Chapter Text
The diluted morning light was beginning to seep around the edges of the blackout shades, sending a beam of dull light onto the bed. Peggy shifted, the light causing her to roll over in the bed to avoid its glare. She reached out, expecting to find another body; what she found was an empty space.
Cracking her eyes open, she saw Steve slipping his shoes on, his back to her. “You know, it’s bad form to sneak out of a woman’s flat without so much as a goodbye.”
Steve turned, a sheepish smile on his face. “I was going to leave a note in case you woke up before I got back.” He leaned over and kissed her slowly. “I was going to try to find a cup of coffee and maybe something to eat.”
“Our first night together and you’re sneaking out at first light?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at him. “Are you aiming to make it our only night?”
“I’m sorry.” He kissed her again. “I thought I could be out and back before you woke up. I fully intend to come back and spend the morning with you. And the afternoon. And possibly another night, if you will let me.”
“Hm, that will depend on what you bring me back.”
“I’ll see what I can find. Go back to sleep, I’ll be back before you know it.”
It was rare they got more than 12 hours together, but they’d managed to find a way to schedule almost 24 hours every week; with some judicious bribery to several secretaries and two bottles of Howard’s finest bourbon to an easily-persuaded major, Steve and Peggy were never scheduled to work Saturday nights or Sundays. They would meet somewhere for dinner, then go back to the little flat she kept. It wasn’t much, but it was private and had a big bed and its own facilities.
They had been together for a couple months, making time away from the prying eyes of the Howlies and Colonel Phillips and Howard Stark; lying in bed, sleepy and sated, talking of a future that seemed so far away. As the weeks wore on they fell into an easy routine, no longer shy, intimately familiar with each other; they learned to speak their needs and wants, learned to navigate each other’s bodies and moods and quirks, learned how to exist together in a space rather than existing in a space together.
Three months into their new relationship, there was just one thing Peggy had yet to understand: every Sunday morning they were in London, Steve left and returned exactly 75 minutes later with a newspaper, a coffee, and sometimes food. She wanted to ask where he went, but also had a feeling he was keeping it to himself for some reason that he wasn’t willing to share quite yet.
It was a mystery. And Peggy could not resist a good mystery.
She waited until she heard Steve’s step on the stairs and hopped out of bed, dressing quickly while peering out the window to watch the direction Steve went. She grabbed a hat and her handbag and headed out, making sure to keep Steve in sight while maintaining a safe distance.
She followed him for several blocks, making sure she was keeping track of where she was going. It wasn’t until she heard the ringing of church bells that she suddenly knew where he was going with stunning clarity, and could have kicked herself. Sure enough, he walked up the stairs leading to the church and disappeared inside.
Peggy sighed. She really should have known. It was no secret that while they were out in the field that he would attend Sunday services; he’d go with Bucky and Dum Dum to wherever the chaplain had set up, when they were lucky enough to have one. It seemed that old habits died hard.
Peggy walked up the stairs and entered the vestibule of the Church, stopping short when she came upon a large replica of Michaelangelo’s Pieta surrounded by flickering candles. Suddenly she was very aware of her surroundings-the dim light of the vestibule, the smell of smoke and melted wax, the clack of shoes on the marble floor. An older man in a dark suit approached her. “You look lost, my dear. Been awhile?”
“I-yes, actually.” It wasn’t a complete lie, she hadn’t been to church since Michael died. The fact that she had never been to a Catholic service was beside the point.
“It’s like riding a bike, it’ll come back to ya.” He opened the door to the nave, and gestured for her to enter.
She stood a moment, listening to the hushed noises of the congregation; mothers tending to fussy young ones, teenagers elbowing each other for room, the low cadence of the recitation of prayers she was unfamiliar with. The melted wax smell was stronger here, combined with the smell of furniture polish and frankincense; it was comforting, familiar, although she couldn’t explain why.
She saw Steve seated halfway up the center aisle, the stained glass glinting off his blond hair. As quietly as possible, she slipped into the end of the last pew and looked around. Some things were familiar-the large marble baptismal font, the high altar. The abundance of statues was somewhat disconcerting, as was the enormous crucifix that hung above the altar.
A bell rang and the congregation stood, so she followed suit. She could barely hear the priest, let alone understand the rapid-fire Latin, so she simply did what everyone else did.
Having been raised Anglican, the service was not a complete mystery to her and Peggy knew enough to stay in her spot when it was time for communion. There were some prayers in English and then people began to file out, and she sat and waited.
She watched as surprise and then wry amusement flickered over Steve’s features, and slid over as he sat down next to her. “You know they say curiosity killed the cat,” he said, bumping his knee against hers.
“Good thing they’ve got nine lives then.”
He chuffed out a laugh. “You got me there.” Steve reached over and took her hand, lacing their fingers together. “I’m kind of surprised it took you this long.”
Peggy flushed. “I…I don’t mean to be nosy, or to invade your privacy.”
“You’re not. I just…I didn’t think we were there yet.” He looked over at her. “Come on, let’s go home and have this conversation with some breakfast.”
