Work Text:
As Long As There Are Stars
Peggy blew out a breath and then turned onto her side, lifting up her thin military-issue pillow and covering her head with it in an attempt to block the noise of the snoring coming from the other side of the tent. It didn’t work. She tried to tamp down on her annoyance and frustration. It wasn’t fair to blame Mabel, her current tent-mate, for her snoring since it wasn’t as if Mabel could help it. And to be fair, it wasn’t as if Mabel snored every night–thankfully. She usually didn’t. It was only occasionally, possibly when Mabel was more tired than usual, or Peggy thought that Mabel might either be suffering from a cold or some form of allergies, but either way, Mabel was snoring tonight. It wasn’t even very loud as snores went, a sort of wheezing or whiffling noise, but it was still more than loud enough to keep Peggy awake.
Peggy abandoned her futile attempt to muffle the noise with her pillow and again used the pillow for its intended purpose of resting her head on it, shifting onto her back to stare up the ceiling of the tent. She wasn’t sure how many interminable minutes ticked by in this fruitless exercise but finally, after Mabel grunted a little and turned over in her bed roll and then went on snoring just a shade louder, Peggy gave up on all thought of sleep and pushed herself upright. Clearly, sleep was just not going to happen tonight. At least not at present. And she was becoming increasingly aware that if she remained there in the tent, she might scream or do something else to vent her frustration, which wouldn’t do her or anyone else any good.
It was the middle of the night–her best estimate was that it had to be somewhere in the wee small hours of the morning, maybe around 1 or 2–she wasn’t entirely sure and didn’t bother to consult her watch, even if she could have read its face in the darkness. And considering she was in a war zone in a military camp, she couldn’t exactly go anywhere but she could, at least, get out of the tent and take a short walk, get some fresh air, and be out of hearing of Mabel’s snores.
Life in a military camp being what it was, Peggy had not undressed before bed, only taken off her brassiere and her slip and put her uniform blouse back on afterwards. Actual nightgowns had become an almost unheard-of luxury. She glanced down, considered, but didn’t bother putting on her brassiere or her slip again–after all, she did still plan to return to her tent and try to salvage some sleep–and instead only shrugged on her jacket, although she did not bother fastening the buttons as she normally would. Her blouse was decent enough and anyway, at this hour, she didn’t expect to actually see anyone else. But she paused, hesitated, and after a moment, slipped her smallest gun into her pocket, just in case. Because they were in a war zone, even if they were far enough from enemy lines right now that they should be about as safe as was possible anywhere in Europe these days.
She undid the fastening of the tent and slipped outside. It was a clear night and there was enough illumination from the moon that she could see at least well enough to walk without fear of stumbling into anything. She made her way carefully through the sleeping camp, past the other tents. The women’s tents, for herself and the nurses, were always placed in the center of the camp for the added safety–Peggy herself rather chafed at that but she didn’t bother to argue–so she had to walk through half the camp to head towards the outskirts, not as far out where the guards were stationed but just far enough to get out from the cluster of other tents for a bit of privacy.
Earlier, she had noticed a fallen tree, likely a casualty of some past storm or other, that was a handful of meters from the outer perimeter of tents and just far enough away not to be immediately visible. She headed towards it now and sat, using the tree trunk as a makeshift bench, propping her feet on the log and wrapping her arms around her knees as she tipped her head back and looked up.
It was a clear night and the stars shone brightly. Her eyes found and traced the Big Dipper and Ursa Major.
She had a sudden memory of one of the last conversations she’d had with Michael on his last evening at home right at the start of the war before he’d been scheduled to leave to officially report to his training camp the next morning. They’d had a family dinner and afterwards, she and Michael had gone for a walk, partly to give their mother some privacy because they had both noticed that her mother’s determined composure was starting to fray at the edges and they knew their mother did not want Michael to see her breaking down at the thought of his going to war. It had been a clear night then too, she remembered, and after a while, she and Michael had left the path and walked into the adjoining field and sat down. They had chatted desultorily, both of them carefully avoiding any mention of Michael’s imminent departure, let alone the risks he would be facing, even as neither of them had thought of anything else. That had held until just before they’d decided to head back towards home when Peggy had found herself blurting out, “I’ll miss you.”
And Michael had turned to look at her and just said, “You’ll be fine, you know, Peg. You’re that kind of person. You’re strong and too stubborn for your own good so you’ll manage.”
She had huffed and nudged him with her elbow at the ‘too stubborn’ comment.
Michael had sobered then and added more quietly, “But look out for Mum and Dad and Alice, will you?” referring to his new wife since Michael had, like many other young men on the eve of war, decided to marry his sweetheart before leaving for war.
Peggy had agreed and then after a moment, Michael had added in a determinedly cheerful tone, “The stars are putting on a show tonight. Look, there’s Vega of the Lyre and the Big Dipper and there’s you, Ursa Minor.”
She had matched his tone and pointed out the Little Dipper and Hercules, although she’d known that he would have already seen them too since Michael was better at astronomy than she was, having been the one to teach her.
They hadn’t stayed out to star-gaze for long–Michael had wanted to get back to Alice–but just before they had arrived back at their home, Michael had put a hand on her arm to make her pause before heading inside and when she’d turned to look at him, he had looked at her, for once entirely seriously, and then began, “Look, Peggy, I wasn’t going to say anything but–” He had broken off, glanced away, hesitated and then sighed before looking back at her and just went on, his tone shifting just enough that she’d known he must have changed his mind about whatever he’d been about to say, “when you miss me, look up at the sky and find the stars and know that just as they’re always with you, I will be too.”
She had nodded and managed a smile and then he’d hugged her and they had gone back inside. It wasn’t until more than a year later–after she and Michael had argued at her own engagement party–that Peggy had belatedly realized that what Michael had likely meant to say on that night before he had changed his mind was to challenge her relationship with Fred. She and Fred had not been engaged at the time but they had been going steady for long enough that both their families confidently expected the engagement to happen at any time, Peggy’s mother was delighted and had started dropping not-at-all-subtle hints about preparing a trousseau, and Peggy herself had started planning ahead for the sort of house she and Fred might live in, knowing that Fred, dear, steady, easy-going Fred, would follow along with whatever she suggested on that score. It was strange for Peggy to remember that now, remember a time when the only sort of mental challenge she had faced had been planning her own future household. How had she ever thought that such a narrow life would satisfy her for long? Michael had been so right. As he frequently was, irritating as that had been at the time, she thought, her throat tightening at the memory of Michael.
