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He’d noticed it immediately when he’d woken up in the future—the noise of it all. The constant electric hum that underscored everything, the beeping, the clicking, the buzzing of cell phones set to silent. He’d wondered at first if it had been the serum—nobody else seemed to notice. Nobody else seemed bothered.
It had taken a few months, but he’d realized eventually why—you stop hearing it. Grow accustomed. Fall asleep to the lullaby of the computer fan on the desk and the TV droning from the other side of the wall, the low whoosh of the air conditioning. Ignore the buzz of an alert, the beep of the smart fridge and the stove clock that chimes every hour. It all becomes static, tuned out, overlooked.
Until it’s gone.
Steve had forgotten how loud the future was, until he was laying on Peggy Carter’s too-small sofa, head resting on one of her embroidered throw pillows, a crocheted blanket draped over his body. He hadn’t meant to stay the night. He’d meant to come tell her he was alive, to kiss her if she’d let him, to dance with her if she believed him—and then probably track down Howard and arrange a place to stay for a while.
But Peggy had been reluctant to let him out of her sight, and he’d been reluctant to walk out the door, and the afternoon had stretched into evening, into night, into the wee hours. So he’s here on the sofa while she sleeps down the hall, and it’s so incredibly quiet.
No buzzing, no hum, no beeps.
Just the steady tick-tock-tick-tock of the clock on her mantle, and the sound of his own breath, his own heartbeat. Every now and then the house shifts, beams creak. There's been an owl on the front porch for the last hour or so letting out low hoots, and a tree outside that rustles in the breeze.
He’s not used to this kind of quiet anymore, and it’s both comforting and unsettling. For the first time in a long time, he feels his body begin to relax. Muscles loosening, growing heavy. There’s no looming threats that need attending to, no meetings with intergalactic security councils on the docket. Just life, stretching out long and wide in front of him. He feels… peaceful. And restless.
It’s too quiet, somehow. Nothing to lull his brain from waking into sleep. The shift of his body against the sofa seems louder than it ought to be, and so does the deep breath he sucks in and lets out. The owl hoots again. Something croaks in the grass outside. The clock ticks.
Steve lies awake on Peggy’s sofa, staring at the ceiling, at the way the streetlamp out front casts a strip across the surface from where the curtains aren't quite shut.
Peggy’s left her bedroom door open, and thanks to the serum he can just make out the way she shifts and sighs every once in a while. He wonders if she’s awake too, or if she’s just a restless sleeper. He wonders how inappropriate it would be if he padded quietly down the hall to find out. Just to look at her again, the slope of her nose, the shape of her jaw, the color of her lips now that she’s wiped her makeup off.
She’d been dressed when she left him here in her living room, and he’d listened to the sounds of her getting ready for bed. The running of the bathroom tap, the soft clink of glass bottles against the edge of the sink. The quiet sound of the bathroom and bedroom doors opening and closing and opening again.
He’s seen her without makeup before—during the war, dressed in fatigues with her hair pulled back and a rifle in her hands, trudging through snow and mud with the rest of the Howlies. Her bare skin glowing in the light of a campfire, knee knocking gently against his while they ate C-rations and traded stories. This feels different, though.
He wants to know what she looks like at home, in bed. In her pajamas and her clean sheets, not three days without a shower in the middle of a Belarusian forest. He wants to wake up beside her in the mornings, and fall asleep next to her at night. Wants to nod off to the steady sound of her sleepy breathing.
He wants it so badly he’d given up everything else for it—the internet, and Seamless food delivery, and nanotechnology, and high-speed rail. His friends. His job. He’d walked away from all of it for the chance to build a life with her. To be the one beside her at night.
It’s that thought that has him moving before he thinks better of it, tossing the blanket off his legs and sitting up, his bare feet meeting the cool surface of her hardwood floors. He stands—and then his brain catches up with him, and he plops back down. He shouldn’t go back there. It’s her bedroom, her private space, and he’s only just come back. Only just shown up on her doorstep and told her something that by all rights she should have thought was insane and impossible. He can’t go inviting himself into her bedroom, even if all he’d wanted to do was stand in the doorway and stare at her for a while.
Like a creep.
He should stay here, and listen to the owl, and the ticking clock, and the tree rustling in the yard, until the sky goes from dark to light, and then maybe he’ll make her coffee and breakfast and get to find out what she looks like first thing in the morning when she’s still sleep-mussed and scratchy-voiced. That’ll be enough, for now—that’s more than he could have ever dreamed possible just a month ago.
He takes another deep breath in and out, dropping his head into his hands and focusing on the quiet. The clock. The wind. The footsteps in the hall.
The footsteps in the hall.
He lifts his head at the realization just as Peggy steps into view and then freezes, caught. She’s wrapped up in a soft-looking robe, dark and long with a peachy-pink pattern swirling over it. Flowers, maybe. Her hair is pinned up into curls and wrapped in a silk scarf, face bare, eyes wide.
