, and he swore her eyes looked a little too vulnerable for a brief moment.
“Yes, well… You see there are reasons, good reasons, I don’t allow people to try to help me,” Peggy started, her right hand digging into her bedcovers. “At the time, it was nice to have someone to shoulder some of the work. He proved he was useful and trustworthy.”
Steve nodded. “Seemed like he knew exactly how what to expect of you.”
“He’s seen a lot.” Peggy let out a breath. “I got quite used to having him along. But as you may imagine, trouble follows me. And then Jarvis ended up tangled in that trouble. Worse, it led to a threat of deportation for his wife. Of course I cleared it all up. But it was on me.”
He knew that feeling too well.
“His wife, she had a bit of a health scare at the time. And I don’t think the stress of the situation helped any. She’s a lot better now, and surprisingly don’t seem to hate me. But it’s just not the same for me. So I’ve been trying to keep my distance. They shouldn’t have to risk their safety just to help me out.”
“I don’t know Jarvis and his wife like you do, but I do know you. Jarvis seemed plenty happy to be working with you. In fact, I’d bet you can’t help having that effect on people.”
Peggy chuckled humorlessly. “Tell that to the guys who think I slept my way to my promotion.”
“Chauvinists aside.”
She cracked a smile at him.
“Real friends can’t help wanting to support each other,” he told her. “No matter the consequences.”
He thought of Bucky, and immediately tried to shake off the concern. Peggy was in front of him right now. She needed his attention.
He cleared his throat and gave her a half-smile. “Anyway, I think you might be the one following trouble.” She chuckled. “So you’re in the habit of non-doctors stitching you up?”
“It was just one other time. I’m not anti-modern medicine. But if I can deal with it myself, I’d rather avoid the fuss,” she said rolling her eyes. “Besides, your attentive bedside manner is infinitely superior to the E.R.”
Steve fought a losing battle with a pleased smile.
“The key is to keep calm, no matter how hard the patient is fighting you,” he teased back.
Peggy snorted. “Speaking of keeping calm, you were pretty great back there. You’ve got really sharp tactical instincts, especially working with minimal information.” Steve glanced up from his work at the compliment. “I don’t usually allow for people to overrule my tactical plans.”
“Your plan was solid. I just happened to have some details to make it stronger. And it just so happens, the one thing I fake is Irish.”
“Well, you played it well Sean.”
“Not nearly as good as you Molly.” He sighed in disbelief, remembering the way she had stunned him coming out of that car. Peggy Carter was a woman who knew exactly what she was doing, there was no doubt about it. “Your accent… You know you could have told me. I could have blown our cover.” He almost had. It had been a close call.
She laughed. “Where’s the fun in that?”
He flicked his eyes up to hers, seeing the pure mirth in them. It made him feel a little warm.
“Is there anything you can’t do?”
“Only things I don’t want to do,” she remarked. “And paint. No artistic ability here.”
Steve shook his head. “You’re something else. You played them like a piano.”
He cannot believe she even bothered to shrug. She was phenomenal.
“I think,” she started, “that Sean and Molly made a pretty great team.”
Their eyes met again, and that warm feeling in him only spread.
“I think so too.”
With one final snip, Steve was finished. He gingerly wrapped a new bit of gauze over the newly stitched wound before helping her back against her pillows.
“Thank you,” she said in a soft tone.
“Any time, Peggy.”
Steve gathered up the towels and supplies, but kept glancing back at Peggy who was looking right back.
“I’ll bring you a painkiller.” She nodded but he hesitated, balling up the towels. “Maybe I could bring you something? Tea maybe?”
He hoped it wasn’t too obvious that, like a worried den mother, he didn’t want to leave her.
“Herbal would be lovely,” she replied, and he’s surprised at her lack of resistance. “And Steve? I think you could use a cup yourself.”
His stomach was tight with butterflies. He flitted around her kitchen pulling out mugs from the cabinet he remembered her storing them in and finding a box of herbal tea before he even remembered to turn on the kettle. He was flustered. She made him flustered. But he was smiling.
Steve kept his hands busy finding her pill and making sure he left behind no mess while he waited for the water to boil.
