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Peggy Carter had survived war zones, espionage, and the bureaucratic purgatory of the SSR. She had negotiated with men who underestimated her, stared down assassins who wanted her dead, and once calmly defused a bomb while wearing heels that pinched.
None of that prepared her for the specific, creeping dread that came from hearing Steve Rogers say, “I think tonight should be fun,” with that earnest little smile that meant he’d already been convinced to make a poor decision.
“Define ‘fun,’” Peggy said, arms crossed, watching as Steve carefully placed four mismatched glasses on her coffee table like he was arranging an altar.
Steve straightened. “Relaxing. Normal. You know. What people do when they’re not—“ he gestured vaguely “—being hunted by international criminal organizations.”
Bucky Barnes, already sprawled across Peggy’s armchair like he’d lived there his whole life, snorted. “That’s not how normal people talk, Stevie.”
Angie Martinelli, who had let herself in without knocking and immediately kicked off her shoes, leaned over Peggy’s shoulder. “Sweetheart, if Steve Rogers is suggesting fun, you should probably hide the breakables.”
Peggy didn’t disagree. She just sighed, long-suffering and resigned, and went to fetch another bottle because if this was happening, she was at least going to be adequately armed.
The thing about putting Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, and Angie Martinelli in one room was that they were all, in completely different ways, natural accelerants. Steve didn’t mean to cause trouble, but he had an unfortunate tendency to escalate situations by being sincerely willing to try anything once. Bucky caused trouble on purpose. Angie caused trouble by existing loudly and charmingly and asking the worst possible questions at the worst possible times.
Peggy, she told herself, was there to supervise.
This was a lie she would continue to tell herself for the next several hours.
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It started innocently enough.
That was always how it started.
They ate takeout straight from the cartons, Angie sitting cross-legged on the floor because “chairs are a suggestion, not a rule,” Bucky stealing food off Steve’s plate because “you don’t need it, you’re enormous,” and Steve apologizing automatically every time Peggy’s knee brushed his, which was often because Angie kept shifting closer and closer to the sofa.
“So,” Angie said eventually, licking sauce off her thumb and grinning at Peggy, “how long have you two been pretending you don’t look at each other like that?”
Steve choked. Peggy didn’t even blink.
“Like what?” Peggy asked smoothly.
Angie widened her eyes theatrically. “Oh my gosh, you are pretending.”
Bucky leaned forward, interest piqued. “Wait, is this a thing? Because I’ve been gone a long time, but I’m pretty sure this is a thing.”
Steve went red. “We’re just—“
Peggy cut in, calm and sharp. “Eating dinner.”
Angie laughed, delighted. “Peggy, honey, you interrogate suspects for a living. Don’t insult me like this.”
Steve glanced at Peggy, then away, then back again, as if hoping she might save him and knowing full well she wouldn’t. She met his eyes, something fond and dangerous flickering there.
“Well,” Peggy said, “if we’re airing observations, Angie, you and Barnes have been circling each other all evening like you’re about to either kiss or commit arson.”
Bucky grinned. “Why not both?”
Angie clutched her chest. “A man after my own heart.”
Steve rubbed his face. “This is not a normal conversation.”
Peggy smirked. “You suggested fun, darling.”
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The record player came out next, because Angie had spotted it and gasped like Peggy had revealed a hidden treasure. She insisted on picking the record, despite Peggy’s warning that she had very specific tastes, and promptly chose something upbeat and far too loud for an apartment that had neighbors.
Bucky was the first to start dancing, badly and with great enthusiasm, dragging Angie up with him. Angie, to her credit, committed fully, spinning and laughing and adding flourishes that made Bucky whoop in appreciation.
Steve hovered at the edge of the rug, hands tucked awkwardly into his pockets, watching like he was at a performance rather than a spontaneous living room riot.
Peggy noticed. Of course she did.
“Oh, don’t tell me you’re shy,” she said, arching an eyebrow.
Steve shifted. “I’m not shy, I just—“
She stood and held out her hand. “Captain Rogers. Dance with me.”
Bucky made an exaggerated gagging noise. Angie applauded.
Steve stared at Peggy’s hand as if it might explode. Slowly, carefully, he took it.
Peggy pulled him closer than strictly necessary, one hand firm at his shoulder, the other laced with his. “You do realize,” she murmured, “that if you step on my foot, I will hold it against you.”
Steve swallowed. “I’ll try not to.”
He was stiff at first, all too careful movements and apologies whispered under his breath. Peggy led, confidently and deliberately, nudging him into the rhythm, her voice low and teasing.
“Relax,” she said. “You’re not defusing a bomb.”
Steve huffed a quiet laugh. “Feels just as dangerous.”
They moved together more easily after that, something natural settling in. Peggy caught Angie watching them with a knowing smile, and Bucky was smirking as he’d just won a bet he hadn’t told anyone about.
The music swelled. Peggy spun Steve, just because she could. He laughed, actually laughed, bright and unguarded.
That, it turned out, was her mistake.
Because Steve Rogers, once he relaxed, was apparently a menace.
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“Peggy,” Steve said later, eyes bright and mischeivous is a way that made her deeply suspicious, “have you ever tried—“
“No.”
“You didn’t let me finish.”
“I don’t need to.”
Bucky perked up. “Oh, now I do need to hear this.”
Steve glanced between them. “What if we rearranged the furniture?”
Peggy stared. “Why.”
Steve gestured broadly. “For… space?”
Angie squinted. “You want to build a fort, don’t you?”
Steve hesitated. “It could be fun.”
Peggy laughed, sharp and incredulous. “Absolutely not.”
Bucky was already on his feet. “Too late. I’m in.”
Angie clapped again. “Oh my gosh, yes. I always wanted to build a fort with a war hero.”
Peggy opened her mouth to protest, to assert control, to remind them this was her apartment—
—and then Steve looked at her, hopeful and boyish and infuriatingly charming.
“…Peggy,” he said softly.
She cursed under her breath. “Fine. But if anything breaks, Barnes, I will shoot you.”
“Worth it,” Bucky said cheerfully.
They dragged chairs and blankets and cushions into a sprawling, ridiculous structure that defied both physics and reason. Steve held things steady with super-soldier patience, Angie directed like a theatrical mastermind, and Bucky provided commentary and unnecessary flourishes.
Peggy found herself laughing more than she had in weeks, sleeves rolled up, hair coming loose, fully complicit.
At some point, Steve bumped into her, their foreheads nearly colliding. They froze, breath close, the world narrowed to the space between them.
“This is ridiculous,” Peggy murmured.
Steve smiled. “Yeah.”
Neither of them moved away.
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They ended the night sprawled inside the fort, lights dimmed, the record crackling softly. Angie lay with her head on Bucky’s shoulder, mid-story and mid-gesture, while Bucky listened with surprising attentiveness. Steve sat beside Peggy, knees touching, their hands brushing often enough to feel intentional.
“You know,” Angie said sleepily, “if we all survive whatever nonsense tomorrow brings, we should do this again.”
Bucky snorted. “Speak for yourself. I’m never letting Rogers near my structural engineering plans again.”
Steve opened his mouth to argue, then caught Peggy’s eye and grinned. “Okay, maybe just once more.”
Peggy leaned back, the weight of the day finally settling into something warm instead of heavy. She looked around at them, this strange, imperfect, loud little group, and felt something like peace.
“Next time,” she said, “we’re playing cards.”
Angie smiled. “Peggy Carter. Liar.”
Peggy smiled back.