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once, on a high and windy hill
in the morning mist two lovers kissed,
and the world stood still.
then your fingers touched my silent heart,
and taught it how to sing—
yes, true love’s a many-splendored thing.
/
i.
“They’ll be here soon, Steve.”
“Hold on, I gotta get this perfect.”
Peggy rests her hand on Steve’s neck, tickling her fingers up into his hair. She peers over his shoulder at the panels he’s furiously coloring.
“He’s nine,” she chuckles. “He won’t care if it’s perfect.”
“Yeah, but I will.”
There is a knock at the door and Steve’s hand jumps, coloring outside the lines. “Damn it!”
Peggy laughs and pulls back the curtains, leaning close to the window to check the sidewalk. “You’ve got time to fix it,” she assures. “It’s only Bucky.”
“He’s here already? Bucky’s never early.”
“He’s not early; you’ve just been so focused on that comic. Time marches on.”
“Don’t I know it,” Steve grumbles. He dabs a pinky onto the still-drying ink, carefully swiping it back within the border. Peggy stops a moment near the door, watching Steve as he works to fix his art. His shoulders are still broad but they’re leaner these days; shirts don’t stretch across his chest anymore and Peggy doesn’t have to tailor them to fit his arms. Captain America is mostly legend by now, kept alive only by the ideals and optimism of comics. Sometimes, Peggy wonders how many of the words in each issue are words that Steve said in his other life.
Bucky knocks again before she can wonder any more.
“You don’t need to knock more than once,” she scolds as she walks down the stairs.
Bucky is smiling when she opens the door. “If you’d opened up the first time, I wouldn’t have.” He holds up two six-packs of beer. “Can I throw these in the fridge?”
“Steve won’t drink any.”
“Howard will help,” Bucky says as he walks past her.
“No, he won’t.”
Bucky stops, one hand on the refrigerator door. “Oh, right.” He shrugs, pulling one bottle for himself and storing the rest. “I’ll leave these for next time, then. Where’s Steve?”
“Get that out of your system now; Tony calls him Sam and they’ll be here soon.”
“He does not. Uncle Sam?”
“Howard encourages it.”
Bucky laughs, pops open his bottle of beer, and laughs some more. “I’ll bet he does. God, that kid has so much power and he doesn’t even know it.”
Peggy shoots him another warning look as someone knocks on the door, four short raps in quick succession. The knocking is one of the many small ways Peggy knows her life is abnormal, putting aside the super-soldier husband and the secret government agency for which she works. Steve stops what he’s doing at any unfamiliar sound, and Bucky—there’s not much Bucky isn’t sensitive to. The house has a doorbell that hasn’t been used in fifteen years.
“Uncle Sam!” Tony yells as Steve opens the door. Peggy hadn’t heard him come down the stairs. (Bucky did, of course).
“Hey, there’s my favorite kid!” Steve catches Tony as he jumps up for a hug.
“Kathleen might have something to say about that,” Peggy says.
“Yeah, Sam,” Bucky teases, “don’t forget about your own daughter.”
Peggy pinches his side as she says hi to Howard.
Steve glares at Bucky as Tony scrambles up on his shoulders. He’s a little big for it, but Steve hasn’t lost all of his extra strength yet.
“‘Course I haven’t forgotten Kathleen,” Steve says. “I just don’t want to lose my rep as Tony’s cool uncle.”
“You’re about to, because I’m way cooler than you.” Bucky raises his hand for a high five and Tony eventually acquiesces.
“Oh yeah?” Steve bends down and lets Tony slide back onto the ground. “Wait here, Tony; I’ve got something for you.”
“Okay.” Tony turns to Peggy and waves. “Hi.”
“Hello, Tony,” Peggy smiles. “Would you like some water or juice?”
Tony pauses before looking up at Howard. “Dad, can I have a soda?”
“Yeah, sure; what do I care? Oh.” He pauses and reconsiders at the look on Peggy’s face. “Maybe just one? And I’ll take that water, Peg.”
“Sure.” She retrieves the drinks and leads them all into the front room. Steve comes bounding down the stairs a few moments later; Peggy watches as he almost crashes into the wall.
“Whoops, my socks are slippery,” he says, catching himself. He sits next to Tony on the floor, holding a stack of papers close to his chest. “Alright, I have a new character for you.”
“Can I see?” Tony kneels up to try and get a peek.
“Hold on, hold on. Don’t you want to know anything about him first?”
