"Don't Be Late"

Peggy Carter

Saturday, 1945

The Stork Club

8PM

Steve didn't have the chance to change what he was wearing; back in 1945, the world was both celebrating the win over HYDRA, and the Nazi German forces. The world was starting to go back to the way it was, it was already beginning its healing process. It always bounced back, but war was always just around the corner. War did not end with the death of one person, war ended with changing the systems, changing the narrative. But this Steve was not here for that.

If Steve learned anything in his life, it was that confrontation was never over-he knew all sorts of things should be running through his head, the fact he knew where he could find himself, this other timeline version of himself, not that they would have the technology to remove the ship from the ice. He knew that Arnim Zola was going to infiltrate SHIELD with HYDRA, but Steve was no longer responsible for that.

All he could think of was that he was there; he had no idea if Peggy would be within -why would she? She believed he was dead and gone, like the rest of the world. Along with peace banners of celebration, there were signs of mourning of Steve, of Captain America.

This was how Tony Stark was commemorated as well. It brought a small smile to Steve's lips.

Steve wasn't able to change, he wasn't able to find something that fit better in the decade he was back in, because his face was too recognizable now. Even though he had aged somewhat, Steve was different, he was older, he had seen horrors, he was a different man.

He just hoped he could be the right one for Peggy -the thought of explaining all this to her and knowing she may tell him to go home was terrifying. But at least he would have a few things to return home to. Bucky. Sam. Ophelia. A world in which, for a time, was at peace.

Taking a deep breath, wiping non-existent dust off from the front of his shirt, Steve crossed the road to the Stork Club, where the music was pumping through the open front door. He forgot how much they could party back in 1945. His hands were developing a sheen of sweat, a nervousness only one woman made him feel.

Margaret "Peggy" Carter, the first person Steve wanted to dance with.

The right partner.

He got in with only mild looks of confusion -people wanted to recognize him as Captain America, but everyone knew he was dead. No, he was simply someone who looked similar. He couldn't possibly be Captain America. They were searching, hopeful that they would find him alive, but the rational side of their minds told them that the man who walked into the club was not their hero.

Once inside, the place was dim, and yet it was full of life. There were couples out on the dancefloor, dresses of all colours twirling, pantyhose-clad legs on full display. The clack of the high heels and the stomp of the men's shoes brought Steve back to another time. He had to remind himself that he was in this time. This was the time he was supposed to live in, this was where he was supposed to be.

He searched desperately for her, doubt creeping into his mind now. There was no reason for her to be here, she simply said it to distract Steve when he was diving a plane full of explosives into the ocean – to make his supposed death less painful, less terrifying.

Then he saw her, and he swore his heart paused for a moment. She was wearing black, a dress that hugged her and yet was modest. Her hair was done simply, the same way she always did it. Cut short, perfect waves that looked like they had been sculpted. Her lips were red, as always, she looked exactly how he remembered.

He felt his knees go weak, half of him told him to turn around and run. He shouldn't be here. He wasn't the Steve that she knew. He was a different one. And yet, he was the same Steve. He still had those experiences with her, he still shared the affection for her – just because there was another Steve Rogers in this timeline, did that make him different from himself? It was so confusing; he was going to leave it up to Peggy to decide.

He walked up to her with a false sense of confidence; his hands were shaking, his brow was sweating.

"Sorry I'm late," he said.

Her body went rigid at first; she knew the voice, she knew whom it belonged to. Slowly turning, Peggy saw Steve. Her eyes squinted ever so slightly as she tried to grasp what was happening. She knew he looked slightly different, she wondered if she was going crazy.

"Steve?" Her voice was barely a whisper over the swing music.

"I can explain everything, but first, can I have this dance?" he asked. He just wanted that much, before he told her, before he explained everything and left it in her hands to make the decision for how to go forward.

She rose from her stool, feet unsure as though she was just learning how to walk in high heels. Her hand was in his as they stepped out into the dance floor, sliding between other bodies, other dancers who were unaware of what was going on before them. They danced their hearts out, while Steve held Peggy, slowly swaying back and forth. His hand was on the dip of her back, the other clammy hand holding hers.

"Steve, I don't understand, how are you here?" She was crying.

Steve bit the inside of his cheek, holding back seventy years of emotion. After all, he had been there at Peggy's own funeral. Now he had defied the rules of time and gone back for his second chance to be with her. It was selfish, but he hoped, maybe, that Peggy would choose to be selfish with him.

By the time the song changed, Peggy needed answers. Steve had gotten his dance, if she turned him away now, he would accept it.

"Can we talk outside?" he asked. She nodded, and the two of them stepped out into the brisk nighttime air.

It was brighter outside under the streetlamps, glowing orange in the dark night. Peggy got a better look at Steve, reaching her hand up as though to touch him, but withdrawing. "You're not the same Steve..."

"No, not exactly," Steve began. "But I know you, and Peggy, I love you."

She didn't respond but put her hand to her lips.

"In my timeline, I knew you, just as you know the Steve from this timeline. I went under the ice, and seventy years later they found me. My enhancement and the ice kept me alive, just as it is going to keep the Steve from this timeline alive. But Peggy, the technology doesn't exist yet. I lived a life after that, one of war... After... After a very eye-opening event, I came back."

"How?"

"Time travel -Howard Stark's son figured it out. I'm not the Steve you know, and yet, I am." Steve began mentioning things only they could know, to prove to her that he was still Steve. The look of confusion and shock seemed permanent on her face even when he was done. "So, my question for you, Peggy, is if you will still have me, even if I'm a bit... different."

"I... I don't know..."

Steve's heart sank.

"I don't want to be Captain America anymore. I've done it, through and through. All I want is a simple life. I know it is selfish, but Peggy, it's okay to be selfish sometimes."

Steve rifled through his pocket and pulled out the photograph he carried of Peggy, his thumb ran over the roughed up exterior of it, and then he handed it to her. Peggy took it in her hands, repeated Steve's actions, then opened it. She let out a quiet sob, then clutched it to her chest, trying to remain as the strong person people always demanded her to be. It was hard for her to accept her emotions as real, as acceptable. For when she cried, men said she was weak. For when she showed love, people said she was like every other woman.

"You came back," she whispered, trying to hide her tears.

"I came back," Steve replied, raising his hand to wipe her tears from her cheeks. "It's up to you if I stay."

"Stay," she whispered.