Hand in hand, they made their way out of the church and into the morning sunlight. They were halfway down the street when a voice called out Steve’s name.
“Thought you could sneak out without seeing me, did you?” A middle aged woman with fiery red hair and a thick brogue approached, giving him a stern look. “And here I was, saving these scones just for you.”
“I didn’t see you, honest.”
“Ah, sure you didn’t, too busy looking at this pretty lass on your arm.” She gave Peggy the once over, giving her a smile. “Maureen McNulty. You must be Steve’s girl.”
Steve stuttered a bit, but Peggy just squeezed his hand. “Peggy Carter.”
“You’re as pretty as Steve said,” the woman confided. “I was hoping to set him up with my youngest, but he said he had a girl-and the look on his face when he talks about you…Lord, it’s like the sun coming out on a cloudy day.” She turned to Steve, who was a lovely shade of pink, and spoke to him rapidly in what sounded like Irish Gaelic, which only made him blush more. “Ah Steven, you’re too good for this earth.” She opened her large bag and retrieved a foil-wrapped package. “Scones, made with the blueberries that grow in my garden. Make sure you share with your girl, and I’ll have more next time I see you.”
She bid them goodbye, and Peggy gave him a teasing look as they walked back to her flat. “Women just either throw themselves at you or want to take care of you, don’t they?”
“She reminds me of the ladies in the neighborhood, back home. They’d always look out for me, especially when my ma got sick.” He gave Peggy a wry smile. “I think she can see past all of this to the skinny kid who could use a good meal.”
“She isn’t the only one.” Steve stopped abruptly and pulled Peggy to him, letting go of her hand to hold it to her cheek, pressing his lips to hers. Instinctively she leaned into the kiss, and when she pulled back she smiled at him. “Come on, let’s go eat.”
Once back at Peggy’s flat, they sat at the tiny dining table and ate the scones with the tiny bit of butter she had managed to scrounge up with help from Howard.
“I didn’t mean to make it a secret,” Steve said. “I just…some people are funny about stuff like that. And I mean, I know you’re not Catholic…hell, I don’t even know if you believe in God.”
“God and I are not currently on speaking terms,” she replied quietly. “I haven’t been to church since my brother died. But yes, I do.”
“I stopped for a while, after my ma died. I was…angry.” Absently, Steve began fiddling with the butter knife. “But then, being here…I think I decided that I needed the comfort of it more than I needed to be angry. Because it is comforting, to me at least.”
“Reminds you of your mother?”
“Yeah, but also…the church, it was our community. Buck used to play basketball for the CYO, his ma and mine were in the altar guild, we were altar boys.” He laughed. “Buck always hated serving at funerals but I never minded because if you were lucky, the family would slip you a couple bucks and they usually fed you after. He preferred serving weddings, liked to see the girls in pretty dresses…we were sixteen and he got to second base with Patty O’Malley when she was a bridesmaid at her sister’s wedding. Father Sullivan stopped letting Buck serve at weddings after that.”
“It sounds nice, to have a community like that.”
“It is. I mean, it’s also a pain because if you got in trouble, everyone knew. They’d help you out, but you’d hear about it.”
Peggy stood and began clearing dishes off the table, leaving them in the sink and returning for their teacups. Steve grabbed her hand and pulled her so she was standing between his legs, and he looked up at her. “If you ever…want to join me…I mean you don’t have to, I’m just saying if some day you want to come with me, I’d…I’d like that.”
“I’ll consider it.” She leaned down and kissed him softly. “I do have one question.”
“What’s that?”
“What on earth did she say to you to make you blush so red?” Peggy smiled down at him. “I don’t think I have ever seen you turn that particular shade of red.” Steve laughed awkwardly, a flush creeping up his neck. “See! It must be something very naughty for you to flush like that.”
Steve shook his head, chuckling. “Do you really want to know?”
Peggy raised an eyebrow in response.
“She said…” he closed his eyes, as if that would prevent him from blushing, “She said it was nice to finally meet the reason I wouldn’t go to communion, and that I was foolish if I thought God would blame me for taking such a pretty girl to bed.”
Peggy laughed. “Oh, I like her.” She put her hands on Steve’s cheeks. “Look at me, darling.” Steve opened his eyes. “If what we do is-”
“Don’t you even finish that sentence.” Steve took her hands in his. “I know what the Church says, and I know enough to know that my loving you isn’t wrong and never could be. When we get married I’d like it to be in the Church, but if that’s not what you want I’ll do whatever you want as long as I get to call you mine.”
Peggy felt tears prick behind her eyes. “You are too good for this world, you know that?” She bent down and kissed him, long and slow. “Take me to bed.”
He didn’t need to be told twice.
Peggy cracked her eyes open, and immediately closed them. It was Sunday, the first Sunday she had spent alone in weeks, the first Sunday since Steve had crashed the Valkyrie.
She’d been good, keeping herself busy, keeping herself together. She hadn’t cried since the last time they spoke, refusing to let anyone know how badly she was hurting. Instead, she spent the time managing what was left of the SSR, planning missions for other strike teams, keeping Howard out of trouble.