“I guess.”
“Okay, well, he’s really smart and good at inventing things. He builds a lot of robots and he wants to help people, and he’s good friends with Captain America.”
“That sounds like me!” Tony exclaims. “Except for the Captain America part.”
“Gee, what a coincidence,” Steve says, feigning surprise, “because his name is also Tony.”
Peggy peers over Steve’s shoulder to see the sketch. The Incredible Iron Man, it reads at the top, and then in smaller letters: Tony Steele. He’s drawn Iron Man in the middle of an ascent, hands angled toward the ground as he’s propelled by rockets, head tilted resolutely toward the sky. The suit is shiny and metallic, if a little bland.
Peggy recognized these comics for what they are as soon as Steve started drawing them. She found his sketches of himself, of Bucky, of someone who wasn’t her but who looked a lot like her—she found the sketches and watched as they turned into stories. Captain America lost the blond hair and pale skin and instead became Sam Wilkins, a black Air Force veteran. Benjamin Barnes traded his army uniform for a yellow jumpsuit and blades that came out of the backs of his hands. Peggy morphed into a redheaded spy named Natasha. Steve’s comics were a way to keep the best parts of his friends alive. She’ll never ask, but Peggy is certain these are friends he won’t get to meet in this life.
She wonders what kind of man Tony will be in Steve’s comics, and if the real Tony will grow up to be the same.
Peggy wants nothing more than to wrap Steve in a very large hug and apologize. But there are people around and she’s not sure what she’d be apologizing for, so she hangs her arms over his shoulders and presses a long kiss to the top of his head. He reaches up and squeezes her elbow—without comment, but not absently—as Tony rattles off a list of abilities Iron Man absolutely has to have; what color his suit should be; what kind of house and how many cars and how many friends he has.
Steve would give the world to a version of Tony who has no idea what it means.
That’s what Peggy’s sorry for.
/
ii.
“Skipping out on your own party?”
Peggy smiles but doesn’t turn around. The air is cool on the roof of the Triskelion, blowing her hair back with occasional gusts. It’s a noble and fitting pose for the former director of S.H.I.E.L.D.
“Just enjoying a moment of silence,” she says as Carol joins her at the edge. Peggy is immediately brought back to four years ago, when Maria stood wounded and angry in her office. Carol, at least, is neither of those things right now. “Your family’s inside,” Peggy continues. “I hope you’ll stop in at least for a little bit.”
“You know, my plans were really to just land here, walk around for a few minutes, and then fly off again. But I can make time for a little conversation, I guess.”
Peggy smiles, wondering (not for the first time) how well Carol would have fit in with everyone during the war. She imagines Steve and Carol together might have been entirely insufferable.
“You’re leaving quite the long list of accomplishments for whoever has to fill your shoes.”
“Agent Keller. Or, I suppose, Director Keller now.”
“Hm. Doesn’t have the same ring to it, if you ask me.”
“He’ll do.”
Carol pushes against the railing, stretching and cracking her back before finally leaning against it, eyes firmly pointed at the sky. “And what about you?”
“What will I do without S.H.I.E.L.D. and superheroes?”
“Without S.H.I.E.L.D. at least,” Carol clarifies. “You’ve got a superhero at home.”
Peggy takes a moment to appraise Carol, who’s still diligently looking at the stars. The smirk on her face gives her away.
“How long have you known?”
Carol shrugs. “Took me a while to realize it was a secret, actually. You think I don’t know what someone looks like around the love of their life?”
“And here I thought I could keep a secret,” Peggy grins.
“Oh, you can. Good old Captain America gave it away.”
“Of course he did.” Peggy turns around, crossing her arms as she rests her back against the guardrail. “We’re thinking of moving back to New York, somewhere upstate. I don’t think either of us could really stay too far away.”
“I hear it’s beautiful up there.”
“We’ll make it down to Louisiana when we can, I’m sure.”
Carol smiles and looks at her, finally. “If Maria didn’t insist on it, Monica definitely would. She can’t get enough of Sam’s stories.”
Peggy smiles. “I suppose you might as well call him Steve now.”
“Oh no, he’s stuck with Sam. Listen,” she says after a moment of silence, “this might be weird, but can I show you one of my favorite parts of the city?”
“Can we walk there?”
“I mean we could, but it’s so much cooler to fly.”
Peggy considers Carol’s open arms, held in a bridal carry, before finally stepping forward.