She was abruptly pulled from her memories when she heard a soft sound and she came alert, glancing sharply towards where the sound had come to see a dark shadowy figure approaching. She tensed and then in the next second relaxed, her silly, susceptible heart abruptly leaping because she knew that silhouette, would know it anywhere. Steve. He was still far enough away that she couldn’t make out his features in the darkness but she didn’t need to see his face. She knew his figure, had probably spent more time studying it than she had any business to be doing in the middle of a war but she couldn’t seem to help it. It wasn’t only about his tell-tale height, although that certainly helped to make him recognizable as he was the tallest man in the camp, but she also knew the shape of his head, the set of his broad shoulders, recognized his stride, surprisingly quick and light for someone as tall and broad as he now was. (She sometimes wondered if somehow his stride was one thing that hadn’t been affected by the serum so that he had a surprisingly light tread.)
She released her knees, lowering her feet and straightening up. He was headed directly towards her and she waited until he was close enough that she could just about see his features even in the dim light before addressing him teasingly, “Did you follow me out here, Captain?”
His steps paused and then he admitted, “Well, yes,” in that rather sheepish tone that accompanied one of his endearing uncertain expressions when he would look at her through his unfairly long lashes and somehow managed to convey a sense that he was looking up at her rather than down, as if he were still the same under-sized boy from Brooklyn he had been before Project Rebirth. Something in her chest went soft, as seemed to happen so often around him. Part of her wasn’t even sure she liked it, how he affected her so much, how he made her feel so much, even against her own volition. But by now, she had stopped expecting that she would ever stop reacting like this to him. Only with him.
“Having trouble sleeping?”
He lifted his shoulders into a small shrug. “I don’t seem to need as much sleep these days, not since, well, you know. I was awake, just doing some sketching, and then I heard footsteps and looked outside to see who was up and saw that it was you.”
“And you came out to follow me,” she finished for him.
“I didn’t think anyone should go wandering around alone in the middle of the night. There is a war going on,” he added wryly.
She knew that what he really meant, although he tactfully had not said as much, was that he didn’t think a woman should be wandering around the military camp alone at night. Women, after all, faced dangers other than merely from enemy forces. He wasn’t wrong about that. “I’m aware,” she returned dryly, and slipped the gun she had brought with her out of her pocket so he could see it. “Which is why I’m not entirely defenseless. And not alone anymore either,” she added after a moment. Now that he was with her, she knew that she was as close to perfectly safe as it was possible to be in the middle of a war.
He was close enough that she could see his smile flash in the darkness. “I should have known. Am I allowed to join you or will you shoot me if I do?”
She bit back a laugh even as she felt some color creeping into her cheeks at this reference to the way she had shot at his new shield just a few months ago. “I won’t shoot you but only because I don’t want to listen to Colonel Phillips reading me the riot act for shooting America’s New Hope.”
He grimaced as he usually did when someone referred to him by that particular moniker, although she knew he preferred that one to being called the Star-Spangled Man with a Plan as some members of the Commandos–most egged on to do so by Bucky Barnes–liked to do to tease him. “Thanks for that,” was all he said, his tone a mixture of joking and sincere.
He settled on the tree trunk beside her with just a shade of hesitation and leaving a decorous inch of space between them. She hid a smile even as warmth sprouted in her chest. He was so tentative and so, well, polite and while there were times she found it frustrating, she could also appreciate it after spending the last years surrounded by men and soldiers at that, many of whom were far too brash and would never hesitate to take advantage of any similar situation and try to get far too close for her comfort. Not that she would have readily accepted any other soldier’s company but then again, a lot of them would not have bothered to ask permission before joining her either.
Steve was different, as he had always been. And she thought, not for the first time, that it was a little amazing–or perhaps not–to see the ways in which Steve was still that skinny boy she’d first met, the one who had admitted that the idea of asking a woman to dance had been terrifying and that girls weren’t interested in “a guy they might step on.” It was the sort of admission she’d never imagined hearing from a man–most men were more interested in preserving their own vanity than the truth and most men assumed that women were a lot more interested in them than was actually the case anyway–but not Steve. She imagined that just about any other man, especially if he had gone through Project Rebirth and looked even half as handsome as Steve now was and especially after spending the last few months being hailed as a hero, would have become unbearably arrogant about it, swaggering and acting as if he were God’s gift to women-kind. (Peggy had already met more than a few men who seemed to believe they were God’s gift and none of them had any justification for that belief, not that the lack of reason for it made any difference to those men.) But not Steve. By now, she had stopped wondering if Steve would change, become more like a typical man with the brash arrogance or blinkered self-centeredness. No, Steve was still, well, Steve, the boy from Brooklyn. Still kind, still sweet, still so unfailingly modest.
By now, she knew him well enough to understand that Steve didn’t view himself as Captain America, some great hero, thought of his own enhanced abilities as something that was separate to who he was. What he didn’t seem to understand–and from what she knew of him, she was relatively sure he would never think in such terms–was that while the serum had made him stronger and made it possible for him to be a one-man army as it were, what really made him Captain America, the great hero, was not his enhanced strength or abilities at all but rather his character. A thousand other men could have been given the serum and Peggy was quite sure that not a single one of them would have become Captain America, a real hero, one that people could (and did) look up to. What made him Captain America was precisely all the qualities that Steve had always possessed, what she had liked about Steve from the beginning–his courage, his intelligence, his kindness, his sense of duty, his integrity.
“Why aren’t you sleeping?” he asked mildly.
“Believe me, it’s not by choice,” she answered rather dryly. “But as it happens, I was driven out of my tent because of Mabel’s snoring. But don’t tell her I told you that or she’ll be mortified.” Mabel tended to flush up to the roots of her hair whenever Steve so much as looked in her direction, although Peggy was relatively sure that Steve himself hadn’t even noticed, and Peggy would never have betrayed Mabel in such a way if she hadn’t been quite certain that Steve would never mention it and wasn’t the sort to think anything of it either. She had never heard Steve say an impolite word about a woman and doubted he was even capable of it.
He huffed a soft laugh. “I won’t tell.”
He hadn’t been asleep either, she remembered. “You were sketching? Have you always liked to draw so much?” she asked, suddenly curious, wanting to know more about him. She wanted to know everything about him.
