I've always wondered, in FWNL, how Steve and Peggy part when she leaves to go to school, and what Steve thinks of Peggy forging a new path in a new world. Any insight you might have?
So I know that you sent this ask approximately a billion years ago, but here’s the thing: I liked this prompt a little too much.
Because in FWNL, Steve and Peggy leave things on an uncertain note when she leaves for school - in part because of everything that’s going on in Steve’s world that he can’t talk about.
But I couldn’t stop thinking of how they might have said goodbye, if things had been a little different. So here’s what I came up with, which is basically an AU of an AU.
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The Nearness of You
The night before she’s due to leave, Steve takes Peggy to a free movie night, at a park in his neighbourhood.
He knows a lot of people would give him low marks for being cheap and unoriginal, but the only person he wants to impress doesn’t seem to mind.
He meets her at the subway station, because she wants to try navigating on her own.
Right on time, she ascends the stairs, elegant, unhurried. Her simple wrap dress is the green of summer grass, with a pattern of sunny yellow flowers; her shoes and her handbag are the same glossy red as her lipstick. It’s a combination of colours that shouldn’t work, but on Peggy, it’s perfect.
When he asks if she had any trouble with the train, she arches an eyebrow and reminds him, “I used to live in Brooklyn, you know.”
And it’s true that she walks with the air of someone who belongs there. But then, she’s like that everywhere she goes—in stark contrast to Steve, who couldn’t blend in with a crowd if his life depended on it.
On the way over, they pass an ice cream shop that Steve has seen mentioned online. It’s supposed to be good, and the line inside is short; on a whim, he suggests a detour.
The place happens to be next door to a donut shop, and the two have conspired to make donut ice cream sandwiches.
Something Steve has always admired about Peggy is her enthusiasm for eating. Since her return, he’s been making mental lists of foods in the new century that he wants to introduce her to. A donut ice cream sandwich hasn’t been on his radar, until just this moment.
He watches Peggy spend almost a full minute ogling them in the freezer case before concluding, with a profoundly sad sigh, “I don’t think I could manage it.” It’s the same wistful look she used to have during the war, when talking about meat and milk and real chocolate, not the chalky clay tile issued by the army.
“Let’s split one,” he offers. “You pick.”
After further and even more intense deliberation, she selects a decadent red velvet cake donut, with a cream cheese ice cream centre.
They decide not to risk eating outside; the sun is going down, but the evening is still sultry, and neither of them are in the mood to race the clock. They find a table by the window.
Steve is so busy watching Peggy smooth the softening edges of the treat with her tongue that he lets his half melt down his arm all the way to his elbow.
He blows through their entire supply of napkins trying to wipe off the sticky mess.
He thinks she’s amused; it’s still a little hard to tell sometimes, but he’s gradually remembering how to read her face.
“Aw.” He frowns comically. “Now no one’s gonna want to hold my hand.”
He means to be cute and flirty, but he can tell by the way her expression changes that he’s caught her off guard, maybe embarrassed her a little.
Changing the subject quickly, he asks, “Are you all packed for your big trip?”
“Yes. It’s remarkably easy, when you don’t own anything. Which reminds me, I ought to give you back your books.”
“That’s okay. You hang onto them.”
She doesn’t look pleased. He thinks he knows why: she doesn’t like owing a debt.
“You might need some of them for school. I’ll get ‘em back the next time you’re in town,” he adds.
“All right.” She takes a bite of the ice cream sandwich and it falls apart in her hand, half of it dropping straight down the front of her dress. “Oh, hell.”
Steve goes to get more napkins.
“There’s really no dignified way to do this,” she observes, one hand delving into her décolletage. He catches an eyeful of milky skin and ivory lace before it occurs to him to look out the window instead of staring like a caveman.
“I like your dress,” he says, because things weren’t awkward enough already.
Peggy grins. “Now that I’ve drawn attention to its best feature?”
