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Peggy lives in New York state. Some quiet place, where she brought a nice house with a front porch so she could watch the neighbourhood kids play, but she doesn't end up sleeping there most of the time .
Most of the time she’s at various military bases, or across the world solving diplomatic disputes, but either way she comes home and performs the same routine for an empty house, like a monkey doing tricks . First, she drops her bag by the door and flicks on all the lights, if it's dark, then goes room to room inspecting all of the nice things she’s bought with her fancy secret government paycheck, and all the other things she hasn't, like he things she brought all the way from her first dorm room in university, scraggly blankets and knickknacks, and all the things she's collected along the way, her hairpins and the lamps she found in New Jersey and... Steve. In his wooden frame, Steve sits high on a shelf in the living room, as not to weird out any visitors. She learnt that the hard way.
“It’s so nice to have you in the neighbourhood, Peggy. Just great.”
“Oh, thank you, Peggy says cloyingly , as the woman’s eyes rummage through all her things. Something inside Peggy screams to throw her out, but Peggy’s a nice respectful woman now. Things change, after war. Maybe it’s just where she was in the war, surrounded by all the men, in the muck, planning to send her brothers to their deaths and now by comparison, this is rather...civil .
“Oh,” she laughed, at the charming little picture of the scrawny blonde squinting at the camera. A relative, a son, a husband away for work, she hopes. Something normal, but Peggy's never been normal. “Who’s this?”
“That’s Steve,” Peggy said. The woman's eyebrows curled upwards, because she hadn't said, my husband, my friend, my brother . She just said Steve. Because it is just Steve, isn't it? Not very normal, Peggy’s afraid.
“Oh, a friend of yours?” and the woman’s wondering if she’s right, if Peggy’s some harlot.
“Yes,” Peggy smiles patiently , and thinks of the war.
“Interesting.”
Peggy snaps. “You want some more coffee, Maureen?”
Peggy comes home again, and she sighs, and leaves her bag by the door where she'll get it later, and she's thinking of the house as she crosses it . The tired old cranky pipes. She loves how it takes minutes for the water to heat up, and the way the house groans at night, because it makes her feel like someone else is using the hot water, or getting a midnight snack, and she's not alone . Not that she's lonely, at all . She’s not, she has Howard and Jarvis and Ana, too. She has her assistant, Shelley, and Daniel, and everyone else at work, kind of. She’s just lonely here , where she’s too absent to be invited to the neighbourhood cookouts, and never around enough to make any friends, so she comes home and she reads all the books she never has time for and paints, sometimes, and crotchets more often . It’s nice, really . Not sad.
She’s passing the living room for the first time in a month, with all it’s dust and uninhabitation when something catches her eye . Movement, a hand twitching. Blonde hair reflecting off the window, and that wide shoulder, muscled frame, the one she knew — knows so well. She freezes in the doorway, and just looks at him for a moment. This can't be real, it can’t be, he’s in the Arctic — he’s in the ice, and they couldn't find him, they all said they couldn't find him, but he’s here . He's not frozen, he's here.
“Peggy,” Steve says, and it’s him. It’s him. Not a hallucination, it’s him? How is it him?
“Oh my God, oh my God, Steve,” and she's gotta feel him, make sure he's real under her hands, so here's just touching him, hands sliding up his chest and along his neck and through his hair to twine down his his cheek so she can just grab him and look into those blue blue blue eyes that she thought she’d never see again .
He smiles, soft, like he’d always smile, “Peggy, I'm here, Peggy.”
“Steve,” she says, and there's no air in her chest. “Steve,” this can’t be real. She’s dreaming, she’s died, she died yesterday and hasn't released yet.
All the air’s building up in his chest, and he’s been waiting to say these words for eighty years. “You said you’d take me dancing, and I couldn't leave that offer, could I?”
She lets out a delirious laugh. "I can't believe it. I can't believe you." She reaches up, touches his face again. “How? How?”
He smiles teasingly , “Like, I said, you owed me a dance." Then seriously , "I've bent time and space to be here, Peggy. ”
“Time and space?” she whispers, and clutches him a little tighter.
They dance, they get their dance. They just sway, in the living room, in the autumn light, Steve's dream for 80 odd years, and it’s under his fingertips, finally . Peggy still smells like the same perfume she used in the war, because it's only been a year and that scent doesn't get discontinued until 1963 .
—
It's the next day, a busy, brilliant summer day, with children chattering and playing and mothers peering out the windows watching them on the lawns, Steve wakes up late, for once . He's missed waking up late.
He gets up, leaves Peggy asleep, her face pushed into the mattress.
He wanders through the house first, looking at Peggy's life without him. The shampoo she uses, and the ratty blanket he remembers, and the brand of coffee she buys, and how she used to hate it.
He makes coffee for him, with sugar, milk, how he likes it. He's not sure how she likes it.
Peggy must be awake because, “Steve?” she calls from upstairs, and she’s maybe afraid, afraid he’s left her.
“I’m here, Peggy,” he calls out, wanders into the hallway, holding the coffee in his hands.
“Oh,” she says, paused on the stairs.
“Hi,” he says, “there's coffee. Fresh.”
She nods, and walks down the stairs. He turns back to the kitchen. She sits behind the bench and he makes her coffee. Terribly domestic, he knows. He doesn't mind at all.
It's a slow, silent, peaceful morning, and Steve is careful with the china, like everything might break if he drops a cup .
“I still can’t get used to you like this,” she says, quietly . “All...muscular.”
Steve smiles. “Neither, really . I've spent so much time in this body, but it’s still strange.”
“How much time?”
He shrugs. “A few years in the war. A few years when I woke up.”
She sighs at his non-answer. “What’s gonna happen, Steve? What are you gonna do?”
“I’m staying here, Peggy. This isn't a visit.”
She smiles gently . “Okay.”
“You don't mind?” he teases.
“I don’t mind,” she repeats, kissing him quickly , laughing a little against his lips.
“Before I can stay, I need an alias. I’m not going to be Steve Rogers again.”
“Okay,” she says.
“And no one can know I’m alive, Peggy. They’ll….”
She nods, looking down at her cup. “I know what they’ll do,” she says.
Steve clears his throat and tries to ignore what that might mean. “Grant. How about Grant? It's my middle name..”
“I like it.”
“What about the last name?” he asks, and wonders what's in the cupboard to eat, but doesn't want to break this moment, because it’s such a nice moment.
“Carter?” sh suggests, looking up at him from her eyelashes.
“Carter?” he repeats, looking at her with raised eyebrows, she just smiles, not saying another word. “I like it.” He leans across the bench, pulling her in tight, kissing her.
“Grant Carter," she says, "nice to meet you."
He smiles back at her, and it feels like the start — Steve’s always marked things like that. He met Bucky, and he knew it was the start of something. The serum, the start, waking up, the start, The Avengers, the start. Now is a start. They all end, but maybe not for a long time. Hopefully .
“Hello, Ms. Carter. Lovely to make your acquaintance.”
—
Later that afternoon, Steve is in the lying room, reading a book as Peggy clatters around upstairs. Steve hears a faint gasp and sits up, concerned as she runs down the stairs and crosses the creaky house, popping her head into a doorway of the living room .