Peggy had not closed her eyes as he expected. Instead she was busily tapping away at her phone. The moment she noticed him she set it aside and shifted up against the headboard. Steve set the steaming mugs down on her nightstand. She took an eager sip while Steve grabbed pillows and cushions from around the room and began arranging them underneath her left leg. She seemed amused watching him from behind her mug. Finally content with the height and angle of her propped up leg, he pulled the chair up to sit at her side, eyes trained on her face.
“I feel like I’m being held for observation.”
“Checking for any signs of delayed shock,” he admitted.
“I’m alright so far. Now would you relax?”
“Are you sure you feel okay?”
“Well, I’m fatigued, but that’s rather expected when you’ve had a day like mine. Really Steve, relax. You’re making me feel like I’m on my deathbed.”
His back straightened. “I was just…” Worried. He was worried about her. But he hadn’t meant to be overbearing.
She hummed in understanding. “Drink your tea, Steve.” He reached for his mug. “And you? Any delayed symptoms of shock? Or anxiety?”
It had been nowhere near his list of conscious concerns.
“No. I feel pretty good. Then again, I guess that’s not saying much when I don’t have a bullet wound.”
She peered at him seriously. “I was concerned that you coming along was a tremendously unwise decision.” She continued when he didn’t know what to respond. “I was worried it might exacerbate your PTSD. Honestly it was quite reckless of me.”
He shook his head. “I told you I could handle it. Truth is, I think it’s more emotional stuff that sets me off. It’s when my head’s elsewhere.”
Peggy frowned. “You said something about hiding pain earlier. You were upset.”
Steve remembered. He had momentarily felt uncontrollably frustrated. He knew it wasn’t fair to Peggy but her shrugging off his concern had felt just as infuriating as Bucky doing the same. But what right did he have to ask so much of Peggy when they hardly knew each other. Sure, he cared for her a lot, enough to accompany her anywhere in a moment’s notice, which he realized was maybe more than he should for someone he’d known just weeks. It didn’t entitle him to her opening up to him.
“That was tactless. I’m sorry,” Peggy said, breaking what he hadn’t realized had become a long, heavy pause. “It’s none of my business. I just wanted you to know it wasn’t personal.”
Steve frowned again.
“What I mean to say,” she said breaking another silence he had neglected to fill, “is that I know I can be very stubborn. And the life I lead… it’s not always been easy or prudent for me to show weakness. In fact doing so can be an occupational hazard, especially given how hard I worked to get to where I am,” she continued. “And I do apologize. I do trust you Steve. How could I not after what you’ve done for me tonight.”
Steve searched her eyes. She trusted him. He had a feeling she might, given she had let him into her home, into her private life, even bared her wound to him. But to hear her say so, plainly…
“I wasn’t upset with you,” Steve started, averting his eyes to the liquid in his mug. “The thing with Buck—” He felt his throat tighten. “It’s my fault.”
Before he could stop himself, or think about what it meant that he was telling Peggy this, the words tumbled out of him.
“I was a Captain,” he continued. “My last combat mission turned into a mess, fast. Bucky got into some trouble. Got separated from the rest of my unit. Everyone thought the worst. But I went after him. Leave no one behind. Least of all my best friend.” He swallowed hard, blinking away the tears welling up in his eyes. “I found him. But my recuse mission went south too. And all of a sudden Buck was pinned under a tank because my rescue attempt was only putting him in more danger. We were under fire. And all I knew was I needed to get him before it exploded.”
“They say I lifted the tank off him. Don’t even know how. I barely remember doing it. I took too long. His arm… He lost his arm. Had to. It was the only way to get him clear. They were shooting at us.” Steve squeezed his eyes shut. “So I pulled him clear, not knowing if he was still alive. I just hoped that if one of us would make it out, it’d be him.”
He jumped, eyes opening, when he felt something warm touch his arm. It was Peggy’s fingers, her hand stretching out to cover his.