“As long as I can remember.” He paused and then went on, “I sometimes wonder if maybe part of it was just from being indoors so much growing up. I spent almost every winter trapped inside because I was sick and so I had a lot of time where I couldn’t really do anything but draw on every spare piece of paper I could get my hands on.”
“Were you really ill that often?”
His lips twisted ruefully. “Haven’t you seen my recruitment file for the Army? I had just about every health condition possible, asthma, frequent colds, a weak heart, rheumatic fever. I’m only surprised I didn’t somehow manage to contract the bubonic plague while growing up.” He straightened a little and slanted her a look. “Well, you saw what I looked like. Wasn’t it obvious that I was a really impressive specimen, arms like wet noodles and all?”
Peggy laughed softly. Something that felt dangerously close to tenderness squeezed her heart. She could read between the lines well enough to guess that his childhood must have been difficult and lonely, to say nothing of the physical discomforts he had endured, but he could laugh about it, laugh at his own self, as if what he had told her wasn’t more proof if she’d needed it of how determined and persistent he was. Some men invented ailments in order to avoid being drafted into the army and then there was Steve, who had more reason to fear being drafted than most, but who instead tried to enlist six different times. He really was the bravest, strongest man she had ever met, strong in a way that had nothing to do with any serum. And she thought not for the first time that she admired and respected him more than anyone else she could think of. Admired and respected him in a way that Peggy was not used to admiring or respecting anyone because she was not the type of person who was easily impressed and in her experience, the more she learned about someone, the less she thought of them. Steve was proving to be the exception to that.
He smiled at her and a brief silence descended, a comfortable silence, she realized after a moment. Steve wasn’t the type who always needed to fill a silence and who liked to hear the sound of his own voice above anything else. And he didn’t seem to expect her to entertain him either. She was, she realized, surprisingly content just to sit there with him like this. It might be the middle of the night in an army camp during a war but at least for that moment, she was content, could not imagine wanting to be anywhere else than right there, sitting beside Steve on an early spring evening, alone and unobserved by anyone other than the stars overhead.
After a little while, he asked quietly, “Can I ask, what were you thinking about just before I joined you? You were looking up and you looked very serious.”
“I was just looking up at the stars.” She lifted a hand and pointed. “There’s the Big Dipper and there’s Ursa Major.”
“I never really learned about the constellations,” he admitted.
She hid a smile. That, too, was another way in which Steve was different. Most men had a severe allergy against admitting they might not know something but not Steve. “My brother taught me. He caught me sneaking out of the house a couple times and on the third time, he followed me and told me that if I was going to keep going out at night in spite of my curfew, he might as well give me a valid excuse to be outside at night.”
“You used to sneak out and break curfew? I’m shocked, Agent Carter, absolutely shocked,” he drawled.
She arched her eyebrows at him in teasing challenge. “I suppose you never broke a rule in your life.”
He lifted his shoulders in a small shrug. “I snuck out of school a few times and Bucky and I once stowed away in the back of a freezer truck to hitch a ride.” He paused and then added, “And I’ve disobeyed the direct orders of a superior officer.”
She huffed a laugh. “I guess when you decide to break a rule, you really commit yourself to it, jumping from the petty exploits of youth to a court-martial offense.”
He slanted a smile at her. “I had help and it didn’t turn out so badly.”
“No, not so badly. It certainly impressed Private Lorraine,” she quipped.
He pretended to sigh. “Must I apologize for that again?”
She nudged him with her elbow. “At ease, soldier. I was only teasing.”
He gave her a faint smile. “I know.”
Something in his smile, in the way he looked at her, made her flush, her pulse abruptly skittering, until she forced herself to look away. “Well, then,” she murmured the meaningless phrase just to say something.
He didn’t respond–of course, he didn’t. What response could he make to such an inane phrase?
After a moment, he leaned back, tilting his head to look up at the sky again. “Ursa Major?” he repeated questioningly.
“Yes, the big bear.” She lifted a hand and pointed it out and then added, before she’d quite realized she was going to, “My brother used to say that he was like Ursa Major and I was Ursa Minor.”
“Why were you like a little bear?”
“He was Ursa Major, the big bear, because he was older and bigger than me, and he said I was like Ursa Minor because I was small and fierce and sometimes growled like a bear when I got grumpy.”
He made an odd noise like a strangled cough and she rolled her eyes. “Oh, go ahead and laugh. I’m aware that it’s amusing, which is why Michael said it.”
To his credit, he did refrain from laughing outright, only grinned at her, and she found herself returning his smile, entirely unable to keep herself from doing so, her pulse leaping. It was too dark for her to see but she knew his eyes would be a bright, beautiful blue. A lock of his hair had fallen onto his forehead and she curled her fingers to keep from obeying the urge to reach up and push that errant lock of hair back and then possibly trace the line of his nose, his cheek, the strong curve of his jaw.
His face had changed after the procedure obviously, filling out and becoming stronger, his jawline becoming more defined, but in other ways, his face hadn’t changed as much as his body had. His nose was the same as were his eyebrows, his eyes, the shape of them framed by those unfairly long lashes of his. And she could admit that she was glad of that. As much as she’d been pleased on Dr. Erskine’s behalf when the procedure had been successful, a tiny part of her had been sorry to see Steve’s physical transformation, wondering if it were possible that the physical transformation might somehow change who he was and she hadn’t liked the idea of that, of losing the cute, self-deprecating boy she had gotten to know and liked, the one who alone among all the recruits, had never once treated her with anything other than respect. But then she had seen his eyes, still the same eyes, clear and earnest and so very blue. And since then, it had become easier for her to visually trace the outlines of his face as he had used to look in his face now. She liked to see it, the reminder that Steve was still Steve, the boy she had first met and always liked. Only bigger and taller and so much stronger, with a face and form that constantly drew her eyes and made her breath come quickly and her hands almost itch with the wish to touch him, a startlingly strong and persistent urge.
“Is there anything you don’t know about?” There was enough admiration in his tone that she felt heat flaring in her cheeks, aware that he could almost certainly see it. Peggy had received plenty of compliments in her life but she thought that none of them had meant anything to her compared to this simple, admiring question because it was almost the first compliment she had received that was about her intelligence and not her appearance. She remembered her mother’s frequent scolds when she’d been growing up about not trying to be so obviously clever because gentlemen didn’t like girls who were too clever and her own younger self’s defiant response that she wouldn’t want to impress any such silly gentlemen anyway. Peggy had long ago realized that her mother had been right, that most men had no use for an intelligent woman and, in fact, usually didn’t even acknowledge that a woman could be intelligent. But not Steve. Steve, who from the beginning, had never doubted her intelligence and more, liked her the better for it.
