Chapter Text
1.
They discuss it. Correction; they Discuss it. Often. Over many months. They both have concerns but she finds herself idly conjuring a tow headed toddler with Steve’s eyes. And isn’t this why they fought the war?
--
“I won’t be able to keep working,” she says without preamble on a brisk fall evening. They’re staking out a suspect and keeping close for warmth. He shifts, the leather car seat creaking under him.
“We can-” he starts
“Work it out?” she finishes sharply. She gives a brisk shake of her curls indicating that the topic, so briefly open, is now closed.
--
It is long past midnight when she lets herself quietly into the apartment to find him at the dining room table, head in his hands.
“Flynn didn’t make it.” he says so quietly she almost doesn’t hear him.
She sits and winds her hand around his arm, warm and solid. Her fingertips light back and forth over the soft inside of his wrist.
“I went,” he swallows, “to tell Molly. I asked if I could go.”
The small ornamental clock in the living room softly chimes the quarter hour as they sit.
“Bridget is only two weeks old.”
She folds then, leaning her forehead against his. There are some things that they do not need to say.
--
There is an explosion and they are left picking shrapnel out of their hair, Peggy sporting a gash from knee to hip. She limps through triage, through their debrief, and all the way back to their apartment.
He resists the urge to scoop her up upon pushing the door open. He hovers until she hisses at him to put the kettle on and by the time he comes back with a steeping cup of builder’s tea in her favorite heavy mug, she is washed, changed, and tucked into her side of the bed. He deposits her tea on the nightstand and busies himself by fixing the comforter until her hand grabs his.
“Steve, please say what it is you have to say.”
Their hands stay intertwined as he perches on the edge of the bed.
“Peg.” There is a pause.
“Good start.”
He sighs. “Peg, I know we’ve been talking about having a family and I gotta say, I just gotta say it, that nights like this have got me thinking. Maybe-”
She sits up, wincing, and presses her free hand to his cheek. “Too late.”
“What?”
“Too late, Agent Rogers. The ship has sailed, the horse has left the stable, the rooster has flown the coop. Or is it a chicken?”
Her eyes are decidedly bright and she looks more nervous than he’s ever seen her.
“What ?”
“Steve!” Now there is a clear wobble in her voice. “For goodness sake, I’m pregnant. We’re having a ba-”
She winces again, just for a second, as he throws his arms around her. Then they are both laughing and crying and he grabs her face in his hands and kisses her soundly.