“My team, they had come after me. Even though I told them they didn’t need to risk it. The tank exploded. Got thrown and I blacked out. I didn’t wake up until they got us back to the base. I was in and out for days until it got so dire they finally shipped me back to the States. It was too dangerous in the area to get us any real medical care. When I woke up they told me it’d been weeks.”
Even though he’d gone over most of this with his therapist, to tell another human being, someone that saw him outside of an office building, made all the memories flood back with the original weight of the moments.
“Steve,” Peggy murmured, but it was hard to see her though his blurry, wet eyes.
“It was too quiet. And no one would tell me what happened to Bucky. Turns out losing an arm gets you released from the hospital within a few days. He’d been out for a while. Left to his own devices mostly. And when he finally came by, he looked different. He was in more pain than I was. We didn’t know what to say to each other. Miraculous recovery, while Bucky no longer had a left arm. Because of me. And we both knew it.”
Peggy’s hand closed over his and squeezed.
“And now he hides his pain from me. Because how could you be open the guy who caused it? How can you trust him?”
“Steve. You saved his life.”
“Well then I gave him a life of hell.”
“Steve. He’s in pain. And from what you’ve said he’s not managing so well. But he’s alive and breathing. You brought him home. That matters.”
“Does it?”
She scooted forward and took the mug out of his hand and replaced it with her hand.
“You know it does,” she murmured.
He couldn’t imagine how much worse he would have felt if Bucky hadn’t made it at all. Another comrade to grieve.
Slowly, he nodded. Not everyone had been so lucky.
“It doesn’t change how I feel. I—I just…” He gritted his teeth.
“You feel guilty,” she finished for him.
Guilt. That was it. Guilt, every single time Bucky was doing less than living his fullest.
“Have you ever told him?” Peggy asked in a soft voice. “That you feel responsible?”
“Not in so many words. He always brushed it off in the beginning whenever I tried to talk about what happened to us. Now… we don’t talk much about anything. Not that I blame him. I should’ve been doing worse than him.”
“Steve. I cannot believe that he doesn’t know it’s been hard for you.”
He shrugged. “All my guys got out with worse injuries than I did.”
“And you feel guilty over not being as physically wounded? I can see you have a self-sacrificing streak but that’s bollocks Steve. You went back for your best friend. I have a strong suspicion you’d have done the same for any of your men, no matter the danger. So stop blaming yourself for not having a debilitating injury. You know better. Your actions don’t require some cosmic punishment. I think you’re punishing yourself enough as it is.”
He’s quite frankly dumbfounded. Did she see right through him? He raised his hands to wipe his eyes but Peggy refused to let go.
“We all have demons to deal with,” she told him. “We all have a right not to feel guilty about struggling with them. That includes you. You’re strong Steve. You take that strength and use it, whether that’s to forgive yourself, or help Bucky or what have you.”
He swallowed hard, nodding and staring down at his feet.
“My brother never made it home,” Peggy said in a quiet voice that caused Steve to jerk his head up and look at her. “Rather than just bomb the target’s house, he saw women and children eating dinner. He wanted to save their lives. They were unprepared for the ambush coming from behind. His unit lost six. My brother among them.”
“Peggy… I had no idea—”
She squeezed his hand and shook her head. “I’m not telling you this to make you feel bad or to prove that other people have it worse. I just… I want you to know that you’re not the only one who holds the weight of things lost. I was nowhere near involved and I still felt guilty over his death. Maybe if I’d been a better sister. Maybe if I’d joined up sooner,” she said with a sigh. “The what-ifs are hard to shrug off. The fact is, he’s no longer alive, but that doesn’t mean I’ve lost all of him. Even if it’s taken me years to come to terms with that.”
Steve dragged his chair even closer. This time he was the one leaning in and squeezing her hand.
“I’m very sorry for your loss,” he said.
A misty look returned to her eyes. He continued to lean in closer, their fingers sliding against each other, laced together atop the bedcovers. Her eyes were a beautifully rich brown, he noted not for the first time. And he already knew he hated seeing them anything but happy. He found himself leaning forward, too close, her face inches from his. His head was swimming with a strong desire to pull her against his body.
Steve cleared his throat and pulled back.
“Finish your tea,” Peggy ordered with a half-smile, their laced hands falling away from each other.
