Chapter Text
Bernard the flamingo was staring at him again.
Steve paused halfway down the stairs of Howard Stark’s ostentatious Los Angeles home, Howard called it a “residence”; Steve called it a mansion, and made eye contact with the bright pink flamingo currently standing in the foyer for no reason other than “he likes the acoustics in here.” Howard said that with a straight face. Howard could say anything with a straight face when he was proud of himself.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Steve muttered, trying to sidestep Bernard’s accusing gaze. “I’m not doing anything wrong.”
Bernard, beak gleaming, absolutely judged him anyway.
Steve sighed. “I know it’s date night. I’m going.”
Bernard said nothing, as flamingos generally do, but the silence felt pointed.
a few hours earlier
Peggy answered her desk phone at the SSR like she was picking up a live grenade.
“Carter,” she said crisply, posture perfect, voice clipped, completely not-betraying that her heart always did a soft, embarrassing swoop whenever a certain miraculously alive, very secret boyfriend called her during work hours.
On the other end, Steve pitched his voice lower, softer, the tone he used only for her. “Hey, sweetheart.”
Peggy nearly flung the receiver across the office.
“Can’t use that word,” she hissed under her breath, eyes darting to where Sousa was rummaging through case files and where Rose was typing with the competence of ten very caffeinated women. “I am at work.”
“I know,” Steve said, far too amused. “I can hear you glaring.”
“I am not glaring.”
“You’re definitely glaring.”
Peggy smiled despite herself, shoulders loosening. “What do you need?”
“Well,” Steve said, drawling just a little, “I was thinking I could take the most remarkable woman I know to dinner tonight. Somewhere with food that isn’t from Howard’s fridge.”
Peggy pinched the bridge of her nose. “I told him to label that jar.”
“I know. He told you he would,” Steve said. “And then he stuck a pink note on it that said ‘danger?’ with a question mark.”
“That man should not be allowed near chemicals.” She leaned closer to the receiver. “Where?”
“Santorini’s. Eight o’clock.”
Her heart fluttered. He always picked places with dim lights and dance floors, the one indulgence they allowed themselves in public. “Eight,” she murmured. “I’ll be there.”
“I’ll have the blue dress smuggled to you so you can work late if you need to,” he said quietly, the warmth in his voice enough to turn her spine into something unreliable. “You look beautiful in it.”
Peggy forced a professional tone, even as she blushed. “Rog— I swear—“
“See you tonight,” he said, smug that he had her flustered enough to almost let his name slip out at work.
She hung up before she could accidentally call him darling.
several hours later
Steve arrived at their spot ten minutes early because he was built from old-fashioned duty and pathological punctuality.
He’d worn a suit, not Stark-flashy, just clean and dark and a little sharp around the shoulders. He didn’t look like Captain America tonight. He looked like someone who wanted to hold Peggy Carter’s hand under a restaurant table.
Eight o’clock passed.
Then eight fifteen.
Then eight thirty.
Peggy was never late unless something had gone truly wrong.
His stomach twisted. He tossed cash on the table and stepped into the street.
“Please just be a lead,” he murmured to himself as he jogged toward the distant parking lot. “Please just be work. Please don’t be—“
A metallic thud cut into his thoughts.
Steve froze.
There, in an alleyway, was Peggy Carter, his Peggy, in her blue dress, hair that was perfectly curled now mussed, lipstick immaculate, expression murderous, knee planted on Rufus Hunt’s chest as she yanked him up by the lapels and slammed him back into the pavement with efficiency born from experience.
Hunt groaned. Peggy didn’t.
Steve’s jaw dropped. “Peg?”
She looked over her shoulder, only slightly out of breath. “Darling. You’re early.”
“It’s— it’s eight thirty.”
“Oh.” She blinked, then punched Rufus Hunt across the jaw with the air of someone turning off a lamp. “Well, he was following me from the office. Tried to drag me in here. That was rude.”
Hunt slumped motionless.
Peggy stood, smoothing her dress, only a touch disheveled, cheeks flushed and eyes bright and absolutely, devastatingly stunning.
Steve’s brain short-circuited.
“I’m ready for dinner now,” she said, brushing her hands together.
Steve stepped toward her, voice hoarse. “I have never been more attracted to you in my life.”
Peggy’s lips curled. “Is that so?”
“Peggy,” he whispered, grabbing her waist like he was afraid she’d vanish, “you took out Rufus Hunt in heels.”
“It was barely an inconvenience.”
“I want to kiss you breathless.”
Her smile was slow and victorious. “Then you’d better walk me to the car.”
thirty minutes later
They arrived at Santorini’s an hour late and entirely unapologetic.
Peggy’s hand stayed in his under the table. Steve kept brushing his thumb along her palm and finding excuses to touch her. At one point, she leaned in to murmur a joke about Howard’s last disastrous gala and Steve nearly choked on his drink.
They danced, closely, quietly, like two people dancing together for the last time. She rested her cheek against his shoulder. He pressed a kiss to her temple under the soft temple lights.
The band played something slow. Peggy swayed against him, and Steve closed his eyes, memorizing the moment like he always did.
Later, when she kissed him outside the car, he kissed back with all the relief he’d swallowed earlier.
the bernard situation
They crept into the Stark residence near midnight, whispering and laughing, shoes in hand, trying to be silent.
A terrible idea, because Howard Stark lived here.
They tiptoed through the hallway…
…and froze at the unmistakable silhouette of Bernard the flamingo standing in the middle of the carpet like an avian sentinel.
Peggy narrowed her eyes. “Why is he inside?”
“I don’t know,” Steve whispered. “I think he’s here to intimidate us.”
“Steve,” she whispered, “he’s a lawn ornament.”
“Howard treats him like a security guard.”
Peggy approached with caution.
Bernard, squawking loudly, remained blocking the path.
“SHHH!” Peggy hissed. “Do NOT wake Howard, or I’ll—“
“Peg, I think you’re louder than him…” he interrupted gently. She glared.
Footsteps echoed. Edwin Jarvis appeared in his robe, holding a cup of tea, looking like a man who had been waiting up on purpose.
“Oh good,” Jarvis said brightly. “You’re home. Mr. Stark was concerned you were, how did he put it, ‘sneaking around to canoodle.’”
Peggy’s face went scarlet. “We were on a date, Mr. Jarvis.”
Ana peeked around the corner with a grin far too delighted. “A very late date.”
“We lost track of time,” Steve said quickly, his face somehow redder.
“With your lips?” Ana teased.
Peggy covered her face with both hands. “Bernard is judging us. Mr. Jarvis is judging us. Ana is judging us. I cannot live like this.”
“Oh nonsense,” Ana said, walking over to kiss Peggy on the cheek. “We’re thrilled for you.”
Steve squeezed Peggy’s hand. “It was worth it.”
She lowered her hands, eyes softening when she looked at him. “Yes,” she whispered. “It was.”
Bernard squawked accusingly.
Howard, somewhere upstairs, shouted, “IF YOU HURT BERNARD YOU’RE PAYING FOR HIS SURGERY!”
Peggy groaned into Steve’s shoulder. Steve laughed.
And they slipped upstairs together, hand in hand, hearts light, knowing they’d face tomorrow’s chaos the same way they faced everything; side by side, secretly and stubbornly in love.