It's been a month and Lola hasn't called him yet. Harry doesn't really know what he was expecting from a woman of her status, but it certainly wasn't blatant rejection. He thought things between them had gone well and that she liked him on some level. Apparently, it was just wishful thinking.

Peggy's been teaching him the necessary things to be a nurse at night, and he's trying not to think about it, but he can't help it. He's lonely and he's miserable. To make things even worse, the flashbacks have come back with their usual vigor and nothing seems to be helping except his bad habit of excessive drinking.

Unfortunately, he has the funds to spend and the possibility of ridding himself of his torments for a few hours is far too enticing to pass up. Tonight, he's going to forget about his problems for a while and get lost in a pleasant haze.

Inside the dimly lit bar, smoke clouds the air and threatens to choke his lungs. Chatter bounces off the thin walls and echoes in his ears, but he's not listening because he's too busy staring at a small glass of dark whiskey that tastes like acid.

Alcohol has never been his favorite thing and it hasn't made a better impression yet. However, despite it's usually awful taste, it does bring him some sense of comfort and he indulges in the awful behavior more than he should. The last two weeks have been particularly bad and, as a result, the bartender now knows him by name and serves him drinks before he even opens his mouth.

Outside, a gentle snowfall has started to descend upon the city and coat every surface in a white blanket, soft as wool but frigid once it settles. A trio of movers got a late start and they're still unloading a truck despite the late hour and chill in the air. Business is rough and they need the money, even if they have to work until morning to finish the job.

Harry lifts the glass to his lips and rushes to swallow the remainders of the dark liquid. He's been here for a while and his head is already swimming in clouded thoughts and the warmth in his veins is slowly consuming his entirety.

The bartender glances over cautiously, making sure that he's not going to tumble out of his seat if he fills his glass another time. It's clear that he's near his limit, but he's not completely pissed yet.

With a sigh, he pulls a bottle from beneath the bar and swiftly pours another glass. Harry offers a weak nod in response, his hand stuck to the glass as if someone had glued it there.

A sofa falls out of the truck outside and knocks over three more heavy boxes in it's descent.

German planes fly overhead, unloading swarms of bombs as their army presses forward. Bullets whiz past Harry's head and slice the air around him. This is the first time he's seen action and he's far past the point of terrified.

Men all around him are dropping almost as quickly as the bombs and everything's starting to feel like some sort of a bad trip. Faces blur and a barrage of noises assault his ears as his legs carry him on autopilot.

The ground shakes beneath his feet, churning and shifting in place as explosives mar the solid surface and send avalanches of earth and men flying. He's not paying attention, letting the adrenaline guide him and subdue his fear for the moment, and he fails to notice the dark patch falling towards him as if to send him to the very depths of hell in an instant.

Someone to his right screams and drops to the cold earth below. He tries not to look, but he can't help it. A blinding flash burns his retinas as the ground beneath him heaves and rolls as the metal death trap unleashes its chemical explosion.

Ringing fills his ears as his feet are knocked out from beneath him and the air is stolen from his lungs. Peter's behind him and far enough away from the blast to only be pushed back slightly with the force. He pushes forward without a second glance at his fellow soldiers.

Harry envies men like him. Men that can hold steady in the face of war and violence at its triumphant peak. It's his first war too and he faces it with a stone cold persistence that Harry can't even force himself to fake. Peter never shows that he's terrified even though everyone is, and Harry wishes that he was more like that.

More bombs fall heavily from the sky and shake the earth. His head feels heavy and the ringing in his ears is making his brain feel like it's melting in his skull. The enemy troops are advancing and bullets are swarming like mosquitos. He's got no idea how he hasn't been hit yet.

Four men rush past him in a sprint to make it to the trench before things get any worse, if that's even possible. Memories rush in behind his eyes, a slideshow of his life contained only in his retinas. Images of his mother and his sister, his father, his cousins, his childhood friend, his lover. Everything that's ever mattered to him registers in his mind and it feels like his chest is collapsing in upon itself.

Gritting his teeth, he rises to his feet and ignores the shooting pains spreading through his body like fire. His ankle is twisted and he's sure that he's broken at least two of his ribs, but he can't die like this—can't die here before he's done anything that matters and before he's said goodbye.