His heart was pounding, so he sipped, looking anywhere but Peggy.
“You really should put up some decorations,” he said, voice scratchy, hoping to break the tension and shift to neutral territory. “I spent all this time painting your room all nice and it looks like a sample room at Ikea where all the drawers and desks are empty.”
“I’m having you paint flowers. Isn’t that enough?”
“One wall in the hallway’s a start. But it ain’t doing nothing for your room.”
“Shall I just tack up some poster of some good-looking actor?”
“It’d be an improvement,” he insisted.
“Fine. Maybe I will.”
“Who would you put up?”
“Gene Kelly,” she said without hesitation.
“Of course you would.”
Peggy sighed a little dreamily. “Oh how he could dance…”
“You like the old classics,” he stated with a smile. It was another thing they had in common.
She hummed in agreement, her eyes closing. “However, perhaps Mr. Bogart would be more fitting on these walls.”
“True.” Steve chuckled. “Can’t say he wasn’t a good actor. There’s a reason it’s a classic.”
“Mmm,” she agreed. “Very handsome as well.” Her voice was ebbing away with drowsiness. “So any old poster would satisfy you?”
“Or some photos. Just something. A decorative vase.”
“A decorative vase?”
“Just an idea.”
“I cannot believe you agree with Howard Stark on my place needing more work.”
“I didn’t say that. I meant you adding some personal touches. You know, things that make it a home.”
She hummed but didn’t reply, eyes slipping closed again.
Steve checked his watch. Late. It was very late. He gathered up the mugs.
“I should go, let you sleep. Promise me you’ll have that leg actually looked at?”
Her eyes fluttered open to meet his. “Yes, yes, I’ll get it checked out.”
“Really?”
“Mm-hm.”
“Good,” Steve replied, standing up. He paused and looked at her serene expression. “Goodnight Peggy,” he whispered.
She was already asleep.
After tiptoeing out of her bedroom, Steve neatly piled the borrowed clothing on a chair in the living room and swapped the shoes for his work boots. He made sure the door was locked, and set off for the subway.
Steve was humming with energy. He was wide awake and excited. Despite the unexpected heavy talk, the night hadn’t drained him. In fact, he felt newly invigorated. He felt useful again. Energized.
He made it home before even realizing it. For once, his lack of attention was a result of having too much to think about, to smile over.
And so despite the late hour, he couldn’t sleep. His fingers were twitching. As soon as he shucked off his clothes in favor of his soft pajamas, Steve propped up his pillows and pulled his sketchbook off his desk. The lines immediately seemed to sketch themselves.
It started with the curve of a cheek, an arched eyebrow, the bow of a confident lip. It was sketch after sketch of brilliant, beautiful Peggy. He had a pressing need to commit the images of her tonight to memory, to paper and pencil. She was marvelous. And he’d seen her like never before.
Long after his hands cramped up, and he’d filled a half dozen pages, he still couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t because of the typical nightmares, or insomnia, or gripping coldness. It was adrenaline still coursing through him. It was the warm memory of knowing for a fact just how soft Peggy’s skin was. It was the memory of holding hands. In her bedroom of all places. It was the patter of his heartbeat knowing just how badly he had wanted to kiss her, to pull her close, to make sure she never got hurt again.
Steve’s distractions kept him company at work. He tried not to wonder what Peggy’s up to, if she’s been finishing up her mission. He tried not to call them missions, because he’s trying not to guess exactly what kind of governmental task force she really worked for since it’s none of his business. But he just couldn’t help it. Now that he’d seen her in action, he wanted to know more.
He wondered if he’d been missing the action of being on the front lines. He doesn’t exactly miss the army. Many of Bucky’s disillusioned complaints had sunk in over the months. But something about his night with Peggy was… fulfilling. He had felt like Steve Rogers again as opposed to some shell of him.
He was surprised to hear from Peggy in the early afternoon, telling him she was on her way home so he could come paint whenever he was done with work. He thought she might want to postpone to enjoy some rest and relaxation. He was further surprised when she yelled that the door was open when he went over.