“Howard, We need to tell Howard,” she says, eyes wide. “He’s going to —” she doesn't finish her sentence, she can’t contain the magnitude .
“Howard,” Steve echoes. He forgot about Howard.
“And the commandos. I mean, Jacques back in France now, and I have no idea where Montgomery or Gabe ended up, but Dum-Dum and Jim are all in the city.”
“Call them,” he says.
—
Steve wakes up early. He always wakes early, but the sun hasn't risen yet. It’s nice, out here in the quiet suburbs. Steve has never been here like this. He's always been in too-loud cities or war or something else, never in just the quiet. He looks at Peggy, sleeping next to him, and her quiet head, tangled curls raising up from her head like some terrible sea, a sailor’s nightmare .
He gets up, stares at the wall for a bit, drinks coffee, then scrub then paint off the mug furiously .
“What are you doing?” Peggy asks behind him. He didn't realise she was up.
“The dishes,” Steve answers.
“Steve.”
“Peggy.”
“What are you doing?” she asks again, and he can hear the exasperation in her tone.
“Panicking,” he answers truthfully .
She tuts her tongue. “That's better.”
“Steve, they love you. You love them. It’s all happy. Don't get caught up, make up issues that aren't real.”
He sighs. Smiles. “Okay, Peggy.”
“You're right, Peggy,” she tells him faux-seriously and laughs.
"You're right, Peggy," he repeats, seriously .
Howard’s sighted first. His expensive car, more expensive than anything else anyone’s ever seen, drives up the street, parks in front of the house .
“He’s here," Steve tells Peggy, who looks up from her tea with a smile. He knows he's as nervous as the day he went to war.
Steve can hear him get out, lock the car, mumble something about “the goddamn suburbs, Peggy. Upstate?”
Then the gate, the gravel path crunching, the porch stairs cracking, a pause before he wraps as he stops to check the time, Steve imagines, then…
Right on time, 3 sharp knocks.
“I’ll open,” Peggy says.
She crosses the room quickly and quietly , her shoes not making a nose, and opens the door. Steve can see the corner of Howard, black-haired and familiar.
“Peggy, what the fuck am I doing up here?” he laughs, “no place for me, I'm afraid.”
“You're seeing an old friend, Howard,” Peggy says, like she knows something he doesn't. She does.
“Fuck. If you’re old, I'm old, and I'm not old yet, Peggy.”
"Not her,'' Steve says, and steps out of the kitchen, where he’s been obsessively drying dishes for the last hour.
Howard freezes, every atom of him going stiff, his eyes dilating.
“Howard?” Peggy gently touches his elbow. “You okay?”
Howard drops his hat. And then he moves. Lightening fast, he’s across the foyer, and he's grasping Steve in his hands and hauling him close and Steve almost kind of forgot what it's like to be hugged like that, right after a desperate bloody battle, and they are half checking to see if you're alive and half wondering if they are . It's not the same with The Avengers, they're all sure they are alive because they're gods or spies or a smart man in a suit. With Howard, he’s got that feeling, got that holy shit. I thought I'd never see you again . He’s missed that feeling, strange enough as it is. That feeling means there’s someone there to hug him, too.
Steve laughs, “Howard."
Howard swears into Steve’s shirt. “Steve? Steve, no.”
“Yes, Yes, Howard,'' Steve grips him, and remembers hugging Bucky and the Howling Commandos like this.
“We haven't — I haven't found you,” he says and there's something a little broken in his voice.
Steve chuckles anyway, “No, not yet. There’s probably enough 70 odd years before you find me, but I'm here.”
Howard looks at him, and he’s got that same look that Tony gets, sometimes, when he’s desperately , desperately curious but doesn’t quite wanna let you onto how much . “Steve, you gotta tell me how.”
“How what?” he knows what he’s talking about.
Howard doesn't care, he’s chasing a rabbit like a dog. “How you’re here? How you’re out of the ice?”
Steve shrugs, and doesn't know the science well enough to explain it to him. Pym particles, and something about a hyperlink, maybe ? “I’m not. 1946 me is still under the ice.”
“What, time travel?” Howard shakes his head in disbelief then his eyes widen as Steve nods slowly
“Shit,” he says, and rakes a hand through his hair. "Was it me? Did I do it?" he asks urgently , and Steve thinks about a cold night one December 16th.
“No,'' Steve says, and thinks of him, his funeral, and Pepper, and Morgan, and the kid, and everyone he left behind. Did he leave Steve behind? He wonders, for a moment. Did he still count? “His name was Tony,” he says, and banishes those thoughts.
“When did we find you?” Howard asks.
Steve doesn't know why he answers this one. Maybe it doesn't feel real. Maybe it's far away in both of his lives. “2011.”
Howard draws in a sharp breath, “Fuck. Guess I might be as old as the dinosaurs, huh?” he says, not even considering the fact he might not be alive.
“Yeah,” Steve lies, “you’re a wrinkled piece of shit, you old fucker.”
Howard cackles out a laugh and lights his next cigarette.
—
Jim gets there next, and Peggy gets the door again because Howard is too busy marvelling over Steve and Steve’s too busy being marvelled at .
“Peggy,” he grins. “How are you?”
“Very well, Jim. Let’s go into the sitting room. I’ve got Howard over, too. And Steve.”
Jim steps inside and gets another half step before he freezes. “Steve?” he asks Peggy. “You've got Steve?”
Peggy smiles tightly . “I've got Steve.”
Jim doesn't need anything else, he dashes across the hall into the living room, where both men look up sharply .
“Steve, fucking, Rodgers” he grins out, and doesn't question for a moment at the blonde sitting there sipping tea like he’s not meant to be under a hundred miles of ice .
“Jim.”
Jim yells with happiness and launches into Steve's arms, who grins him tightly .
“Is Dum-Dum coming? Is he?”
“Yes, he’s just late,” Peggy says from the doorway, smiling at the two.
“He’s gonna be so excited,” Jim grins, and as he says, there’s a knock on the door.
“That’s him,” Steve says, and opens the door.
Dum-Dum blinks back at him like his eyes are adjusting. “Steve?”
“Hi, Dugan,” he says, and his voice is kinda rough.
“Oh, god, you came back from the war,” Dum-Dum says, and slaps an arm around him, claps him on the back, like always.
“Almost.”
He jerks back, “The fuck you mean, almost ?”
Steve laughs.
—
They sit in the living room, drink tea in the light from the big bay window. Talking and laughing and Steve refusing to tell them anything of proper importance.
It gets dark awfully fast. It seems one minute it's 2 o’clock and then it’s eight and all the lamps on the street are glowing.
Dum Dum leaves first, with another clap on the back hug and a sentimental whisper to Steve no one else hears.
Then Jim, who doesn't quite know what to say other than a mumbled, “good to see you, Cap,” and a hug that's a little too tight, but Steve doesn't mind .
Then Howard, who sits on his tea for another half-hour, then finally can’t anymore. “Yeah, I, uh, gotta get back to the city too. Big day tomorrow, conference with uh, France.”
“France?” Peggy says, pleased, “look at you, Mr. International.”
Howard chuckles nervously , picking up his hat and coat.
“It’s good to see you, Howard,” Steve says. “It’s been a long time.”