She sighed and looked at her clock, despairing of having the whole day in front of her with nothing to occupy it. If Steve were here they’d have taken a long walk, maybe seen a picture, spent time in bed. Now, the thought of doing any of that without Steve just made the pit in her stomach grow.
Without thinking, she rose and got dressed in her uniform, shaking out her pincurls and applying her makeup as carefully as she had every other day. Making sure she had her keys, she left her flat and began walking as if in a trance.
The sound of the church bells snapped her out of it; with a start, she realized where she was and took a deep breath, as if steeling herself against some unseen enemy.
Mass had started, and Peggy slid into the same pew she had occupied that first time she’d followed Steve here. She didn’t stand or kneel; rather she sat there and let the Latin words flow around her, breathing in the now-familiar scents of incense and wax, and let herself feel the anguish, the despair, the grief she had been keeping inside.
Peggy was so deep into her grief that she didn’t notice Maureen McNulty until the woman was almost on top of her. She took one look at Peggy sitting there, tears drying on her face, and blessed herself before sitting down next to her.
“Is it…”
Peggy nodded. “Four days ago. I was there…on the radio with him when it happened.” Peggy turned to her. “You knew who he was, that he was…Captain America.”
“How could I not? But that wasn’t who he really was.” She took Peggy’s hand. “He was Steve, the sweet young man who helped clear the rubble when the bombs hit the school down the road, who helped the young widow with two kids find work. He was so much more than Captain America.”
“He was.” Peggy gave her a watery smile. “I feel like that’s been forgotten.”
“Not by anyone who knew him-the real him. Come on,” she said, taking Peggy’s hand. “You’ll come with me and have a cuppa and a scone and I’ll not take no for an answer.”
“Is this how you met Steve?” Peggy asked. “He looked sad and you took him home like a stray kitten and fed him?”
“No, not entirely. Come on, I’ll tell you over tea.”
Maureen’s little flat was cozy and warm, and smelled like cinnamon. She sat Peggy down on a worn, comfy sofa and disappeared into the kitchen, returning a few moments later with a tray of scones and a tiny bowl of jam.
“The jam is blackberry, my daughter Sinead made it yesterday and brought some over,” she said. “I’ve orange marmalade if you’d rather have that.”
“No, this looks lovely, thank you.” For the first time in days, Peggy managed to eat. It helped that the scones were perfectly made, the jam just sweet enough.
“You eat as much as you want while I get the tea.” Peggy helped herself to another scone and Maureen reappeared with two cups of tea. “Steve told me you take it with only milk. Couldn’t fathom it.”
Peggy smiled. “No, he took his with lemon. We agreed to disagree.” She took a sip and sighed. “So I take it you had Steve around for tea?”
“I did. This must have been oh, maybe a year or so ago? He showed up one day in his khakis and cut such a striking figure, let me tell you that little miss Caitriona Higgins practically threw herself at him, brazen hussy she is. But no, I was there with Bridie Fallon and her two little grandsons and they were a handful, playing soldiers. Steve saw one of them had a compass, and he crouches down and takes out his own and shows the boys how to read it and how he uses it in the field.” Maureen smiled at the memory. “And the boys became so taken with him, asking him all kinds of questions and he sat there patiently answering just about every one. There was only one he didn’t answer, and that was who the beauty in the photo was.”
Peggy felt tears well in her eyes.
“So to thank him Bridie and I insisted he come back and have some tea and take some food back to the base with him, and so while he was here we fed him up good and managed to get out of him that he was sweet on the girl in the photo, but he was too scared to say something. When you showed up a couple of months later, I was just pleased as punch.”
Peggy took a deep breath. “Steve was good with kids. Whenever we were in a village, he and Barnes would go out of their way to play ball with the kids, or give them sweets. There was one little girl, in this village just outside Rheims, he carried her around on his shoulders for days. She would have nobody but Steve until we found her parents.” She wiped her tears away with her hand. “She gave him this little stuffed cat…it’s in his foot locker. He named it Genevieve, after her.” The sobs Peggy had been fighting for days finally broke through, and she set her cup down and buried her face in her hands. “I lost him. I lost him. I let him go.”
Maureen wrapped her arms around Peggy and said nothing, rubbing soothing circles on Peggy’s back as she wept like a child. Peggy lost track of time, allowing herself to finally feel the anguish and grief she had been keeping at bay.
When Peggy’s crying slowed, Maureen handed her a handkerchief and brushed Peggy’s hair out of her face. “Feel better?”
Peggy’s laugh was watery. “I do, actually.”
“Good.” Maureen stood up and went over to a low credenza, opening a drawer and shuffling through it. She came back to the sofa and pressed something small into Peggy’s hand.
“I know you’re not Catholic, but maybe this will remind you that you’re not alone in your suffering.”
Peggy looked at the object; a small silver medallion depicting a woman, the words ‘Mater Dolorosa, ora pro nobis’ around the edge.
“Our Lady of Sorrows. She reminds us that even the mother of our Lord had sorrows to bear.” Maureen patted her hand. “When you feel sad, let it remind you that you’re not alone.”