“I—” She starts, and stops, swallows, and crosses her arms over her chest, her shoulders shifting uncomfortably. “I just—wanted to be sure of you,” she admits quietly. Like it's embarrassing.
He understands, though. She’d told him earlier that him being there felt like a dream, and it feels that way for him too, just a little bit. Like it’s not quite real. Like he’s not really sitting on her sofa, watching her bare toes curl against the cold floor.
“I’m here,” he tells her, assuring, “I’ll be here when you wake up.”
She nods, her crossed arms tightening for a moment, but she doesn’t move. She stands there frozen like a statue, looking like she doesn’t know whether she wants to retreat back to her bedroom or come sit with him on the sofa.
Steve makes the decision for her, pushing back to his feet and crossing the living room. He’s pretty sure he sees a flicker of relief over Peggy’s face before she takes a few steps to close the distance between them more quickly. As soon as they’re within reach of each other, his hands settle on her elbows and her arms unfurl, her fingers skimming against his sides through just the cotton of his undershirt. The robe she’s wearing is as soft as it had looked, and Steve uses his hold on her to draw her in even closer, until their torsos are pressed together and her head is tucked beneath his chin. She smells like roses and soap, and she sinks against him with a sigh, her arms winding around his middle.
“I’m being silly,” she murmurs, her breath warm against his neck. Steve strokes a hand up and down her spine and insists that she’s not.
“I was laying out here thinking the same thing,” he tells her. “Sort of—I was thinking about checking on you. Just looking at you for a minute, because I could.” He tips his nose down, his voice muffled against her silk wrap when he says, “I missed you.”
Peggy’s arms tighten around him, her ribs expanding under his hands with a deep inhale that shakes just a little on the way out. After a moment, she whispers, “Me too. So much, my darling.”
They stand there in each other's arms for a few moments longer; Steve is grateful now for the quiet. It lets him hear the way the floorboards creak slightly as he rocks her gently side to side, the soft sound she lets out when the pass of his hand over her spine makes her shiver. The breath she sucks in before she lifts her head meets his gaze, her own warm and sleepy, but a little cautious.
“Would you think it terribly forward of me if I asked you to come to bed?” she wonders; Steve stomach swoops down to the floor. “Just to sleep. I don’t want to wake to an empty pillow in the morning and have to wonder if today was all a dream.”
Steve smiles and dips his head down, lips brushing against Peggy’s and lingering there for a slow, sweet kiss. “I think… there’s nothing I’d like more,” he murmurs against her mouth when they part.
Peggy hums a low chuckle, her brow lifting slightly as she questions, “Nothing, you say?”
Steve’s smile spreads, his hand cupping the back of her neck, his lips skimming along her jaw. Okay, so maybe there’s one thing he’d like more than just sleeping beside her, but he’d told himself he was coming back to date her properly and he’s pretty sure that having sex with her on day one doesn’t qualify.
“You have work in the morning,” he reminds her, pressing his lips to the hinge of her jaw. “And it’s already late.”
“I thought I’d call out,” she sighs, tipping her head to the side to give him more room. Steve opens his mouth just a little for the next kiss, the tip of his tongue brushing against her skin and making her breath catch. “If I go in, I’ll have to tell Howard and Chet about your return, and… I think I’d like to keep you to myself for a little longer if that’s alright.”
Her voice has gone dreamy and soft by the end, no doubt thanks to the growing cluster of damp kisses he’s planting beneath her ear. He hums his agreement, the vibration making her shiver in his arms.
“Sounds good to me,” Steve tells her. “We can sleep in. I’ll make breakfast.”
“Mm… Perfect…” He’s just beginning to make his way down the side of her neck when Peggy murmurs, “I hope you like toast and tea, because that’s about all I have in the house.”
Steve melts from kissing her to snickering against her skin, his hands sliding down to grip lightly at her waist. “Love toast,” he assures her, “And I’m great at making it, which I can’t promise would be the case for anything else.”
It’s her turn to laugh at that, shaking her head as Steve finally lifts his, the two of them grinning at each other in the near-dark of her living room. “We’ll go for groceries after breakfast; you can get started on eating me out of house and home.”
She’s teasing, but he realizes she’s not wrong. He’s going to have to start thinking about a job if he’s going to stay (and he’s going to stay). But for now, all he needs to do is take one step forward, and then another, Peggy stepping back and back to accommodate. After two more steps she turns, keeping their fingers linked as she leads him down the hallway to her bedroom.
She unbelts her robe to hang it on the back of the bedroom door, revealing the nightgown underneath. By the standards of the time in which he’s spent the last decade and change of his life, it’s not particularly sexy—it looks like a long slip, the same peach color as the pattern on her robe, with lace edging along the bust, and a cut modest enough that she’s not spilling out. Steve can’t take his eyes off her. The bare skin of her shoulders, the natural shape of her breasts without undergarments. His fingers itch to reach out and touch her again, to feel her body through nothing but one thin layer of satin. His cheeks go hot and his blood rushes south as his mind is flooded with thoughts of all the nothing he absolutely wants.