They embrace again. “Longer to you,” Howard says, and lets go of him.
They wave goodbye, on the cold porch, and Howard climbs into his expensive car, drives off with a rev that’ll have the church ladies gossiping on Sunday .
Peggy closes the door against the chill and Steve turns, walking to the living room to collect cups and plates and spoons crusted with sugar from Howard's sweet tooth .
Peggy ghosts him, and hovers in the doorway as he collects her fine china.
“Peggy, you alright?” he asks her.
She attempts to try and bite her tongue, but can’t. “Howard doesn't survive, does he?”
“What?” Steve asks, mind malfunctioning.
She bites her lip, nervous for the answer as she whispers, “you swear when you lie.”
Steve gives it up. “No. He died in 1991.”
“Oh my god.”
Steve swallows. “I shouldn't tell you, Peggy. We’re altering the timeline.”
She shakes her head. “You've already altered the timeline enough by coming back.”
Steve sighs. “Yeah. Guess you're right.” He wonders if everything will turn out the same, or if they’ve entered a different dimension.
“At least...at least tell me he was happy.”
Steve shrugs. “I wasn’t there. I was still in the ice. He...He had a son, and I knew him. He was...he was better than Howard. Smarter, more brilliant. The things he did, Peggy. Oh, god. He changed the world, but I don't think Howard ever realized that he would.”
“Was he married, then?”
Steve nods, tries to recall everything he knows, everything Tony ever mentioned. It’s not much, really . He didn’t talk about his parents often. “Yes. A woman named Maria. I don’t know much about her.”
Peggy sighs, and sits in an armchair heavily . Steve crosses the room, puts hand on her back. She inhales with quick breaths. “How’d he...how did it happen?” she asks quietly , muffled through her hands.
Steve swallows. Assassination . “Uh, car accident.”
Peggy looks outside, to where Howard was parked . “Oh.”
“Yeah,” Steve sighs. “ Just ...enjoy the time you have. You’ve got another 50 years, Peg, and I'm sure you’ll get tired of him pretty soon.”
—
There’s a sharp knock on the door the next morning. Steve’s in the kitchen, and Peggy’s at the back of the house, so he answers.
He opens the door and a blonde woman, tightly clenched, mauve lipstick on wrinkled lips, eyes darting around .
“Hi,” she says, eyes widening, surprised at his presence. “I’m sorry,” she says, in a way that means she’s not, “I was expecting Peggy. Is she home?”
Steve leans against “Yes, she is.”
“Oh. May I speak with her?”
Steve hollers up the house, “Peggy! Someone here for you!”
He turns back to the woman to wait.
There's one, two, three moments of silence, and when she snaps. “May I ask, who are you?” she says politely , but her eyes are flaying Steve alive.
“Grant, hi,” he shakes her hand.
“I'm Maureen Bromley, I live just down the block. Nice to meet you.”
“You too.”
“Are you Peggy’s—?” she’s starting to ask.
“Steve?” Peggy asks, walking down the stairs, her hair wet from the shower.
“Someone’s here to speak with you. Maureen.” Steve says, praying the women didn't hear Peggy call him Steve.
Peggy blinks. “Oh, Maureen. Hi.”
Maureen smiles tightly . “Hi, Peggy. Lovely to see you.”
She clears her throat, nods. “Yes, you too, Maureen. Why are you over?”
Maureen nods, and looks very regretful to be telling Peggy this, “I, and some of the other women in the neighbourhood are a bit concerned .”
Peggy’s eyes sharpen. “About what, Maureen?”
“Well, I just don't think it's appropriate to have men coming and going at all times. Especially men like that.”
“Those men are war heroes, Maureen. You’d do well to respect them.”
“I—” she tries to say, but Peggy’s on a rampage.
“This is the house I bought, of my own money, and I can have whoever I want visit anytime I want. It’s none of your concern, and none of the neighbourhood's,” she says contritely .
“Well—” Maureen tries, but again, Peggy’s on a rampage.
“If that’s all? Lovely to see you, Maureen,” Peggy starts closing the door, but she starts fucking speaking again .
“No. It’s not." her eyes flick between them " I’d like not to have my children subjected to such impropriety such as relations before marriage .”
Peggy smiles lightly . “If you don't want your children subjected to such a thing, don’t be discussing it around the table.”
“Well, it’s setting —”
“Have a good day, Maureen,” Peggy says firmly , and Steve pushes the door shut.
—
“Marry me, Peggy?” Steve asks her, fresh, crisp morning. He’s only practicing, to an empty room, Peggy fast asleep next to him but she flails and jerks up, nearly breaking her neck in the process .
“What?” she demands, dishevelled, hair in her face.
“Oh, shit — I — I thought you were asleep,” Steve stammers, panicking. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. It was supposed to go down at a nice dinner and a nice ring and she’d say yes, and they’d come back and have some wine and it would just be nice and calm and lovely .
“I was, but marriage proposals usually wake someone up,” she scowls and...is she angry? Oh fuck.
“I — Sorry. It was meant to be more...romantic. I don’t even have a ring yet, oh god.”
“Is this because of Maureen?” Peggy demands, then shakes her head warningly . “Don’t ask me that because of her.”
Steve shakes his head. “No, it’s not because of her.”
“ Really ?” she says suspiciously .
Steve takes her face in his hands, even with morning breath. “I — I’ve loved you for longer than you know. Now I'm here, I just wanna...cement that. Spend the rest of my life with you.”
“Steve,” she says, about Steve has to fix this, he has to make it right, he can't lose her.
“Peggy, I'm sorry —” he continues to rant.
“Yes.” he looks up, eyes wide, as she continues, “I have drool on my cheek and we are not telling this story, but yes.”
They tell Howard, and Jim and Dugan, and all of them whoop hollers down the line, crying out words like, man, I knew it! Finally! Oh, god, I thought you’d never get around to it! And Steve laughs and Peggy laughs and they just smile at each other around the kitchen.
—
Steve plans most of the wedding, actually, since Peggy’s working most of the time. She laughs incredulously when he suggests it, but he convinces her it’s not that weird, really . She figures it’s not the strangest thing to ever happen with them, so before he knows it Steve’s meeting with florist and cake decorators, and picking out chairs, and they ask, oh, have you been sent on a mission by your wife, with a little laugh, and Steve smiles and just says, no .
They're going with a colour scheme of cream and light green, the colour of Steve’s dreams, and the light that comes though the leaves of the tree in the backyard . They have flowers, lilies and some sort of greenery that Steve doesn't know the name of. The three-tiered vanilla and orange cake with fondant and a little statue of them together on top is delivered half an hour before it all starts . It's chaotic, and messy, and Steve's afraid it's going to fail, all his work, but it's still beautiful.
It's beautiful, it's gonna be beautiful.
—
They're driving to the venue in their red Chevrolet, watching the green scenery go by idly . They’re getting married in some teensy little church in Upstate New York, where it’s all green and lovely and very...suburban cutesy .
“Are you worried?” Peggy says suddenly , and switches the radio off. Steve agrees, he loves the music of the forties but the fifties are too...different for him. Too cloying, maybe . He can't put his finger on it. He’s been irritated by it for half an hour, but Peggy seemed to be enjoying it.