Peggy was lying on the couch with her laptop, still wearing a collared blue blouse, but having changed into sweatpants, her left leg elevated on a pillow.
“Excuse my manners,” she said, “I’m just following doctor’s orders.”
“So you did go to a doctor?”
“I did promise.”
Steve grinned and rounded the couch to check on her.
“How are you feeling?”
“Sore,” she said with a groan. “And because you did such a good job on my stitches, the medic refused to switch them out for dissolvable ones, so now I have to wait until next week to have them taken out.”
He couldn’t help but laugh at her put-out expression.
“I’m sorry for being careful.”
She shrugged. “I did get an ointment and a better painkiller out of it. Although a week without a nice bath. I don’t know how I’ll survive.”
“I’m sure you’ll find something to do with your time.”
Steve was organizing his supplies when he heard a long, loud yawn paired with Peggy stretching her arms up toward the ceiling.
“Long day?” Steve asked.
“They always seem to end up that way. Actually, the only reason I’m home early is that I’ve got to catch a red-eye flight to D.C. in the morning.”
“Oh. You’re going out of town?” Steve asked.
She hummed distracted by her laptop. “Some ridiculous conference full of meetings that will likely be a waste of my time.”
“How long are you going for?”
“I’ll be back sometime Tuesday, if all goes well. I wasn’t supposed to go at all, but apparently now I’m needed.”
Steve nodded feeling a little disappointed about not seeing her until the following week. He walked back over to his work, dipping his brush into the red paint.
“So how long do you think it’ll take to finish the wall?” she called over to him a little later.
He wondered if she had a time limit for him. If he’d worn out his welcome. Maybe he wasn’t working fast enough. Not that he was dragging it out. He’d been diligent, if sometimes preoccupied.
“Um… The pattern? Maybe another week? And a day for touch-ups,” he told her. “But if you need it done by a certain day…”
“Oh no. No rush. I just thought I could get Jarvis to let you in on weekdays while I’m gone. And I know you have your appointment on Wednesday, correct? But until then. Thought if you needed the work or the distraction.”
He nodded. He should. After all this was a job. And he did want to finish it for her. But to not spend any time with her. To work without her around. Oh he’d been spoiled.
“Sure thing Peggy. Whatever works best for you.”
She smiled. “I’ll let Jarvis know. Truthfully, I think he’s very interested in seeing your lovely work.”
“You told him about the flowers?”
“Of course. They’re beautiful.”
“Well, by the time you get back, this wall will look ten times better.”
She smiled. “Something to look forward to. I suppose this means I likely won’t see you until next Thursday.”
“Yeah,” he replied pathetically.
“Something else to look forward to then.”
He couldn’t help but grin at that.
The weekend dragged. Work had been boring. Painting at Peggy’s, which had always been a nice change of pace, was now empty without the possibility of quick-witted remarks from Peggy. And after the too quiet hours there, he came home to an empty apartment. He was effectively back to his pre-Peggy routine.
All it took was a few weeks of distance and change to magnify how truly miserable he’d been. How lonely life had been.
He thought about going out and doing something. Anything. Anything not to fall back into old habits. But for the life of him, he couldn’t think of where to go. Or what to do. He wasn’t really comfortable going out to a bar, and going alone suddenly seemed worse than going with Bucky. But at least he wouldn’t be alone. The pressure of trying to figure out a plan set him down a cycle of nerves and anxiety.
He had half a mind to ask Bucky if he could tag along again on his nights out. But he’d only seen quick snatches of Bucky, mostly on his way out. It happened again on Friday night.
“Haven’t seen you in a while,” Steve said.
“Yeah,” Bucky said distractedly, buttoning up his shirt, hair still wet from the shower. “How’s work?”
“Fine.”
Bucky nodded. “Cool. Well I’m on my way out. And I’m late.”
“Right.”
“See ya later.”
And so Steve watched him rush out and was left alone again. He fell onto the couch and didn’t move again for hours until he shut off all the lights and went to sleep. Or attempted sleep. He became reacquainted with the cracks in the ceiling.