Craig is beside him after only a few moments, his hand gripping the back of his uniform and urgently pulling him forward. They haven't known each other for very long, but in training and in the barracks, they've become friends and Harry's grateful for him despite their circumstance.

Just as they tumble into the crude trench, the ground shakes with the force of another bomb and dirt flies in every direction. John Grahm is running at a sprint, his gun poised as best as can be managed while running for his life.

Harry watches as his chest heaves from exertion and his ankle throbs with a dull pain. It's dark and the moon has gone behind the clouds, hiding the planes but not their waves of sound. The bombs are still falling, only now they are much harder to see.

No one sees it until it's too late. A bomb falls right over poor John's head and sends him into the ground with a mighty explosion of air, dirt, and blood. Harry screams.

A horrible sound rips from his throat and his hand involuntarily knocks over the nearly full glass of whiskey. Dark liquid meshes with the smooth wooden countertop and drips from the edges like water from a rooftop after a heavy rain.

Every pair of eyes in the cloudy room fixates on him with a judgmental curiosity and a not so subtle hint of frightfulness. The bartender glances at him with a slightly raised eyebrow and an angry expression on his lips.

Harry's chest heaves as his lungs remember to draw in oxygen. The episodes haven't been this bad in a while and his body isn't used to the reactions anymore. His hands are shaking as he runs the right one through his hair and nervously looks around the dimly lit bar.

Muttered apologies fall from his lips as he digs in his pocket for what he owes for his drinks and hastily throws it on a dry spot on the bar. He can't stand the feeling of everyone's eyes on him and the alcohol in his system isn't helping.

Cold air hits his face and turns his breath to fog as he stumbles out of the building and into the street. Warm light falls from the lamps in the street, but his drunken and panicked thoughts consume him and he pays them no mind as he instinctively heads back to his apartment.

There are too many things in his way and he knocks his arm and bumps his side and parts of his leg into inanimate objects more times than he can count. By the time he's made it back to his apartment building, the alcohol has successfully taken hold of his mind and his body and all he's thinking about is how much rejection hurts.

Pain is nothing new to him, but heartache is something that haunts him far more than the lingering pain from his battle wounds. He's in constant torment because of the vital organ that keeps him alive and right now he can't take the crushing pain in his chest.

Harry stumbles through the entrance and pauses in the doorway. It's quiet and he can't remember a time when it's ever been this quiet. Fred always has someone over. Always. Perhaps he's finally feeling the dull ache in his heart after all this time.

All the lights are out and God only knows what time it is. Green eyes focus on the door down the hall and how it's not entirely level. He's stood outside of her door far more times than he can count and she's always been there to answer, except when she took a late shift at the hospital, but he always understood that.

Peggy's so wonderful. She always offers him one of her books and at least a cup of tea, even when he wakes her up from a peaceful dream at an odd hour of the night. There's another pain in his chest, only this time it feels like someone's shot him with a harpoon and they're reeling him in torturously slow.

His feet move before he can stop them and he's standing in front of Peggy's door, staring at the faint scratches in the wood that were left by the previous tenant's ex-wife after she found out he was cheating on her.

Knuckles rasp loudly against the hard surface and echo in the hall. No immediate sound follows and he wobbles slightly on his feet as he tries again. He's tired of this pain in his chest and he knows she can help take it away. She's good at that, taking his pain away without causing him any in return, and right now that's all he wants. He just wants to be with someone that won't hurt him for a night and he knows that she'll have him because her heart is far too big for her own good.

Morally, what he's doing is wrong, but he's too drunk to think about that right now and all he can think about it making the pain in his chest stop, even if only for a night. He needs the company and the love of another human being, no matter how shallow that may be.

A dull thud sounds from behind the door and a slight smile pulls at his lips because he knows that she's just bumped into the coffee table. She always does when he's woken her in the darkest hour of the night, just before the moon begins its descent and the sun starts to climb back to its place at the top of the sky.

Seconds pass before the door swings open and reveals Peggy, her eyes cloudy with sleep and her hair frizzy and slightly amiss from the softness of her pillow. By this point, she's not confused to see him standing there and she offers him a sleepy smile.