He grins back, but says only, “Green’s a nice colour on you.”
“Thank you.” She dabs delicately at her neckline. “I rather think so too.”
Another thing he’s always admired about Peggy: her way of accepting compliments by agreeing with them. As if she arrived at the same conclusion ages ago, and has just been waiting for everyone else to finally catch up.
*
When they get to the park, he sees couples unfolding colourful blankets or matching beach chairs, pulling out bags of snacks and bottles of water. He wishes he’d planned a little better. He has to settle for spreading his windbreaker on the ground so Peggy won’t get her dress dirty. There isn’t enough room on it for two of them, but that’s fine; after such a hot day, it’s nice to lean back on his elbows and stretch out in the cool grass.
The movie is an animated feature about the secret lives of toys. It seems good—people in the audience are laughing—but he’s completely lost. He spends all his time either gazing at Peggy, or looking blankly ahead with a keen awareness of her body beside his.
The sky above them fades into shadow.
He doesn’t realize he’s dozing off until Peggy gasps. He startles awake just in time to catch her face in profile, lit up, staring raptly at the screen. His heart feels weightless, suspended in his chest.
She turns, as if sensing his gaze. “Are you laughing at me?”
He tries, and fails, to wipe the dopey smile off his face. “No, ma’am.”
She fake-glares at him, nudging his knee with her elbow before turning back to the movie.
The next time he wakes, it’s because she’s shaking his shoulder gently.
He sits up, slightly groggy. The film’s end credits are rolling. People are packing up, chairs in hand, sleepy children on their shoulders.
He can’t believe he fell asleep in the middle of a date. He’s lucky she didn’t just go home and leave him there.
He rubs his face briskly, trying to wake himself up. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” Her eyes and her mouth have gone very soft. “You must have needed a rest.”
There’s so much he wants to tell her, in that moment. But all he can do is nod. “How’d you like the movie?”
She smiles, cheeks dimpling. “Brilliant.”
He helps her to her feet, then scoops up his jacket. He’s about to put it on when she stops him with a hand on his arm.
“Hold still.” She bats at his back. “You look as though you’ve been rolling in the grass.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“It does.” Her hand slows, softens. “Under the right circumstances.”
Steve can’t think of anything appropriate to say to that.
They make their way to the edge of the park, walking slower than usual.
Her hand brushes his. He thinks it might be an accident, at first. The second time she does it, he takes hold of her fingers—loosely, giving her plenty of ease to slip away.
She steps closer, presses her palm firmly against his.
They hold hands all the way to the entrance to the subway, where Peggy lets go to fish her fare card out of her handbag.
He offers to see her back to SHIELD.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She’s clearly pleased. “It’s got to be out of your way.”
The truth is, his place is a five-minute walk from where they’re now standing. “Maybe a little,” he concedes.
“You can ride along until I have to transfer.”
“Deal.”
On the train, they sit shoulder to shoulder—at Steve’s size, it’s impossible not to. After a couple of stops, he drapes his arm over the back of Peggy’s seat. It’s mostly to give her more room, though of course that’s not the only reason. If it’s not okay, he’s sure she’ll let him know.
One more stop passes.
“We should do this again,” he suggests. “When you’re back in town.”
“I’ve no idea when that will be.”
“That’s okay. It’ll keep.”
He’s not sure exactly what it refers to, but Peggy nods, as though what he’s just said makes perfect sense.
And then she leans into his side, and they make the rest of the trip that way, quietly together.
In the station, the silence between them turns awkward. It’s a lousy place to say goodnight: it’s crowded, the air is humid and stale, and there’s a busking saxophonist whose enthusiasm far outstrips his technique.
Steve settles for a cavalier, “Text me when you get home, yeah?”
She gives a dramatic, full-body sigh. “Must I?”
He chuckles. “I don’t need a whole message. Just proof of life. An emoji is fine.”
“Is that the… smiley face thing?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’ll give it a go. But I won’t promise anything.”