“Yes, actually,” she returned just a touch dryly. “I don’t know anything about drawing. In fact, one could say I’m hopelessly bad at drawing.”
He tipped his head back and laughed, the sound startlingly loud in the quiet of the night, and they both froze, his laugh cutting off, as they turned to look towards the camp, and waited. She was aware of a strange nervous tension as she did so, felt absurdly as if she should be holding her breath as they waited to see if his laugh had awoken anyone who might then emerge to find them. That was it, she realized belatedly. She wasn’t nervous about actual danger, attracting enemy attention or something, they were far enough from the front lines for her not to fear that, but she didn’t want to lose being alone with Steve like this, didn’t want this little interlude to end.
She wondered if it was possible that he was as reluctant to see this moment end too. She couldn’t be sure but she thought that he was about as relieved as she was when after a long minute, they both accepted that apparently his laugh hadn’t disturbed anyone in the sleeping camp.
He returned his attention to her, the corners of his lips tipping ever so slightly, as he noted, “Well, nobody’s perfect.”
It was her turn to laugh, quietly, as the echo of her own words to him a few months ago registered, her teasing response to his marking down the locations of the remaining six Hydra bases on the map. “Touché.” It was something else that had rather surprised and delighted her, that Steve not only appreciated her dry humor but shared it as well.
“And I rather doubt you’re quite as hopeless as you say,” he went on more seriously. “I can’t imagine you being that bad at doing anything.”
“Oh, I am,” she informed him ruefully. “I won’t inflict the sight of anything I might draw on you. I’d be too embarrassed for you to see it considering your own talent. But suffice to say that stick figures are the height of my artistic ability.”
He tilted his head, his lips quirking. “My talent? I never thought that you would flatter me, Agent Carter.”
She flushed in spite of herself. “Well, I do remember that you drew a charming dancing monkey and an impressively accurate sketch of the outline of Italy.”
He made a skeptical little sound. “And that’s enough to tell you I have talent?”
“Yes, I think so. Transferring what you see in your head onto paper isn’t easy–I ought to know–and you succeeded at it without even a model to copy from. And you did remember the locations of all those Hydra bases after just a quick look at the map,” she added. “You have a good eye and a good visual memory and that’s a talent too.”
He looked down and away, clearing his throat, and she realized with a surge of affection that she had abashed him with her praise, as matter-of-fact as it was. Even after months of being hailed as a hero by the entire world, he could still flush and look abashed to be given such a simple compliment. But this was different from the way he looked when people called him a hero because along with being abashed, he looked, well, shyly pleased and he never looked pleased when praised for being a great hero. Because his art was something that was entirely his, had nothing to do with Captain America.
He really was the most adorable man on the planet. She had never expected to be able to use the word, adorable, to describe a man who was so tall and broad. Would never have imagined that such a tall, broad-shouldered man who towered over just about everyone else could look adorable but Steve really was. He had been cute before when he had been only Steve and now, even as Captain America, he was still adorable.
“Well, I don’t know about the talent part of it but I did go to art school,” he admitted after a moment.
“Then you must be quite good. They don’t allow just anyone into art school.”
“I suppose not.”
There was a brief pause and then she asked, on a sudden impulse, “Will you draw something for me?”
He turned to look at her. “What, now?”
“No, not right this minute. I can see you don’t have your sketchbook with you. I just meant sometime, when you have a chance.” She supposed she could ask him to return to his tent to retrieve his sketchbook–his tent wasn’t far–but she didn’t want him to leave even for such a brief errand.
He dipped his head, his lips curving faintly. “Oh, well, then, yes, of course. What do you want me to draw?”
“Anything you like. You’re the artist, after all.” She trusted him, knew that he wouldn’t draw anything for her that was offensive or inappropriate.
He nodded. “All right, I can do that.”
There was another silence, broken only by the hoot of an owl, a few distant rustles in the undergrowth behind them that Peggy guessed was likely an animal of some kind.
“It really is a lovely night,” he murmured after a while.
“Yes, it is.” At that moment, sitting there beside Steve, the war felt very distant, even unreal, although she knew all too well that the seemingly all-encompassing peace was illusory. They were less than 20 miles from the front lines and were breaking camp tomorrow on their way down to Italy for a mission to help some Allied forces that were currently struggling to withstand an onslaught by the Nazis. In the last few months, especially after Steve and the Commandos had successfully destroyed two Hydra bases along with defeating the Nazi troops that had been stationed in the way, the higher command of the Allied forces had been increasingly impressed with Steve and his ability to be a one-man army, tipping the scales of any battle, and had started to request, not to say requisition, his assistance wherever they thought he might be most useful. Colonel Phillips, in a tacit acknowledgement of how much he had come to respect Steve and his judgment, generally asked Steve if he would agree to take on these additional missions for the Allies rather than simply ordering Steve to do so and Steve, being Steve, always agreed, although he did occasionally push back and disagree as to the actual plan of attack suggested by the higher command.
But for all that, it did feel very peaceful, more peaceful than she could remember feeling in years since she had joined the SSR really. Peaceful and safe too, two sensations that had been all too scarce in the last years and were so much more precious because of that. It occurred to her that her conversation with Steve tonight was probably the first conversation she’d had in months that hadn’t been about the war at all, not talking about any of their missions or about Hydra or anything like that. It was odd and surprising. The war had been so ever-present in everyone’s minds for years now and especially since they were in the thick of it, it was only to be expected that pretty much every conversation had to do with the war in some way or another. It all came down to the war. Even grumbling about the weather or the poor quality of rations came down to the war because the weather affected how quickly they could travel and the conditions for fighting and rations were affected by their location, how close or far they were to the front lines, to say nothing of what country they happened to be in. But tonight, somehow, maybe because it was the middle of the night, maybe because their next mission was still at least two days of travel away, but whatever the reason, she and Steve hadn’t talked about the war. It had just been a normal, pleasant conversation, nothing earth-shattering about it, but in the middle of a war, it felt… precious. To be able to talk and laugh like this, just a man and a woman who liked each other. A soldier and his girl, she thought, and then flushed almost in spite of herself at how she had so easily thought of herself as Steve’s girl. (When had that happened?)
“It’s strange,” he noted. “It’s so quiet here, so peaceful. It’s hard to believe that we’re just a handful of miles away from the front lines where people are fighting and dying as we speak.”