Before she can greet him properly, he steps forward and places his hands on her cheeks as he hastily presses his lips to hers. She wasn't expecting anything of that nature at all and a good moment passes before she realizes what's happening.

Peggy retracts and pushes him away as quickly as she can. Innumerable days have passed where she's daydreamed about attaining his affection in this way—having him kiss her and treat her like a lover instead of a friend—but not like this. There's a strong taste of alcohol on his lips and hanging in his breath and she knows that he's not thinking clearly.

Harry's hurt by her rejection and the pain in his chest only seems to intensify as she looks at him with wide eyes and a deeply set frown.

"You're drunk."

He doesn't think that it particularly matters if he's drunk or not, his mind is still the same, the only difference is that he's much more reckless in his behavior and unsteady on his feet.

"So?"

Peggy shakes her head and avoids his eyes, "You don't want this."

His right hand finds her cheek again and she can't help but to look at him and his astoundingly beautiful green eyes, his pupils dilated with his excessive alcohol consumption. "But I do."

And he does. He knows what he wants despite his inebriated state and he wants Peggy.

Harry watches as her lips part and close again as she collects her jumbled thoughts. She's not entirely sure how to approach this because she's never been in a situation like this before and her emotions are at war with her mind.

No. This is wrong and she knows that it is. He's still hung up on Lola and he's drunk. He's drunk and he just wants to use her because he's lonely and it's finally started to settle in and make a home in his mind as well as his heart.

"What about Lola?"

Harry shakes his head and releases a deep breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "She hasn't called, she doesn't want me. It hurts so much, Peggy. This...pain in my chest, it never goes away and it feels like I'm being stoned to death, a heavier stone added each day and making it harder to breathe. I want...I want you. Just tonight, let me love you for tonight. I'll...I'll make you feel good and...and I'll be gentle and treat you right...please...just—just let me have this for tonight. I need the comfort of another human being or I'll lose my mind. Please..."

There's something about the lost look in his eyes and the desperate tone in his voice that begs her to change her mind—begs her to allow him to use her to fix himself just as he's done since he moved in. For a moment, she stares at him with careful eyes, weighing out her next move cautiously, as if her life depends on it.

Peggy knows that it will ruin their friendship despite how he's hinting that it won't because it will just be for a night. She knows that giving in will tear her up inside for months after it happens, but she wants this as much as he does right now and it's hard to think rationally when he's offering her what she's dreamed about on many lonely nights.

He leans in again and his lips gently caress hers, ghosting against the smooth surface as if he's afraid he'll hurt her. Peggy closes her eyes and inhales deeply, "Tell me this won't change things between us."

Their foreheads are pressed together and she can smell the potent alcohol on his breath as he inhales their proximity. Oddly enough, it's rather intoxicating in its nature and she's struggling to keep her lips to herself.

"Just for tonight...let me love you for tonight."

Peggy nods and releases a shaky breath that's filled with nerves, "Okay."

And it only takes a moment for her to fall into a state of bliss and complacency, a state where she doesn't mind the truth in the situation or the strain that it will inevitably put on her heart. Harry's hands slip to her waist as the pressure between their lips increases and the heat between them intensifies.

He feels like summer and the gentle caress of the sun on her cheeks as she walked through fields of flowers and marveled at their delicate blooms. Time loses significance as he kisses her and shuts the door with his foot.

Peggy's been kissed before, but never like this and with such intensity and she's enjoying every moment of it. To Harry, she's the gentle autumn breeze that draws color to the cheeks and invigorates the soul and he's hooked upon first contact.

Touch intensifies with each passing second and Harry's gently leading her to the bedroom. He's only been inside her room twice, when she led him to the bathroom to clean up the cut on his foot, but nothing screams familiarity as he leads her to the bed and tenderly lays her down.

Despite the alcohol levels in his system, he knows what he's doing and he can still be careful. Peggy's only in her nightgown, so it's rather easy for him to get her undressed. His clothes, on the other hand, take a lot more effort and break the power of touch for a moment.