Steve takes a breath and turns his back, walking toward the bed as if he isn’t quietly dying inside for want of her.
“Take the side by the window,” she tells him softly, “And you can get comfortable, darling. No need to come to bed in all that.”
All that is just his slacks and undershirt, but he reaches for his button and fly anyway, glad the room is dark enough that his opinion of her sleepwear won’t be immediately apparent. Still, he doesn’t push his slacks down until he’s firmly on the other side of the bed and she’s busy slipping beneath the covers. He joins her there, in his boxer-briefs and t-shirt, glancing over just in time to catch her looking at him.
She looks away quickly, and then laughs softly at herself, shaking her head.
“This is new,” she whispers into the quiet. “Feeling awkward around you.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Steve muses as he scoots down a little, bending one leg so his erection isn’t the only thing tenting the covers. “There was that time you shot me; that was awkward.”
“I did not shoot you, I shot at you,” Peggy corrects him. “And I knew the shield would hold; Howard couldn’t help boasting about getting his hands on that much vibranium.” Steve laughs softly, turning onto his side, his bare knee bumping against her satin-draped thigh beneath the covers. Peggy grins at him and admits, “I may have overreacted.”
Steve closes the distance between them, letting his fingertip trace down the warmth of her bare arm. “If you’d had any idea how crazy I was about you, you’d never have fired the shot.”
“Yes, well.” Peggy tries to look put out, but doesn’t quite manage it. “I’d thought so, but your public snogging with whatshername gave me pause.”
Steve is genuinely glad he can’t remember whatshername’s actual name; he’s fairly certain Peggy hasn’t forgotten, and he still feels a little twinge of guilt at kissing the woman back.
“Do I need to apologize again?” he asks, sincerely but not without humor.
Peggy rolls to face him then, her fingers finding his and weaving, her ankle sliding over to notch behind his. “No,” she tells him warmly. “All’s long forgiven. Although I wouldn’t say no to another chocolate bar if you’re still feeling terribly guilty.”
Steve grins. He’d won her back the first time with some very sincere and bumbling groveling, and a chocolate bar he’d had to pull several favors to procure. She’d told him later she’d made it last an entire week.
He lifts their joined hands to press a kiss to her knuckles, and promises, “I’ll buy you a Hershey bar tomorrow when we go for groceries.”
“Mm,” Peggy hums, leaning in for a soft smooch. “Lucky me.”
She stays close as she says it, her lips brushing against his, and Steve takes the opportunity to steal another kiss, and then another, deepening as his hand slides up over her collarbone, along her neck. He takes a chance on shifting his weight toward her, and Peggy gives easily, sinking back into her pillow and dragging him with her. He swipes his tongue into her mouth, and Peggy presses her torso up against his, one of his thighs ending up between hers, her hip notched snugly against him.
He’d only just gotten his body to settle down, and now he’s got his mouth on her again, his hands on her again. There’s a layer of satin and a layer of cotton between them but it feels like nothing at all; he can feel the heat of her skin and every curve of her body, and the feel of her against him has him hardening. Peggy must feel it, but she doesn’t seem to mind, if the way her hip grinds against him is any indication.
Their lips separate on a rush of breath, noses bumping, hands wandering. He ends up with a palmful of her breast and groans at the feel of her, soft and full against his hand. He’s seriously questioning his determination not to rush things when he slants his mouth over hers again, their kisses decidedly more heated than they’d been just moments before.
And then Peggy’s mouth opens beneath his, her jaw stretching wide in an unexpected yawn.
Steve drops his brow to her collar with a quiet laugh, pressing a kiss there and teasing, “Am I boring you, Pegs?”
“Hardly,” she insists, snickering and resting her cheek against his brow. “The spirit is more than willing, I assure you. But it must be nearly three.”
“Mm,” Steve hums, lifting his head and pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “Let’s get some sleep. We can, um… revisit this in the morning.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” Peggy murmurs, following as Steve sinks back into his own pillow. She curls around his side, rests her head on his chest; it's her thigh that sinks between his now instead of the other way around.
It takes them a minute to figure out how to situate the rest of their limbs, but eventually they settle with his arm curled around her back, and their fingers woven loosely on his chest. The weight of her against him is an unexpected comfort, and he finds himself settling back down more easily than he’d expected to after the way they’d let themselves get carried away. Before long he’s more relaxed than he’s been in years, his body feeling heavy and still.
The night grows quiet again as Peggy nods off, the cadence of conversation and kisses fading away. Her bedside clock doesn’t tick as loudly as the one in the living room, and the breeze outside seems to have died down. It’s not completely silent, though.
With her pressed up against him so closely, Steve can hear the soft sound of Peggy breathing, deep, and slow, and steady.
It’s the sound that finally carries him off to sleep.