Steve frowns, making eye contact briefly before he has to look back at the road. “Hell yes, I'm worried, but I cannot wait to marry you.
“No cold feet, then?” she suggests with a little smile.
He shakes his head, and tells her, seriously . “I’ve been waiting for this for 80 years, Peggy. If you had a tentacle coming out of your forehead, I’d still want this.
Piggy laughs softly . “I’m holding you to that, There’s still time for it to grow.”
“I don’t care,” he says and he means it.
—
Steve was right, it is beautiful. A small service, Howard, Jarvis and Ana. Some of Peggy's family, none of Steve's, unless you count the Howling Commandos. It’s a little church, like Steve remembers from mass with his Catholic mother, only without the police sirens and hubbub of New York City . It’s so quiet here, you can only hear the cicadas.
He’s waiting up by the altar, fidgeting, and he’s got no best man, because Bucky's not there, is he? Not yet, and Steve can't fuck the timeline that much, even if it means Howard’s gonna die and Bucky's gonna go through so much pain, he can't, because then everything will be thrown off and maybe they won’t win against Thanos, at the very least . Maybe he won’t be able to go back, because they've won in the first place. The Avengers might not even get together in the first place. It’ll just change so much, and he can’t rationalize it even to himself. He still dreams of their life in their New York apartment, the one that still stands, and Steve stands in front of it whenever he's in New York and wishes and wishes he could have that again, cold mornings and Bucky’s work boots by the door and sitting out on the fire escape in the evening, socked feet swinging in the breeze like clothes on a line .
Steve is jolted back to reality by a quiet laugh from Peggy’s mother to Jarvis, who get on marvellously with each other . He looks around the church, and their small wedding. It’s only Howard, Jarvis, Ana and Maria, and some of Peggy’s family from England. Her mother, who looks just like Peggy, (minus red lipstick and plus a few years). There’s no father there to walk his fiancee down the aisle since he'd died in the war, but there is her uncle, a tall, strange man who seems nice enough . He’d offered to walk her, but Peggy had declined, saying it’s awfully nice but she’d like to go herself. Her mother had laughed and said something about the women’s rallies she took her to as a child, and how it must have rubbed off .
Steve likes Peggy's mother, she’d said nothing when suddenly they were getting married, even though she’s never even met Steve before the airport . Steve supposes the fact they’re on different continents might help, and Peggy’s never been one to call home about a boy .
The music starts, and the priest clears her throat, and then — then she appears. The church doors swinging open, her stepping into the aisle. God, she's gorgeous, covered in white and lace, and she's kept her lipstick, dark, careful red. Her lips quirk as her eyes meet his, and the music swells, and steve thinks he might legitimately faint.
She makes it up the aisle to him after a few torturous moments, and then she’s standing right across from him, so, so close to the future he’s dreamed about he can taste it like marzipan on his tongue . Steve takes her hand victoriously and they have their vows, their wedding, and Steve's never been so happy, really he hasn't . Not in all time.
He sees them all, smiling and clapping in the pews, but he sees more of them behind Natasha and Bruce and Thor and Bucky, and all of them, smiling at him . At him walking down the aisle with the absolute love of his life, and this one and the next one, and however many chances they get .
—
It's a grey afternoon, cloudy and dismal, but Steve's in their kitchen, making bread, so it seems a little less sad. His mother always told him, bread can make everything better. Steve lives by that statement, now.
He’s starting to knead when Peggy hovers in the doorway, testing her wedding ring around her finger. “Steve?”
“Yeah?” he says, not looking back as he slaps the dough into the bench again. He’s not sure he knows how to properly knead. Fuck, he wishes he could google.
“I’m late.”
“For what?” he says, turning a little, flour on his nose, “You better hurry.”
She grins nervously . “Not like that.”
Steve stays still, looking at his dough for some amount while the cogs whirr together in his head. Then, he looks up, “No?”
Peggy smiles.
“Oh my god, Peggy,” he says, and his heart is bursting.
The springs up, takes her into his arms, whirls her around in a flurry of sticky fingers and flour. She laughs out loud into his shoulder, fingers digging into his shoulders.
“You're not mad?” she gasps.
“Oh my god Peggy, no,” he gasps back, and puts her down on the ground, looks into her eyes firmly . “You're pregnant — you are pregnant, right? I'm not —”
“You're not,” Peggy laughs, kissing her big dumb husband.
—
Peggy is full and round and pregnant so much that Howard says he can hardly look at her when he visits, because it’s so strange . He says that, of course, but jumps up to get her bag or make tea and looks at her with almost as much pride as Steve.
“You have names, yet?” Howard asks them one afternoon.
“Hmm, we haven't really thought about it,” Peggy says, resting her hands on her belly.
“Howard, if it's a boy,” Howard suggests, then his eyes quirk, “or a girl.”
Steve chuckles. “Then name our firstborn after me.”
“What are you, a witch?”
Steve smiles. “Almost.”
Howard laughs, a full belly laugh, like how Tony laughs. Steve sees so much resemblance. He's pretty sure that if he told Tony that, he’d groan and make a joke just like Howard would.
“You gonna tell the baby? About Steve?”
Peggy holds her belly. “No...no, I don’t think so. We don't need it blurting it out at show and tell.”
“My daddy’s a time traveller!'' Howard mimics in a child’s high squeaky voice.
Steve laughs at Howard’ impression, “ Maybe when they're older. Maybe if something happens.”
Peggy turns to him, eyebrows raised, voice cutting. “Nothing's gonna happen, is it Steve?”
He shakes his head, says dutifully , “No Peggy, of course not.”
Howard laughs but clears his throat, “Alright, guys, I better be going.”
“Bye, Howard.”
“See ya, buddy.”
They wave him off the porch, arms around each other, looking fondly down upon him swinging himself into his car, and laughing as he roars loudly down the street .
—
Later that night they're in bed, sheets tucked up around them, Peggy plaiting her hair, and she’s moaning about growing it out like she does every night, and Steve interrupts, the words on his mind all day bursting to the surface .
“Names?” Steve asks. “Got any ideas?”
She grabs a hair tie from her wrist as she finishes one, “I don’t know. Sharon, maybe , if it’s a girl.”
“Oh,” and Steve thinks about blonde Sharon Carter kissing him and can’t quite stomach it. “No, I hate it.”
Peggy looks up at him, with her big doe eyes. “You do?”
He grimaces, “Yeah, just not right.”
“Hmm, okay. How about something else. Donna, Gloria, Elizabeth?”
He nods. “I like all those.”
“Hmm,” she hums. “If it’s a boy?”
“Richard?” he suggests, jokingly . “Dick for short.”
She chuckles, and finishes her other plait. Steve grabs her, hauls her into him. “Grant Jr?” Peggy suggests, and laughs. Steve feels her stomach vibrate under his hands.
“You’re joking, but I like it.”
She considers it, tipping her head back, staring at the ceiling. “Hmm. Me too.”
Steve smiles, kisses her neck chastely .
“What do you think it is?” she says suddenly .
“A human?” Steve murmurs.
Peggy laughs. “No, gender.”
“Oh, a girl. I hope it's a girl.” he does. He'd like a daughter.
“You do?”
“Yeah, I do. You? What do you hope?”
She shrugs. “I don't mind. Either.”