Kisses become rushed and almost frantic once the restrictive articles of clothing are removed. All thought has lost relevance as their hands roam among each other's skin, touching places they've never seen on the other before and transferring profound waves of lust.

Harry touches her in ways that she hasn't been touched in years and physical ecstasy outweighs all concerns of the heart and she loses herself in a way that she forgot was possible. There are too many emotions blending together and she's at a loss for breath, her lungs working overtime to draw in oxygen that's been taken away through wonderful kisses and sensual touches.

Peggy wants to repay him with a similar pleasure, but he forbids her because he needs to have her fully, needs to be immersed in her and the physical pleasure she can give him that he can't give himself.

She sighs as he presses himself against her and slowly moves his hips. His lips are at her neck and his hands spread over her skin, one at her breast and the other at her hip, fingertips gently digging into her flesh.

There's a slight shift in the mattress as he readjusts himself, removing his right hand from her chest and positioning himself for his entirely selfish act. Peggy's not thinking until his hips push forward and pressure starts to build in her lower extremities.

"Harry...wait."

Hurt flashes in his eyes as he searches her eyes for answers, not understanding why she's let him get this far only to stop him when he's hardly penetrated her. "Did I-"

Peggy shakes her head quickly, "No! No, I...I don't have any...and I don't want..."

She can't seem to use the words in her brain even though they are simple and she's used them before. Harry takes a moment to comprehend what she means and, when he does, the smallest of frowns takes a hold on his lips.

"I don't...I don't need those. The accident, it...well..."

Peggy frowns and brings her hand to rest on his cheek, her thumb tracing his cheekbone. "I'm sorry."

A hint of a smile blossoms as he takes her hand and holds it in his own, entwining their fingers as he looks at her fondly, his heart lifting at her acceptance that many others have lacked upon learning about his deformities.

"Not your fault."

His nose brushes against hers as he leans in and kisses her tenderly, hips shifting forward entirely and causing her to gasp in surprise that's mixed with an almost pleasant concoction of pain and pleasure.

It's been ages since she's lent her body to someone and readjusting to such an intrusion isn't so familiar anymore. Of course, she also hadn't expected him to be so...different from the few men that she's been with before.

Peggy tenses beneath him and his eyes open slowly. He knows that this isn't her first time and that it's been a while and he doesn't want to hurt her. "Are you okay?"

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, focusing on relaxing and letting her body adjust without fighting against it. "Yes, it's just—it's been a while."

He sponges her skin with kisses while he waits for her okay. There have been plenty of women he's been with, but none of them have had skin as soft as Peggy's and he can't seem to keep his hands, or his lips, off of her.

Her hands are on his arms, fingertips pressing into his skin and pulling him closer. A moment passes before she opens her eyes and exhales in a voice laced with need, "Take me."

Gentle moans pass her lips as she lifts her hips up to encourage him to move. Harry doesn't need any further prompting and soon the only sounds to be heard both in the room and in the hallway, are a mixture of deep and gentle moans and the soft tap of the headboard as it meets the wall.

This goes on for hours, intensifying with each time and causing waves of sound to bleed through the thin walls as they shroud themselves in a blanket of ecstasy. Peggy's not used to the physicality of this and, despite how exhausted she is after the first time, she craves more of that light feeling that grows in the pit of her stomach and blossoms in her veins. She lets him take her in positions that she's never let any man take her before and she lets him use her until his heart it content.

For all that he's been through, he deserves a night of selfishness and she just didn't have it in her to deny him that, no matter how much it would hurt her in the end. By the time they give into exhaustion, the moon has already started its descent and the stars have begun to disappear.

Peggy tries her best to put some distance between them in her small bed, but Harry's still craving that physical connection and won't allow her the minute space between them. She wouldn't mind if the context of their night was different—if Harry wasn't drunk and using her to mend his broken and lonely heart—but she does mind because it's not a situation she ever wanted to be in, especially with him.

He's got his legs slotted between hers and an arm draped over her chest. Warm breath fans her neck and his nose tickles her skin as they lay there in contented silence. Peggy can't seem to make herself enjoy it though, no matter how much she's wanted this since he first caught her attention all those months ago.

Harry hums against her skin and nuzzles his face in her neck, "You're so good to me."