“I was just thinking the same thing.”
He turned to look at her and their eyes met and held. She wondered why she not only felt no surprise that he had, apparently, been thinking along much the same lines as she had but that she also had the sudden sense that he, more than anyone else in the world, understood her and always would.
It was still too dim for her to read his eyes but his expression was soft and open and–she felt her heart flutter–fond was the only word that came to mind. He was looking at her as if… as if he could happily look at her for hours.
Her breathing felt suddenly shallow, as if her lungs were no longer fully functional.
She honestly wasn’t sure how much time passed–the entire world momentarily seemed to be holding its breath–but then a sudden gust of wind swept over them, tossing the branches of the trees and making the canvas of the tents flap. A little shiver went through her and she managed to jerk her eyes from his, the spell broken, as she buttoned up her jacket fully. The night was mild enough but with the wind having picked up, the temperature had dropped.
“Are you cold?” he asked, his voice becoming more like his usual quietly matter-of-fact tone.
“A little,” she admitted. “But I’m fine.”
“I’d offer you my jacket but I left it back in my tent,” he said ruefully, gesturing at himself and his shirt. He hesitated but then went on, cautiously, lifting his arm a little, “but maybe I could… offer my arm?”
It was such an awkward way of phrasing it and so tentative. So very like him. She knew that when it came to their missions, as Captain America, he was a quick-thinking, decisive commander but outside of that, he was still unassuming, respectful.
“All right,” she agreed and felt something seem to squeeze her heart at the way his expression lit. He couldn’t have looked more pleased if he’d just been awarded a medal–no, actually, that wasn’t true. He’d already won a medal and hadn’t looked particularly pleased at all. Now, though, he really did look as if he’d won an important prize, as if being allowed to put his arm around her was some great honor or privilege. No one had ever looked at her quite as he did.
He wrapped a careful arm gently around her shoulders and she felt the added warmth of it immediately.
After a moment, she allowed herself to lean against him, tucking herself against his side, and resting her head on his shoulder. She felt the subtle way he tensed at her added closeness but after a while, his vague tension dissolved and he relaxed, settling his arm more firmly around her.
“Just for the warmth,” she murmured against his shoulder. He was radiating heat like a furnace and she was surprised at how comfortable it was. She hadn’t thought she was that chilly but being tucked against Steve like this… it was lovely, felt delightfully cozy.
“For the warmth,” he echoed quietly.
And she wondered if he knew or guessed that she’d been less than fully sincere in claiming to want only the warmth. Because it was more than that. It was about how sheltered she felt, how safe. It was odd, should have been absurd really. She was, after all, capable of taking care of herself, could fight and shoot about as well as any man, prided herself on it, even. But for all that, she couldn’t deny that it was precious, even seductive if that made sense, to feel so safe. As if for the first time in years, she could let down her guard and not have to fear anything at all because she wasn’t alone. She felt physically safe, yes, which was precious enough in the midst of war but it wasn’t just that. She felt… emotionally safe too.
The closest thing she could compare it to was the way she’d used to feel when Michael was around, the sense of knowing that someone was on her side, had her back, would support her no matter what. Michael, who had been her champion, her best friend, for her entire life, the one person who had always encouraged her, protected her but not tried to shelter her or push her to be anything less than what she was. Her throat closed. She had, she thought, become accustomed to the grief over Michael’s loss, had moved on as much as it was possible to do so. The pain had blurred a little over time, losing its edge but not its weight, and she knew the pain would never completely go away. But with the exigencies of the war, she didn’t have much time to think about Michael or dwell on his loss. So maybe it wasn’t that surprising that it was only now, when for the first time since Michael’s death, she knew that she’d found one other person who believed in her, that she realized how much she had missed Michael, how alone she had felt in the years since losing him.
She wasn’t alone anymore because now, there was Steve, Steve, who also believed in her. And with him, she knew that she could be her true self without fear because he alone among the soldiers had never once doubted her abilities and had made it clear that he respected and liked her cleverness and her spirit. Steve, who would, she knew, always protect her if she needed it, not by standing in front of her and trying to fight all her battles for her which she wouldn’t want and didn’t need, but to stand beside her and fight alongside her.
There was another gust of wind but this time, tucked against Steve’s warmth as she was, Peggy was hardly conscious of it. Considering the way Steve radiated heat, at that moment, she felt as if a blizzard could spring up and she would still feel comfortably warm.
She let her eyes close and briefly turned her face into his shoulder, her cheek rubbing against his shirt, softer than his uniform jacket would have been and smelling like the military-issue soap they all used and underneath that, a faint, clean, somehow masculine scent that was just him. A scent that made her want to bury her face in his chest and just breathe in–she flushed in the darkness at her own thoughts. It occurred to her, rather belatedly, that this was her first time leaning against a man who wasn’t related to her. She vaguely remembered times when she’d been a little girl and she had curled against her father’s side and rather more recently, there had been a couple times when she had allowed herself to rest against Michael. She couldn’t quite imagine trusting another man enough to allow herself to lean against him like this, couldn’t imagine trusting another man enough to show this much vulnerability to. But she did trust Steve, trusted him more than anyone else she could think of.
It abruptly struck her that for the first time in her life, she wanted time to stand still. Absurd thing to think in the middle of a terrible war, in an army camp miles from the nearest town, and yet, at that moment, she couldn’t think of anywhere else she would rather be than right there beside Steve, his arm a warm and reassuring weight around her shoulders. She wanted this moment to last forever.
“Peggy. Peggy?”
The sound of Steve’s quiet voice had Peggy blinking open her eyes. She was vaguely aware of feeling something brush against her hair and she lifted her head a little to see his face, just inches away from hers. He really had the most beautiful eyes… “Hmm?”
And then more consciousness returned and she realized that she was still leaning against Steve with his arm around her shoulders and–she felt a spurt of surprise and some self-consciousness–she must have dozed off. And judging from the way the sky was lighter, light enough that she could see the blue of his eyes, she had to have been asleep for at least an hour, possibly more.
She felt herself blush and hurriedly straightened up so she was no longer leaning against him. “Oh, I fell asleep on you, didn’t I?”
His lips curved slightly. “I’ll try not to take it personally,” he joked.
“You could have woken me up.”
He lifted the shoulder that she had not been leaning against in a half-shrug. “I thought you needed the sleep and you already said that you hadn’t been able to get any sleep in your tent.”