By Saturday morning he had enough of the silence and walked out without a planned destination. The fresh air helped. Ten blocks later he had walked past a movie theater, and then doubled back. He bought a ticket to the movie with the next closest showtime. The theater was practically empty so he had his choice of seats. But then before he knew it the movie was over and it was just past noon. He picked another random movie to see and paid the obscene amount of money for a tub of popcorn.
Sunday night found Steve in a blur, trying to cook himself a semi-decent meal. Drifting in and out as his mind wandered made the task impossible. Bucky pouring himself a heaping bowl of cereal had snapped him back into focus. He hadn’t realized Bucky had been home. It looked like he was even planning on staying in.
“You know, if you don’t want to eat vegetables,” Bucky said, crunching into his cereal, “just don’t make a salad.” Steve blinked at him. “You’ve been chopping stuff up for like twenty minutes without actually having it lead anywhere.”
“Oh,” he replied hollowly. Bucky raised his eyebrow. “Why’ve you been staying out all night again?” he blurted out. “Is your arm that bad? Maybe we could find another specialist.”
“I—”
“I know you think it doesn’t help but seriously, if you went to your meetings regularly. And just tried. Just a little. I swear, it’s better than nothing. Maybe if I went with you? I mean not into the room, but I could wait in the waiting room. I just think it’s more likely to help than getting drunk every night. And I know I don’t know exactly what you’re going through. But—”
“Steve!” he said through a mouthful of cereal. “I’ve been going to my meetings.”
His mouth fell open. “You have?”
Bucky nodded, swiping milk off his face.
“But… You’re never here. You’re always out.”
“I’ve been at my ma’s and sometimes at Becca’s.”
Steve set down the carrot peeler and abandoned his pile of chopped vegetables.
“You... What? You have?”
He nodded. “Been working on some stuff. The therapist dude seemed to think not going to see my folks for months at a time was a bad choice.” Bucky shrugged. “The long train rides to Brooklyn help. Plus Becca’s pregnant so her house is dry and her husband’s nieces and nephews come over a lot because Becca’s worried off her ass that she’s not prepared enough for the baby. So they babysit, constantly. Can’t act like a fucked up asshole around kids. They don’t deserve that shit. Even when they’re more trouble than even you ever were.”
Steve let out a huge breath.
“I thought…”
Bucky shrugged again, stabbing his spoon into the bowl several times without filling it with milk or cereal.
“So are you avoiding the apartment? Because I’m here? Listen Buck. I know I put you through hell and that you wouldn’t be like this if not for me…”
Bucky made a disgruntled noise.
“I haven’t been here because it’s only been a couple weeks and I’m working on it. Which mean I’m still pissed half the time and I don’t want to be around to take it out on you. I wanted to make progress or whatever first, so you could see that I’m trying.”
He didn’t know what to say. Bucky was going to his meetings. He was going home to visit his family.
“You saying you were trying would have been enough.”
Bucky slowly nodded. “I’m trying. I still think my therapist barely knows shit, but fuck, I’m trying Steve.” He let out a weak, tentative smile.
Steve exhaled loudly. “I’m glad to hear it Buck. And if it’s not helping—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ll be complaining about that brown-noser of a therapist again so…”
Steve couldn’t help grinning. “So… You’re going to be Uncle Buck.”
Bucky laughed so abruptly a half chewed cocoa puff hit Steve in the face. It set them into loud, uncontrollable fits of laughter. In that moment he was sixteen again, laughing about nonsense with his best friend.
“So did you meet someone?” Bucky asked later.
Steve had finally managed to make himself dinner while Bucky stole carrot sticks from his plate.
“Huh?”
“You seem, more… just better lately,” he said. “Is it a girl?” Bucky asked, far more delicately put than Steve would have expected.
“What?” He tried to chuckle casually. “No. Nah. I’ve just been working a lot.”
This time it wasn’t that he hadn’t wanted to share with Bucky. But he couldn’t actually tell him about his night with Peggy. How could he justly explain how he had ended up holding her hand in her bedroom without the details he wasn’t allowed to tell anyone? And how their shared moment set off fantasies of all the other ways he could hold her hand. Like on a walk together.