And just like that, he breaks her heart. Five words and he's taken a mallet and driven it into the freshly dried cement that had taken a hold over her heart. The worst part is that he doesn't even realize that he's done it, doesn't realize that he's just scarred her in a way that will haunt her and deprive her of sleep for months to come.

Peggy closes her eyes and fights to keep her breathing steady as heavy tears fall from her eyes. She doesn't have a response for him and she doesn't want to come up with one.

Torturous minutes pass before she hears his breathing slow and his careful placement of the weight of his arm increase. For a moment, she's jealous that he can fall asleep so easily, but then it starts to make sense because he's had some drinks and his heart and mind were contented after they finished having sex.

Sleep doesn't come so easily for her. Her mind won't rest and the heavy feeling of shame tethers her to an active state that eats away at her emotions. Eventually, exhaustion consumes her body and sleep finally takes its hold.

Oddly enough, she sleeps better than she's slept in a while and, when she wakes, she can't remember her dreams. The sun's been up for a while and warm rays are peeking through the curtains and illuminating the small room.

Peggy's not sure what she was expecting, but a heavy weight pulls her heart down once she opens her eyes and sees the empty space in the bed beside her. Something's strange though and she's not entirely sure what it is.

A few moments pass as she questions the normality in her apartment. She's about to get up when she hears a pan clatter against the sink in the kitchen. The sound wakes her up a lot faster than she anticipated and she's up and tiptoeing into the kitchen in moments.

Harry's bent over the table and filling a glass with orange juice when she enters, and he doesn't recognize her presence until he turns around to find her with her arms crossed under her chest and a slight smile on her lips.

Immediately, his right hand flies to his chest and he curses silently as he jumps in his own skin. "Christ, you scared the hell out of me! How long have you been standing there?"

Peggy smiles, "Only a few moments. You made breakfast?"

She can't believe that he's still there and that he's made her breakfast. If anything, she expected some sort of a note in his wake—a brief apology without a need for physical confrontation. This is so strange and she's really not sure how to feel about it. On one hand, she's angry with herself for letting him use her and using him in return, and on the other hand, she's feeling more alive than she has in years.

An awkward smile finds his lips and lights up his face, "Yeah. I...I wanted to apologize for last night and I...I don't know, I thought you might be hungry. You should really go to the grocer's soon; the inside of your fridge is frightening."

He's trying to ignore the awkward feeling in his limbs and the constricting vines of guilt wrapping around every fiber of his being. Harry's had one night stands before, but the way that he went about this was entirely wrong and he knows it.

A soft laugh passes her lips as she meets him at the table and takes a seat, "I was planning to go today, but you can see how that might be a problem. Thank you, you really didn't have to do this."

Harry mumbles an apology and joins her at the opposite end of the table. Breakfast is incredibly awkward despite the conversation they attempt to share in order to pretend that things are still normal between them.

Peggy knew this would happen, so she's a little more prepared than he is and it doesn't affect her as much as it could've. Once the food is gone, Harry has a hard time meeting her eyes. He's been thinking about how to word his apology since he woke up and it's incredibly difficult to put to words how awful he feels.

"I'm sorry about last night. What I did...I've never done that before and I don't know why my mind considered it rational at the time. Convincing you to let me take advantage of you the way that I did was terrible and I can't express how awful I feel about it. I hope you don't think any less of me, but if you do, I understand. I just hope that we can still be friends. You're all that I have and I'm not sure what to do without you."

Peggy smiles as she sips her orange juice. It's sweet of him to think up an apology and she can't be mad at him for something that she allowed to happen—something that she wanted to happen.

"It's okay. Part of it is my fault, too. Of course we can still be friends, I'm not sure what I'd do without you either, if I'm being quite honest."

Harry's still really embarrassed about his behavior and slightly unsure about her overall sincerity. "Are you sure we're okay?"

The left side of her lips quirks up and her smile softens, "I'm sure, Harry."

But it's not and she doesn't have the heart to tell him so because she's selfish and wants to keep him in her life. She won't be able to think about him or herself in the same way for a while, but letting him go would hurt a lot more and she just can't do it.

Someday things will be alright, but for now, she'll keep that to herself.