Steve looks down at her and love swells in his heart. He’d give anything up he says to the doubts that still linger in his mind, anything for this.
—
“What are we gonna do about work?” she says the next morning with worried eyes. Steve looks at her as he fills his mug up to the brim with coffee. She’s been thinking about it a lot, he can tell.
“Work?” he asks her.
She sighs, “Well, my maternity leave is not gonna last forever, Steve.”
He shrugs, and passes her a cup, which she fills with tea, “Well, go back.”
“With a baby?” she scoffs.
“I’ll stay at home,” he suggests, taking his first sip. Oh, a cup of joe in the morning. It’s a godsend really . He doesn't miss rationing, that's for sure.
“What?” she blinks, looking at him confusedly .
“Yeah. You go to work, do your thing, and I’ll raise her.”
“ Really ?” she asks, big, hopeful eyes. He doesn't think she could stay home, nothing about Peggy will be content with that. Steve, on the other hand , has lived enough for two lifetimes. He’s happy too. He wants it. Normal. Peace, or as much peace as you can get with a baby.
“Yeah. I know it’s...weird, to you, but for me it’s normal.”
“Everyone in the 21st century’s doing it?” she smiles at him, and she won’t ever understand till she gets there but she tries.
Steve just smiles back. “Yeah.”
He sees the doubt come back as she sighs heavily , and turns to him. “I dunno, Steve, what will they say?”
Steve's smiles at her reassuringly . “Since when do you care, Peggy Carter? Say you hired a maid.” he leans closer, “You kinda did.”
She laughs and goes, “alright, Grant,” before kissing him sweetly .
—
It’s coming, it’s coming and Peggy's groaning, holding her stomach, wild eyed, and Steven hopping in the car and driving to the hospital and trying to say nice things but she just literally growls at him to shut up, so he does. They get into the hospital, and Peggy's screaming now, and the nurse takes her from him, and he jogs to stay alongside her.
“You the daddy?” the nurse asks, busy doing — something. Steve doesn't know, he was never a medic in the war.
“Uh, yes, yes ma’am,” he says steadily , wondering if he should be holding Peggy’s hand.
The nurse nods, pointing at a waiting room they're passing, “Alright. You wait out here.”
“Oh, okay,” he says, and slows. He watches as they take Peggy away and only he drops into a chair when he can't see her anymore.
“Your first time?” an old man with white hair says to him three seats to the left.
“Uh, yes,” Steve tells him, exhaling nervously .
“Hmm,” he just says, and turns back to his newspaper. Today’s edition. Steve tries to read the sports section, but it’s too hard.
“Are you — you waiting for a baby, too?” Steve asks, desperate for anything to distract him from what's going on. The fact he just has to wait, but it’s nothing compared to what Peggy’s surely going through.
The man nods, “sure, kid.”
“Oh,” Steve says, and wonders if it’s his daughter’s, or what. Not that he’d judge, of course.
“Take it easy. You’ll do great. Smoke a cigar, have a little brandy.” He taps his jacket pocket, ”I have some.”
“Oh,” Steve says, “ I don't think we’re allowed to drink in here.”
He chuckles, looking out for any nurses around them as he leans in, whispering, “Of course not,” with a wink.
Steve laughs and stares at the wall. He’s imagining every horrible situation he can — Peggy dying, the baby dying, SHIELD bursting through the doors, taking him, taking her, Bucky killing him in this waiting room — when the man sighs, looks at him .
“Kid. listen, you’ll be fine. It all turns out fine.
“Yeah. yeah, I — I hope so,” Steve tries to smile, and wipes his hands on his pants.
The door opens, a nurse enters. She’s young, pretty hopeful, her hair done meticulously . Just out of nursing school, Steve would bet.
“Anyone for Peggy Carter?” she asks the waiting room. Steve nods, leaning forward. “You can see her now,” she tells him with a practised smile.
Steve stands up, clears his throat, “Oh, fantastic. Oh, god.” He dries his palms on his jeans and goes to follow her through the hospital corridors.
“Hey kid!” the man says, and Steve turns, “remember what I said. Take it easy. You can't mess ‘em up to bad.”
“Thank you,” Steve says, as he’s led away.
“No worries, kid,” the man grumbles back at him, eyes already back on his paper.
“Oh, I hope my husband is this excited,” the nurse says to him once they’re in the corridor, grinning excitedly as she does.
Steve smiles at her, “Oh, if you marry anyone good, they will be.”
She laughs a little, delicately , and shows him to a door. “In here,” she says.
“Okay, thank you,” he says to her, and pushes open the door. She just nods and continues to the corridor. “Hi,” Steve whispers, stepping inside the room.
“Hi,” Peggy whispers back, and she looks beautiful and drained and heavenly.
“How are you?” he asks her, walking to the bed. She grasps his hand as soon as she can reach.
“Tired. Good. Tired but good,” she says.”
“Those god-damn lights burnt the eyes out my head,” he chuckles.
She laughs, a little. Steve steps forward to see the baby. It comes into view, squirming in the cot by her bed.
“Oh my god, oh my god,” he says. “Perfection.”
“It’s a girl,” Peggy says, and Steve just stares at his child, beautiful and pink and s o small.
“Oh my god, Peg,” he just says.
“Wanna hold her?” Peggy offers.
“Yes,” he says, “of course, of course,” and leans into the cot, picks her up like how he learnt in Lamaze. She’s warm, and small, and incredible. “I love you so much,” he says to the baby.
“Thanks, hon,” Peggy said weakly , joking by that twinkle in her eye.
—
They've come home, and Peggy's falling asleep in bed, and Steve's getting changed for bed, and the baby in the cot next to them is pink and glorious .
“We should let Howard know,” Peggy says sleepily .
“I’ve already called him."
“Oh, is he coming over?”
“I waited to organise a time.”
“Call him now, he can come over in the morning.”
“Okay,” Steve says, and gets up.
—
The next morning, Steve waits downstairs for him, making tea for Peggy. There’s a knock at the door just as he’s steeping the tea-bags. He jogs to the door, and swings it open, where Howard holds a bouquet of flowers too large to fit inside the frame, smiling sheepishly from around the foliage .
“You’re here,” Steve says, and Howard hands him the flowers he’s gotten for Peggy, who manage to shrink enough to fit through the door .
“Am,'' Howard says, and steps inside, taking his hat off and tucking it under his arm. “Where’s Peggy?” he asks, eyes sweeping the kitchen and the lounge.
“Upstairs. With the baby.”
“What is it?” he asks eagerly , and then winces. “Oof, that sounds bad.”
Steve just smiles, “it’s a girl.”
Howard smiles a little more. “Oh, that’s brilliant. What’ve you named her?”
“Elizabeth, Eliza for short,” he tells her, and Howard takes a deep breath.
“Oh, Eliza. Lovely, that’s lovely,” he murmurs. “Oh, god, Steve. That’s lovely.”
“Yeah,” Steve nods, “come up and see Peggy, huh?” he asks, and Howard lights up like Rockefeller.
“Yeah,” he mumbles as he follows her.
“Peggy,” he says shyly .
“Howard,” she repeats smiling widely . “Come see her.”
“Oh. wow,” he says softly , and follows Steve up the stairs. “Oh, wow.”