“But still…” She had been sleeping on his shoulder. It was such an intimate, vulnerable thing to do.
“It’s all right, Peggy. I didn’t mind.” And then it was his turn to flush a little and glance away.
She felt a rush of affection for him. No, not affection–call it what it was–it was love. She loved him. And maybe it was because of some lingering drowsiness but she felt no surprise at the thought, felt as if she had to have known that she loved him for weeks, even months, already.
“How long was I asleep?”
He turned back to look at her. “Almost two hours, I think. I didn’t want to wake you but, well,” he made a vague gesture with one hand, “it’s getting close to dawn and the night watch is about to come off its shift so I thought I’d better.”
What he was not saying was that now, with dawn approaching, they should both probably return to their tents before people started to stir and might see them. Aside from the rules against fraternization, they both understood that Peggy’s position in the SSR was tenuous at the best of times and she couldn’t afford for any rumors to start up around her and any man, even Captain America.
She grimaced a little. She knew he was right but she was still decidedly reluctant for this interlude to end. “You’re right. I should be getting back to my tent.”
“Maybe Mabel will have stopped snoring so you’ll be able to get some more sleep,” he offered optimistically.
“Perhaps.”
He gently slid his arm from around her shoulders and she tried not to feel absurdly bereft at the loss of his warmth. He stood up and then, after a moment, held out a hand to her to help her up.
With any other man, at any other time, she would have ignored it. She didn’t really need the help, after all, and didn’t like accepting help as it was, but with him, she found she didn’t mind as much and, well, she couldn’t deny that she was a little stiff from sitting in the same position on the hard tree trunk for hours. So she slipped her hand into his before she too stood up.
Her foot landed awkwardly on a branch that turned under her foot and she stumbled a little, his other hand coming up to her arm to steady her. When she had her footing again, she looked up to find that they were standing close together and with his head bent, their faces were just a handful of inches apart. Her breathing abruptly strangled in her chest, her eyes focusing on his mouth–and then he blinked and cleared his throat a little, his head straightening up.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes, fine. Thanks.”
He nodded. “Good. Well, then.” He seemed to belatedly realize that his hand was still holding hers and he released her hand, making a gesture with his now-free hand towards the camp. “Should we get back?”
“Yes, of course.”
She set off towards the camp as he fell into step beside her. Peggy tried to scold herself into composure. It was absurd to feel so flustered and let-down just because they had been so close and she had wanted to kiss him–besides, to be honest, the wish to kiss him was not new–and she was sure that he had to have known that she wanted to kiss him before he had been the one to pull back. Rationally, she even knew that he was right to do so. Standing there, in view of the camp even if they weren’t in the middle of it, was not the place and this was not the time for their first kiss. There were rules against fraternization for a reason and, she reminded herself, she did need to be careful.
His tent was on the way to hers but she wasn’t at all surprised when he ignored it and simply stayed at her side until they reached her own tent. “Have a good night, or well, morning, I suppose,” he offered with a small smile.
She returned his smile. “Yes, you too.” She half-expected him to turn away but he didn’t and she realized with a little flicker of warmth that he intended to wait until she was safely inside her tent before he left because of course he did. This dear, good man. “Steve?”
“Yeah?”
She had no idea what she meant to say. She had only wanted to somehow prolong the moment, didn’t want to leave him. “Tonight was nice. Thanks for… keeping me company.” (Oh blast, could she sound any more inane? Love seemed to be turning her into a ninny.)
“My pleasure.” His lips quirked before he added, “Even if you did fall asleep on me.”
She huffed a laugh, her silly heart flipping at his teasing. “I guess you need to try harder to keep me amused.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he returned dryly but then smiled.
He was so beautiful when he smiled and this time, she couldn’t help it, gave in to impulse and lifted a hand to do what she had wanted to do more times than she cared to remember and never dared before, brushing the errant lock of hair back away from his forehead. He had frozen in place from the moment her hand had lifted, his eyes locked on hers and it seemed as if he was holding his breath as her fingers pushed back that lock of hair–his hair was as soft as it looked–and then brushed her fingertips lightly against his cheek. His eyes momentarily fluttered closed at the touch.
She pulled her hand back, color creeping into her cheeks. “Good night, Steve,” she managed, aware that her voice sounded breathless even to her own ears.
She slipped inside her tent with his quiet “Good night” lingering in her ears. She waited just inside her tent until she heard the soft sound of his footsteps retreating and then returned to her bed roll.
Mabel was still sleeping, still snoring, although it seemed quieter than before. Or maybe that was simply because Peggy, in her current state, was not inclined to feel irritated over much of anything.
Peggy slid back inside her bed roll, turning onto her side, and closed her eyes, feeling her lips curve. She was in love with Captain America–no, that wasn’t right. It wasn’t untrue, of course, but it still sounded wrong. She was in love with Steve , not Captain America, the man he had always been even before Dr. Erskine’s serum–although she couldn’t deny that her desire for his improved body was almost as powerful and persistent as her love for him.
She could only wonder at herself for not having realized it before. She should have known, really. Because it seemed to her now that she had loved him for months, almost since the first moment she’d met him. Since the moment she’d seen him throw himself on top of that grenade. Or since their drive to the Project Rebirth site when he’d admitted that he was waiting for the right partner. She should have realized it when she’d seen him returning with the members of the 107th he had rescued from the base at Krausberg. She should have known she loved him from the rush of emotion she’d felt then, the tidal wave of relief and joy that had momentarily closed her throat and she had needed to tease him by saying, “you’re late,” to pretend that she hadn’t been worried over him and hadn’t been grieving over the thought that he was gone. Haunted by the thought that she might have sent a good man to his death because she had believed in him–haunted but always knowing that she couldn’t have done anything else when he’d been so determined to go. And she definitely should have realized it when he had returned her tease with his own quip, “couldn’t call my ride,” without so much as batting an eyelash and she’d realized that he understood and appreciated her humor too.
Yes, she should have known but she hadn’t thought, hadn’t expected it at all. She’d put all thoughts of romance or love aside since the moment she had broken off her engagement and decided to join the SOE, as Michael had wanted her to do. And at the time, she had been so certain that she would never find a real love either since she hadn’t loved Fred and if she couldn’t love someone like Fred, who was handsome and decent and kind and trustworthy, then how could she expect to find someone better who she would really love with all her heart? She’d believed at the time that the affection she had felt for Fred was as close to love as she would ever get and she’d given that up because, after all, Michael had been right and that kind of affection and the normal, domestic life she had expected to have with Fred was not enough for her.
