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The radio crackles softly in the background, some popular singer Steve doesn’t recognize crooning about going to somebody else’s wedding. Peggy is sprawled on the sofa, her thin muslin dress hiked up around her knees and a wet rag pressed to her forehead. She struggles in the oppressive late August heat of New York—the added weight she’s put on over the last several months, combined with an annoying lack of clothes that fit properly, make the already uncomfortable summers downright torture.
Her swollen feet bother her too, so Steve has taken to rubbing her arches every night once they both find their way to the living room after dinner. They sit in companionable silence most of the time, enjoying each other’s company as they listen to whatever’s playing on the radio, but tonight Peggy can’t help but voice her concerns.
“We really ought to decide on a name, darling,” she says. “Time is ticking, you know. At best we’ve only got about six weeks before our poor child is stuck being called 'It.'”
Steve hums noncommittally, his thumbs digging into the balls of her feet in the best way. She can’t help it if her eyes roll back into her head a little. Pregnancy is hard work.
“I thought we decided, Peg—Katherine Sarah was something we both liked. And plenty of choices for nicknames.”
Peggy sighs and rolls her eyes. It’s not a new argument.
“A child should be named without necessitating a nickname. We should pick the name we want our child to be called, not one that he or she can drop however they so choose.”
Steve just raises his brow at her in obvious challenge. She huffs again.
“I am aware that I do not go by my Christian name. It is not something I want for my child.”
Steve shrugs, but doesn’t reply. He’s personally of the opinion that the kid’s gonna decide for themselves what they want to be called—he remembers the look of pure venom on Bucky’s face when their schoolteachers deigned to call him James—but he’s learned by now to pick his battles. Besides, if their child is anything like its mother, nothing as silly as a name will stop it from taking its life by the horns.
“I think it knows we’re talking about it,” Peggy says after a moment, wincing at a particularly sharp pain under her ribs. These days she feels like she barely has room to breathe, let alone function like a normal human being. As much as she’s loved feeling her child grow inside of her—and watching Steve’s blatant awe with every new development—she’s ready to be free of the constrictions to her daily life.
“Still, darling, Katherine only works for a little girl," she continues. "And I think it’s best not to discount having a boy, especially judging by how strong he or she seems to be. Growing more like its father every day, I swear,” she says, but her glowing smile betrays her as she absentmindedly rubs her protruding abdomen.
Privately, Steve thinks that Peggy of all people should know that a little girl can be just as strong as her male counterpart, but he keeps that to himself too.
“Howard sent us over a baby book, didn’t he?” he recalls. They’ve never bothered to open it, but if worst comes to worst they can just flip to a page and point once the baby's here. Peggy snorts in response.
“It was all in Polish, Steve. Howard picked it up the last time he was in Europe doing Lord knows what. If you want a name you can pronounce, that book is not an option.”
Steve grins, entertaining the mental picture of a little baby with a string of letters longer than its arm for a name. Peggy kicks him none too gently in the thigh.
“Well, go on then. Do you have any ideas, if you’re so keen on being prepared?” he retorts.
Peggy lapses into silence, thinking.
“Alfred, maybe…no, I had a classmate called that, he was a terror. David wouldn’t be too bad, neither would Phillip, though I'm not sure how Chet would feel about that,” she trails off.
Steve gives the arch of her foot a particularly hard rub to catch her attention.
“How’s Fred?” he says cheekily, snickering at the daggers that shoot out of her eyes.
“Steven, I swear, you’re lucky I’m in such a state or I’d come sock you right this minute,” she says, ice in her voice.
A moment later, she says, “We could do Grant, after you. I quite like that—no?” Steve has screwed up his face mightily. "Hm, what about Nathaniel?”
Steve quirks a smile at that, a faraway look in his eyes. Peggy has come to learn that look; Steve is remembering a moment of his past, from the years he spent away from their time, in the future. She allows him his moment before resuming her task.
“Now, what else…I had an Uncle Richard, always slipped me sweets under the table even when Mother said I mustn’t spoil my supper. Quite a nice fellow, rest his soul,” she says.
Steve laughs. “Imagine if we’d stuck with Rogers. Richard Rogers would be quite the punishment.”
Peggy sticks up her nose.
“Well then, it’s a good thing we didn’t, now isn’t it. Do you like the name or not?” she says haughtily.
Steve takes a moment, mulls it over.
“Richard’s as good a name as any, I guess. Kind of a big name for a little guy, though.”
He has a point. As much as it physically hurts Peggy to stoop to his level, she has to admit that calling an infant “Richard” seems absurd. Still, she likes the name. Despite her hatred of planned nicknames, she must admit that it turned out for the better in her case. She gives the deep, magnanimous sigh of a victor acquiescing to an underling before adding, “Well, if you insist, I guess we could call him Dick. Only in the interim, then it’s strictly Richard. You know I'll enforce it.”
Steve’s hands still on her ankles. She watches his face go pale, then bright pink. The faraway look is back, though not quite as severe—more of a reference to the future than a memory this time. He tries unsuccessfully to school his grin into a more neutral look.
“Ah, Peg, there’s something you gotta know about the future.”