“Peggy’s waiting for them, sitting up in bed, holding the baby to her chest.
Howard holds out his hand, and simply rests it on her shoulder as he stares down at little Eliza.
“She’s gorgeous, isn't she?” Steve says, staring down at her little pink face with him.
“So gorgeous,” Howard says warmly . “You did a good job, Peggy.”
“Thank you, Howard,” she laughs.
—
Peggy goes back to work after a few months, and comes back tired but happy, because she’s not able to just be a mother, she’s gotta have more than that, and Steve's always known .
Steve stays at home, and it’s nice, really nice, because Steve is so tired of all the action of his life. He just wants to stay home, bake some bread, hold the baby out on the porch and watch a few cars roll by. Peaceful.
Eliza grows up a little, takes her first steps and starts babbling nonsense. The second baby comes not long after that, another girl, this one named Audrey, because Peggy would die for Hepburn and that’s a fact .
“She was part of the Dutch resistance, you know,” Peggy tells him for the fourth time at the hospital, holding her in her arms .
“Oh, wow,” Steve says, and pretends he’s never heard it before.
—
Peggy gets promoted and they have a dinner party to celebrate, with all her work colleagues, and it’s the first time they’ve all met Steve, and only because he thinks it’s been long enough and he's changed enough that they won’t see him and immediately think of Captain America !
It's a nice dinner party, they make polite conversation, and eat, and the baby barely cries, and Steve gets on with everybody just fine .
They clear out, eventually . After dessert and tea and coffee and another half hour of talking by the door.
“How was that?” Peggy asks once she waves the last one off.
He smiles, and he means it. “It was good. It was good, Peggy.” and he feels normal, for once, but all his bones are aching.
He goes to bed and thinks about 2012, the start of it all, maybe the end of it all, too. Now it’s been years, or will be years, or whatever. Time travel is confusing to a time traveller. He thinks about sitting down to dinner at the Tower, back in 2012, with Natasha and Tony and Clint laughing at something Thor's said, and how nice it felt, to be part of a family, finally . Now he’s got his own family.
“Hi,” Peg says, and she crawls into bed next to him. Her breath is minty fresh.
“Hey,” he says back, wraps an arm around her.
“What are you thinking about?”
He debates telling her, but does. “Hmm. Where I was. Bit of...deja vu, is all.”
“Oh,” she sighs peacefully , “right. Sometimes I forget.”
“Me too. Then I remembered.” he clears his throat. He stares at the ceiling. He speaks. “I — we used to have dinner all together, when it first started. All around the table, and we’d drink and laugh and the food was so good. I was so lucky, and I fucked it up, Peg. I — I was wrong. I was horrible. I left him. And it got better, later, but not for eight years. It took eight years for him to work with me again, and it wasn't for me. It was for the kid, and it was for Morgan. To give her a better world.”
“Steve —” she says, then stops. “Steve, it’s gone. It’s not happening anymore, we're not in that reality anymore.”
“Bucky….” he says, and thinks bout saving him for the first time in a long time.
“Shh. Don’t talk about Bucky. It’s been ten years, Steve.”
“Yeah,” he gasps, and knows he can’t mess with the timeline like that. He’s already done enough, Tony would say to him. “Yeah, I know.”
—
They’re standing at Howard's house in Florida, right on the beach, watching Steve's kids play in the warm sea. It's the middle of summer, and they’d driven down on a hellish 18-hour car trip, but it’s all worth to watch the massive green iguanas outside on the grass . The kids had cried for the beach, and Howard had shrugged, and they ran down. Peggy’s down there with them, dunking Elizabeth in the water, but Steve and Howard stand further up on the sand, Howard kicking it a little with his shiny shoes . Steve’s just standing there, enjoying the wind and the sunny day.
“God, I'm happy for you and Peggy and all the kids. So blessed,” Howard says suddenly , while watching them scream and shout.
“Oh, it’s a fun time,” Steve smiles. “What about you, Howard. You want kids?” he asks, hopes he’s not violating the space time continuum.
He sighs, shrugs. “I dunno. Have to find a dame first.”
Steve laughs, and looks at Peggy. “Yeah, that's the hard part.”
Howard smiles, waves at Peggy, who waves back enthusiastically . “Eh, you did okay, I'm sure it’ll be easy.”
Steve laughs. Yeah, it was real easy.
“Well,” he says, “I like the name Anthony, for a kid. Wanted to name the last one that, but didn’t work out.”
Howard hums. “Huh, Anthony. Sure, Cap, I’ll think about it,” he says, then chuckles, “if the situation arises.”
“What are you boys doing?” Peggy yells, walking up to them, dripping with salt and water.
“Uh, Steve's just on some rant about kids. Light of your life, blah, blah. He says the name Anthony.”
“Anthony?” Peggy raises her eyebrows, “That's nice.”
Howard shrugs. “We’ll see.”
—
Howard sure does find a dame, beautiful, beautiful Italian maria, 30 years younger and living in some little, artsy apartment in New York . Her English is thickly accented, and she goes on tangents that only Howard seems to understand . She’s all swimsuit, and leg, and hair, and anyone else would think she's a gold digger and Howards any other old rich man, but Steve sees the way they look at each other .
He pesters her about sunscreen, and makes her a margarita when he's at the bar out of habit, moves her sunglasses to safety so they don’t get crushed, and buys a new car every year so they can tour the county again in something new .
She presses kisses to his cheek in thanks, and steals his cigarette, and sings his favourite song when it comes on the radio, and buys him elaborate Christmas presents — usually designer clothing that Howard says he likes but probably doesn't, and she doesn't care because she likes him in it . She buys them from her own money that she earns as a financial analyst on Wall Street, that's the other thing, she’s not even close to dumb . If you visit Howard's lab, it’s filled with her typewriter font, neat and impossible next to Howard's scrawl. Ah, Steve thinks, that's where Tony got his famous handwriting from.
Steve didn't know them, before, in the future, but he had heard Tony talk about it, his childhood, his parents, on occasion . Just little things, usually when he’s a little drunk and a lot happy, or a lot sad. Like on Christmas here he drank too much gin with Natasha and mumbles about the Dior tie his father always wore, and how his mother smoked menthols, and it all makes sense now, why Tony talks about and doesn't talk about his parents .
He doesn't talk about his parents because they drink too much and are far too irresponsible, and Steve images aren't too present, because Howard’s busy and Maria's dismissive, and they get into awful rows sometimes, screaming fights and smashing glass over something minute that either decides to take offence too .
He talks about them because they laugh and throw each other in the pool one rowdy summer afternoon, and how Maria swears like a sailor, and can out-drink Howard, and how Howard's so madly madly madly in love with her, he’d wear lipstick to a board meeting if she asked him too.
They go to Howard's big houses for holidays, on either coast. Thanksgiving and Christmas and even Halloween once. It’s just a big grand affair, no matter the event. It’s a Gatsby party, Steve thinks. The decorations, and the presents, and the food are all spectacular. Everybody they know is there, The Howlie's, Jarvis and Ana, a few work colleagues, Maria. It's just laughing and firelight and too much drinking but it’s such fun, with the kids dancing in the living room, and Howard’s laugh and Steve picking them up and hosting them on his shoulders . It's almost like they're back at war, with all the Howling Commanders.