She’d never expected to meet anyone like Steve. Well, of course she hadn’t because how could she have expected someone like Steve? She was quite sure that Steve wasn’t like anyone else on earth and not because of any serum either.
She suddenly thought about Michael, wondered what he would have said. Michael would have liked Steve, she knew, although he would have teased her about falling for a Yankee and one who was known by such ridiculous titles as the Sentinel of Liberty or America’s New Hope or even Captain America. And found herself thinking, you were right, Michael, I didn’t really love Fred. I know that for sure because I’m definitely in love now and all I had to do was go to war to find him.
She heard Michael’s well-remembered voice in her mind. I told you so, Peg. Now take care of yourself and be happy with your Steve.
It was later, as she was starting to doze again, that she belatedly remembered that she had felt something brush against her hair as she had awoken and guessed, realized, that Steve must have brushed a kiss to her hair. That must be why his head had been bent so their faces had been so close together when she had woken up. He had kissed her hair. She smiled to herself and drifted into sleep.
Three days later, Peggy entered her tent to prepare for bed only to find a couple sheets of paper tucked between her pillow and her bed roll. She smiled, warmth flaring in her chest. She and Steve hadn’t had the opportunity to talk in private since that night, had only exchanged a few smiles, a few meaningless words because they’d always been surrounded by others. She had even begun to wonder if Steve might have forgotten that he’d agreed to draw something for her. She wouldn’t have blamed him if he had because it had been a silly thing to request and they were in the middle of a war and Steve, of all people, had more reason than most to be preoccupied to the exclusion of all else considering that he was going to be leaving the very next morning for his next mission.
Except he hadn’t forgotten after all.
She settled onto her bed roll and unfolded the sheets of paper and found herself smiling and then laughing out loud. Because he had drawn her a bear, not some cute teddy bear, but an honest-to-goodness bear with its mouth open in a growl and underneath it, he had written, ‘Fierce.’ It occurred to her that now, she would never be able to see the stars or Ursa Major and Ursa Minor without thinking of Steve too, not only of Michael. And maybe that was fitting, that the ever-constant stars would now always remind her of the two men she loved the most.
But that wasn’t all. Steve had also drawn a picture of her, sighting down the barrel of a rifle and firing it at the backs of a few fleeing Hydra operatives, identified by the symbol of Hydra that he had sketched on their backs. In the picture, she looked beautiful, strong, formidable. And underneath that, he had written the caption, ‘Hero.’ She felt her heart go soft inside her. Because this was how he saw her, someone who was a fighter, fierce and heroic. He saw her as what she aspired to be.
Peggy carefully tucked the drawings into her bag, slipping them into a notebook to keep the precious sheets of paper safe. These drawings were the only things Steve had ever given her until then, the first gift from the man she loved.
She had to wait a couple hours until the camp had quieted down as everyone went to bed and then for good measure, she waited another hour or so after she heard the last footsteps outside of people returning to their tents to try to make sure that everyone had fallen asleep. On the other side of her tent, she could hear Mabel’s even breathing, not snoring tonight, at least not yet.
Peggy quietly shrugged on her uniform jacket and crept out of her tent, making her way carefully through the camp to Steve’s tent. Steve, in a sign of his status as the commanding officer of the 107th, notwithstanding the presence of Colonel Phillips, had a tent of his own, unlike all the other men with the exception of Colonel Phillips himself. She just hoped that he wouldn’t be asleep but he had said that he didn’t need as much sleep these days so…
She crept up to the door flap of his tent. “Steve?” she whispered. As long as he wasn’t asleep, she trusted his enhanced senses would hear her.
And he did. Barely a second passed before the flap of his tent was pushed aside and Steve emerged, frowning slightly.
“Peggy? Is something wrong?” he asked equally quietly.
“No,” she hurriedly shook her head. She hadn’t thought, realized, that he might be worried over her seeking him out at night. “I just wanted to thank you for the drawings.”
“Oh.” He looked down, shrugging a little, and her heart squeezed again because he was just so adorable when he looked so self-conscious. “Well, I did promise, didn’t I?”
She smiled at him. “I love them. And I was right. You do have talent.”
He flushed and gave her one of those endearing looks from under his lashes, the one that made him look so much like the Steve he’d been before Project Rebirth that she felt an absurd little pang. She had the sudden, crazy thought that she rather missed the old Steve, in spite of everything, in spite of how much good Captain America had done for the war effort. It was a silly thought but the old Steve felt… like a secret, a sort of hidden treasure, one that she was one of the few people to know about and value. Probably because, in a way, that was true because aside from Colonel Phillips and, of course, Bucky Barnes, no one else in the camp had ever known the old Steve. “You think so?”
“I’m no expert on art, as you know, but even I can recognize talent. It’s easy to recognize something I know I completely lack myself,” she quipped.
His lips curved. “Considering how good you are at everything else, it seems only fair that you not be able to draw. Helps to even things out so you’re more like the rest of us mere mortals.”
She raised her eyebrows at him. “Thus speaks the man with super-human strength and abilities.”
He flushed again and shrugged. “That’s only because of Dr. Erskine and Stark. Anything I can do isn’t really about me at all.”
“Except for your art,” she inserted.
He brightened. “Except for my art.” Her heart squeezed in her chest. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him look so pleased and, well, proud. Whenever he was praised as a hero, he tended to blush and make some demurral or change the subject. But now, when she complimented his art, while he still colored, he also looked pleased because his art was something that was entirely his, had nothing to do with the serum or with being Captain America.
They both turned as they heard a sound, a twig cracking under a foot, and turned to see one of the Commandos, Wexler, stepping out of his tent and move off toward the mess tent, probably to try to cadge a drink or some crackers or something. He didn’t turn to see them but just the sight served as a reminder that they were in the middle of camp and should probably not be seen together at this hour of the night.
“I’ll walk you back to your tent.”
She wasn’t surprised but she raised her eyebrows at him. “You don’t need to. My tent is right over there and I’m perfectly capable of walking the 20 or so yards on my own.”
“I’ll walk you back to your tent,” Steve repeated without otherwise responding to her words.