As her train screeches its approach, he hugs her, one arm across her shoulders. She slides a hand around his waist, presses her face to his collarbone; her breath, through his shirt, is warm on his skin. Her hair is raw silk, and smells like springtime. His eyes are closed. He thinks hers are, too.
He doesn’t realize how long they’ve been holding one another until she pulls away, murmuring, “I’ll miss the train.”
Steve is afraid of what’s going to come out of his mouth if he opens it. So he just smiles, squeezes her hand once more, and lets her go.
After seeing her off, he takes the steps up to the street two at a time, and walks the eight miles home at a brisk clip. His heart is soaring.
It won’t be easy to be apart, of course—but unlike during the war, there’s a timeframe, and an understanding between them. It’s easier to stay in touch. And it’s not like she’ll be on the other side of the world; she might even invite him to visit her, once she’s settled.
Her text arrives about an hour after he gets home. It consists solely and entirely of the letter S.
He waits, for several minutes, watching the typing indicator fade in and out of view. At last, the full message pops up: Safe and sound.
Get some rest, he writes back. Big day tomorrow.
He’s already put his phone back on the nightstand when it whistles again. No words—just a sleepy snoring face emoji.
To Steve, it feels like nothing short of a miracle.
Give us the director's cut on the continued presence of Peggy's new friend from "Christmas in July." Has it figured out how to start the coffee yet?
This ask nearly made me spit out my coffee, does that count for anything? ;)
For those who haven’t read it, in Christmas in July Peggy gets a Captain America-themed vibrator from her secret Santa. There’s a running joke about how if the vibrator could start the coffee in the mornings, then Steve would become completely superfluous in Peggy’s life.
Well, Peggy hasn’t kicked Steve to the curb just yet, but her new friend does come in handy when they’re apart for long stretches...
Also, Steve did get her a new coffeemaker with automatic timer for Valentine’s Day (mostly just to chirp her, after she told him it wasn’t a very romantic gift).
The story that has the distinction of being my dirtiest is You Are Here, in which Tony and Pepper have the kind of phone sex that leaves little room for euphemism. I’m not even going to quote it here, because it’s fairly explicit and I’m still a little surprised I wrote it.
👻- 2 or 3 sentences from something you haven’t posted yet
From an untitled sequel to The Fixed Foot that I might be writing. (I know it’s four lines. #sorrynotsorry)
“Steve’s work in the war was very well-known. Famous, even.”
“Famous?” Angie snorts. “What, like Captain America famous?”
Maybe a bit late to your WIP prompt, but how about 'eyes'?
Here’s a snippet from a short piece I’m working on. It has a title, but I’ll save that for when it’s ready. A few of you sent me prompts related to Steve’s beard, and somehow that turned into this.
“What’s that smile for?” he asks.
“Last night. And this morning.”
The old Steve would have blushed, she thinks. Her Steve, however, just grins at her, and takes an overly enthusiastic bite of his buttered toast.
“Someone must’ve treated you right. You’re all pink.”
“Someone has a high opinion of himself,” she retorts. “It’s not a blush. You’ve scraped me raw from my neck to my knees.”
“Let me see.” He’s already reaching for the sash of her robe, right there at the kitchen table.
She bats his hand away. “Nothing doing, mister,” she admonishes, in her best American drawl.
He shrugs, seawater eyes unrepentant. “Show me your neck, then. Or your knees.”
(Send me a word and if it’s in one of my WIPs I’ll post a snippet)
I keep rereading 'Famous Angels', hoping for an update where they all find Themyscira and Steve's just hanging out there and Peggy shows up and connects to her Amazonian roots and Steve's just like, "well, yeah, I could've told you she was a goddess", and then they kick ass and kiss. A lot. Have a great day!
The next chapter is about 3 sentences away from being done, my friend.
And I’m not saying some of the above is what eventually happens... but I’m not not saying that, either.