The kids call Howard Uncle and Maria ‘Mare’, just like Howard does. Peggy sometimes jokes they love Howard more than her, with all the presents he gives them, and all the attention .
Howard doesn't have children, but he has a family.
—
The phone rings, and Peggy answers.
“Hello, Peggy Carter speaking,” Peggy says in her Phone Voice ™. There's a moment of silence, then, “Oh, hi Howard. Yeah, he’s here.” There’s a breath before she calls, “Steve!” Steve lumbers down the hall, takes the phone from her quizzically . “It’s Howard,” she tells him. “I don’t know anything.”
“Hey, Howa—”
“Maria’s pregnant,” he just says.
“What?” Steve gapes
“You heard,” Howard repeats, flustered.
Steve grins, “Oh my god, Howard, that's fantastic!”
“Is it?” he says doubtfully .
Steve frowns. “Why wouldn't it be, Howard?”
“Well, I dunno... I dunno, that's the thing. It just feels — it feels wrong. I'm gonna mess up, Steve. I'm going to,” Howard rambles. Steve can picture him, carding his hands through his hair, spine hunched over, talking quickly and quietly with that look on his face, the same one Tony would get .
Steve sighs. “Why would you mess up, Howard? You're the most competent guy I know.”
“Except from Peggy,” he jokes, because Howard, even in a crisis, never stops joking. Like another guy Steve knows. Will know? Knew? He doesn’t know anymore.
“Yeah, except from Peggy,” he agrees softly . “ Seriously , Howard. It's gonna be great.”
“Were you afraid?” Howard asks, quietly .
Steve takes a big breath. “Hell yes I was. I was scared shitless. The war was less frightening.”
It doesn’t fill Howard with confidence. Steve’s just about to say something reassuring, “Okay. Okay, good to know.” There's a murmuring on the other end and Howard sighs. “Ah, fuck, I've gotta — I've gotta go, Steve. Some incompetent board directors over here.”
“Okay. Howard. I'll tell Peggy.”
“You do that, Steve, I'll see ya.'' Howard hangs up, furiously talking even before the phone disconnects.
“Peggy! Peggy!” Steve yells across the house.
“What!” she yells back, annoyed, from the laundry room.
“Maria’s pregnant!”
There's silence for a moment, then, “fuck!”
“Language!” Steve calls back.
—
“Hey, Steve,” Howard says, standing on their porch, holding his hat between his hands, worrying the edge with his thumbnail .
“Howard. What are you doing here?” Steve asks, starting with surprise. He worries he’s forgotten, but he doesn't think so, not by the way Howard looks.
“Uh, well, I don't know, is the issue. Panicking, mostly . I just started driving.”
“Steve?” Peggy asks from down the hall.
“Howard's here,” he tells her.
She sighs and rolls her eyes, walking towards the door. “Oh, bollocks. Of course you're here, you're panicking.”
“Yes, I'm panicking,” he admits. “This wasn't the plan. No. I — I’m not meant to have a kid. I'm meant to be a fucking bachelor again by 60 because Maria’s gotten sick of me. I'm not meant to have another kid. Who am I? Who do you take me for? A father? No, my dad was shit and I'm gonna be shit. And I haven't even talked about the fact that I'm 53, Steve. I'm so old. Oh my god, I'm so old.”
“You're gonna be a great father, Howard. It might be a little rough,” Steve admits, “but you're gonna do great.”
“Will I?”
“Yes. It’s all gonna work out.”
“Do you know it will?” Howard asks him, looking up with soft eyes swimming in fear.
Steve smiles. “Yeah, I do. For a fact.”
Howard rolls his eyes right when someone bangs on the door. Everyone looks up sharply . Steve thinks of SHIELD and Bucky and death, but then Maria calls, still Italian tonged, she hasn't dropped the accent in all the years he's known her . “Howard, you cowardly son of a bitch! My son should not have to be called that, but he will be if you do not come out here right now!”
“Oh, no,” Howard mutters.
Peggy, closest to the door, opens it, where a furious Maria storms inside without a second glance.
“Do not be a bitch,” she says to him, her heavy accent coming out more than ever.
“Maria…” Howard starts but doesn't finish.
“You love me, yes?” she raises her eyebrows, expecting an answer.
“Y-Yes,” he stammers.
“I love you, I do not see the problem?”
He sighs and holds his head, “the problem, Mare, is that I'm not ready.”
She tuts her tongue and looks at him. “You're 50 years old, Howard. If you're not ready now, you never will be.”
“I'm 53, actually. You should know that. Those three years are important,” Howard babbles nervously , like Tony always does, did, will .
“Howard, you are so smart. So so smart I am so proud to watch you talk and get the prizes and blah, blah,” she waves a hand around, “but you’re so dumb. You should be happy. You have done what no man has managed before — to knock me up. You've caught me, huh? Now it is hard for me to completely leave, unless I kidnap the child and run back to Italy, where my uncles will gleefully cut you if you ever try and follow . Leave a horse head in your bed, huh? Now, we still get divorce but shared custody, means you still get to see me. This is good for you.”
“Do you have to get a divorce, though?” Steve asks.
Maria turns to him. “Hello Steve, hello Peggy. Lovely home, etcetera,” she turns back to Howard. “Look me in the eye right now. You love me, you love our life. I know it is not what we planned, but I'm happy. I think we will enjoy a child. It will be fun, huh? Highchairs and baby food and footballs on the lawn. You can make him an American like that.”
He sights, stammers some more, “a baby isn't just that, Maria, it’s waking up in the middle of the night and—and childbirth and money .”
“Howard, you are the richest man I know. Money is no problem, and you don't remember all that bad stuff. You just remember good. Like footballs,” she says convincingly , then adds, “come back home with me.”
“We don’t have a lawn, Maria.”
“Sue we do, in Florida, and Texas, and the second house in California,” she lists innocently , batting her eyelashes .
He shakes his head, “Not in New York, and no kid of mine is gonna be raised anywhere but New York, and nowhere in New York has lawns, unless we move into Central Park . Before you say anything, you two —” he points and Peg and Steve, — “upstate is not New York.”
Maria shrugs at him casually like it’s all simple, “Then buy one. We can go to a Long Island, or something.”
“Long Island, Maria?” he says despairingly .
She nods. “Yes, I have many cousins there. It will be nice. You can work less, and spend more time with us. We can bring Jarvis, of course. It will be just the same, only better.”
“I'm not sure you're even related to half those people,” Howard jokes quietly .
She smiles back, and says, gently , “I am,” she smiles wider, and adds, “and now the baby will be too.”
“Okay.”
“I am right, yes?” Maria suggests, puts on the accent Steve thinks is mostly fake at his point, and it works, Howard bows his head, falling prey to her bimbo charm .
“Yes,” he agrees.
She smiles wide and victorious, “Okay.”
Ten minutes later, Howard and Maria are shuffling out of the house, towards the two cars parked outside .
“Bye, Howard!” Peggy calls, on the porch.
Howard looks backward at them. “Bye, guys. Sorry.”
—
Steve gets the call early in the morning. Or, the whole house does. The phone downstairs rings in the middle of the night and Steve, always ready, creeps down the stairs and answers the phone on the last ring .