“You’re a lot more stubborn than you look, aren’t you?” she teased mildly as she gave in to the inevitable and just turned to head back towards her tent. She’d never really expected that he would allow her to walk back to her tent alone, never mind that he could have watched every step she needed to take to return to her tent. He was just not the type of man to leave her or any woman to walk unescorted at night. And she didn’t mind his protectiveness because with him, it wasn’t patronizing and it wasn’t as if she minded spending just a little more time with him. (She suddenly wondered about all the girls, women, he’d met before, the ones who had, apparently, overlooked him entirely as “a guy they might step on,” never realizing how smart and kind and funny he was. Well, their foolishness was their loss and her gain. Peggy had been called many things in her life but foolish was not one of them.)
His lips quirked as he shrugged. “What can I say, it’s a flaw.”
She suppressed a snort. His stubbornness had served him well, had allowed him to endure his sickly childhood, had fueled his determination to get through boot camp training in spite of all his physical difficulties. “Well, nobody’s perfect,” she joked.
He laughed softly and she smiled and it occurred to her that this refrain had already become a private running joke between them. And thought that she loved this too, the way he could meet and match her humor. (Fred hadn’t understood her humor and after a while, she had learned to temper her tendency to dry humor in an attempt to match Fred. Strange that it hadn’t occurred to her at the time how… suffocating it would have been to have to suppress so many parts of herself in order to be the sort of woman Fred was more comfortable with, the sort of lady her mother had always been urging her to be.) She could just be herself with Steve and he seemed to like her all the better for it.
Without her consciously deciding any such thing, her steps were slow, dawdling even. She was in no hurry for this brief interlude with Steve to end. They always had so little time to talk when it was just the two of them and needed to be so wary of starting rumors, not an easy thing considering the nature of gossip in an Army camp and the amount of attention Steve generally garnered by virtue of who he was. And spending time with Steve was so precious. She couldn’t think of another person whose company she enjoyed more. And it was another pleasant night so no, she was in no rush whatsoever to reach her tent, could wish her tent was miles away.
“A nickel for your thoughts.”
She slanted a smile at him. “Isn’t that supposed to be a penny for your thoughts?”
His lips quirked. “Knowing you, I’m sure your thoughts are worth far more than just a penny but I’m only a simple soldier, not some millionaire like Stark, so a nickel it is.”
She huffed a laugh. “I hate to say it but you might have just wasted a nickel. I was only thinking that it’s another nice night.” Well, sort of, since she could hardly admit to him that she’d been wishing they had an hour or two or more to spend together.
“It is, although not as conducive to star-gazing,” he added with a faint smile, looking up at the mostly cloudy sky.
“No, but you should have a nice day for your mission tomorrow. Are you ready for it?”
“I’m always ready for a mission. Haven’t you heard, I’m the Star-Spangled Man with a Plan?” he quipped.
She laughed. “‘Who’ll hang a noose on the goose-stepping goons from Berlin?’” she quoted from Captain America’s theme song.
He grimaced. “God, those absurd lyrics.”
“It’s quite a catchy tune,” she observed with mock seriousness. “And you were quite the performer. If you ever miss your days on the USO tour, I’m sure they’ll welcome you back with open arms. I hear that the USO is struggling to fill seats for their shows now that the main attraction of Captain America is no longer available.”
He gave an exaggerated shudder. “No, thank you.” He threw her a small, teasing look. “Are you hoping to get rid of me?”
“You’ve proven to be rather useful for the war effort so I think I can put up with you for a little while longer,” she joked.
He huffed a laugh. “Thank you,” he said dryly. There was a brief silence and then he went on more soberly, “I suppose you’ll spend the day tomorrow decoding the latest transmissions from Hydra?”
It was her turn to make a face. “Yes, most likely. I imagine it’ll be another terribly exciting day hunched over a notebook for me.” She might understand the importance but she did chafe at how often she was tasked with things like decoding transmissions rather than going on active missions along with the Commandos. She’d joined the SSR to be out in the field; if she would have been satisfied to do nothing but break codes, she could have stayed with the SOE at Bletchley.
“We need to know where Hydra is headed next and you’re the best code-breaker we have. Any idiot can rush in guns blazing or throw a shield around but without the intelligence from the transmissions, we wouldn’t know where to go.”
She felt warmth coil around her heart at his quick defense of the importance of what she did. His acknowledgment was precious, meant something, not because she hadn’t already known it herself but because it was so rare for a man to acknowledge that a woman might play an important role.
They had arrived back at her tent. Peggy suppressed a sigh and sternly bit back her sudden, ridiculous impulse to ask if they could just keep walking.
“Thank you,” she told him softly and then added after a moment, “Be careful tomorrow.” She wasn’t worried, per se; she knew he had accelerated healing abilities, to say nothing of his enhanced speed, strength, and endurance, but this was still war and he wasn’t invulnerable.
He gave her a faint smile. “I’m always careful.”
She snorted. “Says the man who threw himself on top of a grenade.”
He grimaced a little. “Okay, so maybe I’m not that careful.”
No, he wasn’t. He might not be reckless, exactly, but Steve had more courage than anyone she’d ever met.
“I’ll have my shield and Bucky will watch my back.”
She managed a smile. “Yes, and you and the 107th have become quite a formidable team.”
“The 107th was a force long before I came along,” he shrugged.
As modest as always. She smiled for real and he returned the smile and she thought not for the first time that he was almost absurdly handsome when he smiled. (Had there ever been such a beautiful man?)
There was another silence, this one that lasted long enough to become just a touch awkward because they were after all standing outside of her tent when she really should be going in.
“Well,” he finally said, “good night, Peggy.”
“Good night, Steve.” Their eyes met and held, again, and her breath stuttered in her chest as almost mesmeric attraction arced between them. “Thank you again for the drawings,” she found herself saying, rather inanely.
“You’re very welcome.” His lips curved faintly. Her eyes focused on his mouth and this time, she obeyed her sudden compulsion and stepped forward closer to him, as his eyes flared, and then she went up on her toes and brushed her lips against his cheek, aware of the way his breath caught.
She drew back, flushing a little, but gave him a small smile. “Good night,” she said again and then forced herself to turn and retreat into her tent.
She slid into her bedroll, a smile curving her lips and warmth kindling in her chest. She felt… absurdly girlish, even giddy, and tried without much success to tamp down on the ridiculous emotions. She’d never felt like this before. But then again, she’d never been in love before either. She was in love now. Steve was the love of her life, she was absolutely certain of that. And while he hadn’t (yet) said anything, she was sure, knew it with every feminine instinct she had, that he loved her too.
~The End~