“I’m 78 and very important,” she warns. “You’re flying with precious cargo.”
“The fact that you’re 78 isn’t the only reason you’re precious cargo.”
“And don’t you forget it.”
Carol picks her up and propels them off the ground in one smooth movement. Peggy tries her best to swallow her yelp of surprise, but it comes out anyway. She’s been in planes before, of varying sturdiness and with inconsistent amounts of doors, but none of those flights compare at all to the sensation of being airborne without any sort of protection. The wind and the motion take her breath away, the height is extraordinary and terrifying—they’re far too high for Peggy’s tastes but she’s sure Carol would be rocketing even further if she were alone.
The flight is thankfully short, and Carol lands them on the overhang of a building to which they absolutely could have walked. She sits on the edge, feet hanging in the open air. Peggy smooths her hair and skirt, takes a deep breath, and joins her.
“I’m very glad we invented airplanes,” she says as calmly as she can.
Carol laughs uproariously at that, the sound fading into the breeze. “So am I,” she says, “but for different reasons.” She bounces the heels of her feet exuberantly against the side of the building. Peggy can’t help smiling. “So, what’s the deal with Sam? Did he fake his death?”
“Something like that,” Peggy answers. “He took his time coming back, though.”
“I’m sure if he could have come back earlier, he would have.”
Carol’s feet have stilled; Peggy expects to see a sheepish, hurt look on her face. Instead, she is calm, a soft smile and blush on her cheeks.
“There aren’t many who would do what Steve did,” Peggy offers.
“What, disappear for seven years without a word? It’s rough, lemme tell you.”
“Come back,” Peggy corrects.
Carol hums, crosses her legs and floats above the building. Peggy’s heart swoops and she almost reaches her hand out before she remembers that this is Captain Marvel, who will probably never need physical protection again.
“Did he ever tell you why he waited so long? He could have showed up before the plane even took off, right; time travel lets you do that.”
“He would have been caught if he came back right away. And I needed the room to grieve.”
It isn’t a lie, though Steve has never really given her an explanation. Peggy knows him, can guess his motives even more now that they’ve spent forty years together.
“You shouldn’t have had to grieve alone.”
“I didn’t.” Peggy does reach up this time. Carol opens her hand immediately, and Peggy wonders how many times she’s repeated this gesture with Maria. Her fingers are warm—a welcome reprieve from Steve’s icy touch. “Maria didn’t grieve alone either.”
“I know.”
Peggy squeezes her hand, just in case she doesn’t.
“You should really talk to him one of these days, now that you know.”
“I’ve always known.”
Peggy rolls her eyes and swats at Carol’s palm. “I’m absolutely astonished that Maria puts up with you.”
“I’m pretty sure she said the same thing about Sam once.”
“Did you annoy your parents this much?”
Carol blushes, the levity of the moment instantly erased. “A lot more, actually.”
“I’m sorry, Carol; that was careless.”
“You didn’t know,” Carol shrugs.
Peggy pushes against Carol’s leg, intending to use a little leverage to stand up. It might have worked fifty years ago, but it certainly doesn’t now. Carol catches on and gently lifts her without being prompted.
Peggy envelops Carol in a hug before she has a chance to say anything else. Carol stands still, arms glued to her sides.
“Oh, hug me back,” Peggy scolds, rolling her eyes. “Kathleen is in her forties now and entirely too grown-up; I have to expend all this maternal energy on someone.”
“I think you just insulted me,” Carol replies. But she hugs back.
Peggy laughs as they pull apart, wiping away the hint of tears in Carol’s eyes. “Whatever guilt you’re feeling, let it go,” she assures. “Maria’s been trying to love it out of you for the last four years.”
“It’s not—”
“It is that simple,” Peggy interrupts. “I promise it is. Okay?” Carol nods. “Alright. I will permit you to carry me down from this building, but once we’re on the ground we are walking back to the party.”
Carol laughs and clears her throat. “Okay.” She picks Peggy up again and floats slowly down to the sidewalk. Peggy closes her eyes this time. When she opens them again, Carol is waiting with an outstretched arm and a smile.
“No wonder you recognized Steve,” Peggy mutters. “You’re exactly like him.”
She takes Carol’s arm and they walk, laughter echoing into the cool night air.
.
They enter through the main door, a very unusual entrance for Carol. She’s taken the time to change out of her suit, grabbing spare clothes from Maria’s locker near the training rooms. The shirt fits alright but she keeps adjusting her jeans. Peggy tries not to laugh too much.