In the end it ultimately didn’t matter because it wasn’t like she would actually want to do any of those things with him. He was just a guy who painted for her. And Bucky would know she was out of his league.
“The new project has been kinda fun,” he explained instead. “It’s nice to paint in color again.”
“Huh,” Bucky said, but didn’t pursue it further.
Things continued to look up. On Monday Peggy texted him.
How upset would you be if I ripped my stitches out as an excuse to escape a painfully pointless meeting?
Steve grinned from ear to ear.
Don’t you dare.
You don’t understand. This is pure hell.
What’s the meeting about?
Improving workplace productivity and office communication. Incidentally, I seem to be the only one not allowed to communicate my ideas, deeming this meeting useless and insulting.
No ripping stitches Peggy. Why don’t you just punch someone in the face? You’re good at that. Besides they’re the ones that deserve punishment, not you.
He didn’t receive a response until an hour later, while he was out on an errand at the hardware store.
Turns out bursting out in laughter is a great way to get attention from a crowd of ignorant, self-absorbed men. Thank you Steve. Have a lovely day.
He couldn’t stop smiling knowing he made her laugh.
Happy to be of service Ms. Carter
He hoped for the tiny chance that Peggy would make it home early enough Tuesday, in time for him to run into her while painting her place. It was a friendly Jarvis that greeted him instead. She didn’t turn up by the time he was finished for the night.
Steve had a particularly productive therapy session that Wednesday. He came out of it cloudy as usual, but feeling positive. He headed back to the art store like he had after his previous session, finding the smells of paper, paint, charcoal indescribably soothing. He splurged on a new set of pastels and picked up another canvas. He had an idea for it. If Peggy didn’t have time to decorate her room, he’d gladly help her. Now that he knew about Peggy’s brother, he had one more poppy he wanted to paint for her. It would serve in remembrance of him.
Instead of heading straight home, he went for a walk in Central Park and even stopped in to check on Lewis on his way home. He’d managed to get Lewis a few small gigs carrying supplies and cleaning with the construction crew in the last few weeks. He kept him company sketching by his side, listening to his woes and stories until the sun went down.
The anticipation of seeing Peggy lingered in his stomach all day on Thursday. It had been too long. And he was too close to finishing her wall of poppies. It was a combination he didn’t care for.
“Hello,” she greeted.
The butterflies in his stomach become even more palpable at the sight of her.
“Hi Peggy.”
She was no longer limping he was pleased to see.
“How was the rest of your trip?”
“Surprisingly, not all of it was a waste of time. There were even several actually useful moments.”
In no time at all, she had him grinning and laughing about her week, and then even Steve had shared a funny story he had heard about Stark from Jarvis. They had been enjoying each other’s company so much Steve nearly forgot he was there to paint. Peggy sung praises about finally, at long last, she had her stitches removed that morning.
“Oh, it’s good to be home,” she said with booming enthusiasm.
He had just reset his tarp and stepstool when he heard Peggy yell from the kitchen about the night calling for some wine. She walked over with two filled wine glasses.
“Gee Peggy,” he said, grinning at the glass she handed him, “if you wanted this to be a date all ya had to do was ask.”
His whole body seized up the moment it was said. Steve was living a nightmare. It was a joke, in the vein of their earlier frothy banter. He hadn’t realized it had been sitting on the tip of his tongue. His brain had been swept up in the moment and he hadn’t meant to say it. Or imply it. Or suggest it.
“Alright,” she replied with a tilt of her head, wetting her lips with wine. She was staring intently and he could feel himself increasingly shrinking, willing himself to disappear. Yet her smile never faltered.
His heart leapt into his throat. Maybe this would be the only moment he’d get. He needed to use it. But he couldn’t get his mouth to work.
“How about this weekend?” she asked.
“This weekend?”
“Yes,” she said, “for a date.”
Steve shot straight up, tongue parched and head dizzy. He could not believe his ears.
“If you’re available,” she amended.
“I’m available,” he sputtered frantically, before she had enough time to renege. “Yes. This weekend. I’m wide open.”
She beamed at him and clinked her glass against his.