This fic is sort of more about the dialogue, so that's why the details are short. I hope you guys don't mind. I've put on three stories in two nights!- a record! Anyway, Steve and Peggy really should have been together and it would have been wonderful if this had happened. I have a boss idea for a reunion in Avengers universe, too. Might post that… Here you go. Xx

Disclaimer: Sigh, not me.

"Carter, you sure you wanna go through with this?"


I twist my silver locket anxiously between my fingers as I tap my toes on the wooden floor of the club. Colonel Phillips stands awkwardly behind me, a cigar rolling in one hand, slightly agitated.

"You said eight." He says gruffly, trying to pass gentleness but sounding impatient. "It's now eight thirty."


I don't want to talk. I'm nervous as it is and excessive talking will put me all the more on edge. I don't want to talk but Phillips continues.

"You know that there's an extremely likely chance he won't show."

He. Captain Steve Rogers. Captain America.

"Yes. I refuse to believe it. He'll come." My voice wavers and I squeeze my eyes shut and purse my lips at my break of emotion. I don't know if the Colonel picks up on it; if he does, he doesn't show it.

The Stork Club is busy. Men in army uniforms and everyday suits laugh and chug pints at the bar; women in timeless skirts sit aside a round table and spill their secrets. The air is thick and heavy with smog and cigarette smoke; no one cares to open a window.

"Dancer gal, where's your fella?"

I ignore the shout from a table near me and keep my eyes focused on the door. The door that continuously swings open and welcomes new men, but never the man I want.

"America not coming to your rescue this time, sweetheart?"

I shut my eyes and block out the sound, but then hands grabs my waist and inner thigh, and I jolt away and cry out, "No!"

To my horror, a tear slips down my face and I wipe it away. Anger bubbles in the pit of my stomach at the drunkards comments and I feel myself burst.

"You have no idea what happened with him, none!"

"Peggy." Phillips says from out of my vision, grasping my wrist but I pull away.

"You don't know what it's like to lose someone the way I did." I open my mouth to speak again and this time Phillip yanks on my arm so hard it hurts.



I spin angrily to face him and instead I face someone else. The anger disappears in the blink of an eye.

"Sorry I'm a little late."

Before me stands my very own Captain America, clad in beige-green army uniform and with a sheepish smile on his battered face. My brain can't form legible words anymore.

"Steve?" I barely mumble out.

"Good evening ma'am. Will you do me the honour of having this dance?" He speaks as if he has never met me, although the smirking familiarity in his eyes gives his façade away.

"Yes." I say for the fourth time that night; different this time, hopefully and happily. "Of course. Oh, my… Steve!"

I can't hold back my laugh and I practically fall into his waiting arms. He chuckles and firmly holds me up, placing my hands in the correct positions for a dance.

"Peggy. I missed you." He smiles down at me and my heart skips like a cliché.

"I thought you were dead! I think I'm ahead in the longing war." I smile fleetingly.

"Yeah, I guess you do." He laughs and we sway in soft silence for a long few moments, listening only to the clinking of glasses and the sudden quieting of the bar since the Captain's arrival. A thought springs to mind at one instance, a thought I scold myself for not asking sooner.

"How did you- how on earth! – did you escape?"

He hesitates.

"I… I don't want to talk about that now, Peggy. I'm sure Howard will interrogate me later. I'm so sorry for putting you through that."

He releases my left hand to push a stray hair back from my face.

"Don't be sorry. Just don't do it again. Steve, you really should tell How-"

"I don't want to think about anything else right now. Not the plane, or what happened out there, or Stark! Us."

At the bar, Colonel Phillips groans aloud and swigs his beer. "Get a room, you two!"

We both laugh in sync and I lean my head against his shoulder. He rests his chin on my hair and his breath tickles my ears.

"You know, there is one thing you can be sorry about."

"What's that, Ms Peggy?"

"You're late."