Carol barely has a moment to give Steve a hug and a wink before Monica barrels into her—almost sixteen years old and she still has the exuberance of a child.
Peggy leaves them to catch up and finds Bucky by the bar. Steve will wander over eventually.
“We were all wondering where the guest of honor was. You saved us having to listen to one of Steve’s speeches.”
“Oh, you should have let him. Now I’ll have to give one.”
“You were never gonna get through this party without a speech; you know that.”
“I suppose.”
Bucky passes a glass of water to her and raises his beer in a toast. “Congratulations, Director Carter. This is a hell of a legacy—I’m glad I was here to see it.”
Peggy smiles and clinks his bottle.
“Me too.”
/
iii.
Twelve years later her life changes again.
Peggy was sure she’d hit all the major milestones—she got married, had a kid, saved her husband’s best friend from extended torture at the hands of the Soviet Union. But change is inevitable and Steve Rogers wakes up after sixty six years at the bottom of the ocean.
It’s her Steve this time, and Peggy feels awful for thinking that. But there’s no other way to put it—this is the Steve she remembers kissing impulsively in the back of a moving car, the Steve she never got to dance with. Peggy closes her eyes and indulges in a selfish fantasy, one in which Howard found Steve right away and she didn’t have to settle for the weary, time-worn version. She imagines marrying Captain America, watching him be a hero to kids just by virtue of being kind.
Right in the middle of her daydream, the telephone rings.
“Congratulations, Peggy,” Maria murmurs before Peggy can even say hello. “I know it’s not—it’s more complicated, but...congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
“Is Steve around? I mean, well, we might as well actually call him Sam now.”
“Carol already does,” Peggy laughs.
“Carol’s a troublemaker.”
“I won’t argue that.” She misses the presence of landlines, the comfort of twirling out your anxieties on an overly long telephone cord. “He’s out playing cards with Bucky, Tony, and Bruce.”
“Don’t Bruce and Tony have jobs?” Maria grumbles. “Poker on a Wednesday morning; they better not rope Monica into that.”
Peggy chuckles. “I’m sure they won’t.” (They absolutely will).
“You shouldn’t be by yourself. Carol can have us over in a few seconds if you want.”
Instinctually, she almost says no. Her mouth is open and the words are there. But she isn’t the only one this hurt belongs to, and company, on second thought, would be welcome.
“I’d like that,” she finally says. “I have pie in the—” Peggy holds the phone as far away from her ears as she can, and still it isn’t enough to quell the rush of static and wind that fills the speaker. It cuts off abruptly after a few moments, and is followed by a soft thump from the yard.
Carol swings open the front door (Peggy has never gotten used to locking it), sweeping hair out of her eyes.
“You said something about pie?” She winks at Peggy as Maria trails in behind her, grumbling about the flight. Carol leans in for a hug, pressing a loud kiss to Peggy’s cheek. The levity of youth is a treasure.
“You’re supposed to wait until I hang up to start flying,” Maria chides. “Hi, Peggy.” Her hug is longer than Carol’s, tighter and just a little warmer. “Do you have ice cream to go with that pie?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
“Carol?”
“I’m on it.” Carol walks out the front door before jettisoning into the sky, sending the neat piles of leaves back into chaos in the yard. Maria smiles and throws an apologetic look towards Peggy.
“I don’t even rake them,” she explains. “We’ll get a neighborhood kid to fix it.”
“Are you kidding? I’d put my life on Carol raking them the second she gets back.”
“The second she gets back with ice cream for us to eat at 9:27 on a Wednesday morning? And you thought poker was scandalous.”
Maria only glares a little.
“Relax on the sofa,” she shoos. “I’ll put on a kettle.”
Peggy does as she’s told, curling up in her favorite corner and listening to the sounds of Maria puttering in the kitchen; the sounds of being cared for. She has a sneaky feeling that Carol will take her time coming home, even though the ice cream might melt. Of course, it was never about the ice cream. It’s not even about Steve (either of them). S.H.I.E.L.D. has evolved into a crime-fighting task force, but its roots are in protection, in safeguarding knowledge and people against extraordinary threats. Carol, Tony, and Fury are ushering in a new era of guardians but they remind her so much of her younger self, of Howard and Jarvis. She sees echoes of their idealism in Carol’s bravery, in Monica’s resolve and Maria’s empathy.
Her legacy is blooming.