“Howard?” he asks, because that's about the only person it could be.
“What is it?” Peggy hisses form the top of the stairs.
Steve drops the phone, so it swings from the cord, Howard still on the other end. “Maria’s had the baby,” he tells her.
“Oh my god!” Peggy shrieks, and barrels upstairs again. “Let’s go!”
“Okay, mate, gotta go, we’ll be there soon. As quick as we can. Yeah. Goodbye.”
“What is it, Steve, do you know?” Peggy asks him from the top of the stairs.
Howard hasn't told him, but, “it’s a boy.”
“Oh, fantastic. Oh, hurry, Steve.”
They book it down to the city, barely wearing anything that constitutes as proper clothes, but Steve figures it counts in New York, because anything counts in New York .
The hospital is desolate and empty, only night shift nurses offering tight, wane smiles under the fluorescent lights .
They ask a receptionist and get to the maternity ward. Then it's just a matter of wandering through corridors until they find the right room.
A godsend, a door opens behind them, Steve turns. Howard steps out. “Peggy, Steve,” he calls them. Peggy spins on her heel and they hurry towards him. “Come in,” he says, “come in. Quiet, Maria's tired.”
“Maria,” Peggy greets, walking inside the hospital room like it's her own parlour.
Maria smiles weakly , lying exhausted in the bed, face drained but elated, no matter how much she denies it with hushed complaints to Peggy as the older woman joins her next to her bed .
“Never again,” Steve overhears her laugh, “I am never doing that again.”
There’s a little baby cot next to the bed that Howard's standing over. Steve steps towards the bed, and Tony's lying there, curling and squirming, pink fingers and toes and cheeks . Oh, Steve thinks. Oh, Tony. So different from how he knew Tony, all hard, all cutting. This Tony is just a baby, and he hasn't gone through any of the pain yet.
Howard’s chuffed and jubilant in the corner, his face shining from the inside, eyes darting to Tony every other moment, and Peggy’s laughing with Maria quietly , and Steve just standing there surrounded by his family and someone who will be his family, and it’s just good, for a moment .
“Oh, the baby,” Peggy seems to realise.
“Yeah,” Howard says, roughly, and Peggy crosses the room, leaning over his cot.
“Oh, he’s a darling babe,” she coos, smiling at him. “Hello,” she says, “I'm your Aunt Peggy. It’s very nice to meet you, duckie.”
Steve clears his throat. “Yeah, cute kid, Howard.” Tony, he thinks.
“Yeah,” he grunts, eyes in some corner avoiding everyone else. “We chose a name. Anthony, like you suggested,” she says pointedly .
“Oh?” Steve smiles.
His eyes flick to Steve’s and then away again, like a guilty person. “Yeah, we’re thinking about nicknames. Tony, maybe .”
“I like Tony,” Maria says. “My cousin’s name.”
“Tony’s lovely,” Peggy agrees while making faces at the baby.
“Steve,” Howard says, and grabs his arm. “I — I need to talk to you.”
Steve sees his face and knows he does. “Yes, Howard,” he just says, and the other man tugs him out of the room, their wives uncaring. They step out into the bright light hospital, empty of all signs of life. Christ, the lights are giving him a headache already, Steve thinks.
Howard speaks quickly , urgently , hand on his jacket to keep him close. “You told me — you told me that a Tony made your time machine — what sent you back to 1946. You said he was brilliant. Is it him?”
“Howard —” Steve tries to say, reciting the same thing he has been for three decades, I can’t tell you anything.
Howard sighs, cuts him off, “You can’t tell me, I know.”
Steve grits his teeth, doing something he knows he’ll regret. “It is.”
His head jerks up to stare Steve in the eyes, “It’s him?” Howard pointed back at the room, “He — He does that?”
Steve smiles. “First circuit board at four, engine at six, MIT at fifteen. I knew him, uh pretty well —” we fought crime together and eventually I slammed the shield you made for me into my chest, he doesn't want to say, “— and he… He was a good guy, Howard . There was bad stuff, but everyone's got that.”
“He’s a good guy?” Hoard asks, his voice all quiet.
Steve smiles, a pressure in his chest releasing. “Yeah, a good guy, Howard,” he says softly to him, and repeats, “A really good guy.”
Howard staggers again the wall, “Oh. Oh, my god,” he pants.
“You okay?” Steve asks, and he’s by his side in an instant, holding him. He’s mentioned heart issues, hasn't he? Has he?
Howard wipes his forehead, sniffles. “It’s… just a lot. For someone to tell you what your — fuck, what your newborn son is gonna do in his life.”
Steve laughs, “Oh, Howard, you don't know the half of it.”
Howard blinks back at him, mind racing.
Steve thinks of Tony and not just his inventions, the company, but the stories he would tell, trashing the house with a massive rager at 15, crashing a jetski and getting sued at 16, arrested and banned and thrown out of conferences, sneaking out of the house, setting 'controlled' fires, doing coke on the dining room table (one of them), and laughing at Howard the whole time . Oh, yeah, Howard doesn't know the half of it.
—
They pack up early in the night? Morning? Steve doesn’t know the time anymore, he’s not he ever did, they just hoofed it down to the city right away, no regard of hours. Peggy wishes Maria well, pressed close to her, lips moving without their usual red, telling her she did a good job and she should be proud and Tony’s such a gorgeous little boy, and I’ll see you next week, yeah ? Steve just claps Howard on the back, nods at Maria, and looks down at the baby while Peggy says goodbye to Howard, too.
They walk out of the hospital, tired and happy and unbelieving it’s actually happened. It’s still so surreal to Steve, even after a good thirty years. Tony..fuck, he’s seen the start of it and he’s seen the end, too.
Peggy chats about small, useless, mindless things as they walk out of the hospital, but Steve can’t listen, he's not even here on this earth . He's somewhere far above, thinking about every bit of time he's ever experienced. The bits of his life are on a string that has been doubled over and repeated, and cut, and somewhere along the way he's begun remembering Coney Island with Bucky in the same thought as sitting across a table fighting about the accords with Tony, or laughing in Italy with the commandos . He can't ever sort it out.
Peggy notices and only clasps his arm until they get to the car, and climb in. She starts the car and the heat, then leans over the console and asks, “What did you say to Howard, out there? He came back as white as a ghost.”
Steve thinks, about what to do. Then he says. “I just ...I know something.” He pushes thoughts about his timeline to the side, staring at the back of a taxi as a focus point.
“What?” She asks, then rolls her eyes at his strict silence, in all these years, he’s never told her much of anything. “You've already told him, Steve, what difference does it make?
Steve sighs, supposing she’s right. “I told him about Tony. He’s gonna change the world."
Peggy laughs incredulously in the driver’s seat, but she believes him, Steve knows. “That little baby?” she asks, eyes round with wonder.
Steve laughs. “I know.”
They turn out of New York, and think about Tony, who’s building is gonna stand to his left in 40 odd years. He thinks about the heart that was nearly ripped out of his chest, and was repaired , eventually . He loved Pepper, and loved the kid, and loved everyone, even if he never really said it. He thinks about the tiny pink squirming baby they saw tonight. “Yeah, he’s gonna change the world.”