Chapter Text
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“Hi Peggy.”
“Stella! My God, it is you.”
Stella shuffled her hands into her pockets, looming uncomfortably in the doorway.
“Come in, darling, come in. When they told me you were alive, I scarcely believed it.”
“You and me, both.”
“Surviving to see 1946 was a surprise to the lot of us, really. You just got yours a bit late, it seems.”
Stella stared at her, upright in her arm chair, looking just as lucid as her previous visit, only this time she really had Stella’s number. Stella floundered for something to say, only to regret it as soon as it left her mouth: “So, I heard you got married?”
And Peggy – wise, astute Peggy – studied her face at length, before saying, “Is that why you didn’t come visit me? Before now?”
“Pegs—” Stella rushed towards her, only to stop awkwardly in the center of the room. “Pegs, of course I came. Only—” she swallowed.
“Oh,” Peggy murmured. “It wasn’t a good day, I take it?”
And Stella shook her head mutely, eyes fixed on the floor like it offered absolution. “You started talking about Lucerne.” Stella hadn’t let her get very far, of course, but all their favorite post-war fantasies ended in retiring to that nook of the Swiss country side. If Peggy really was all-there today, she’d catch her meaning. Which it seemed she did, if the small, pained noise she made was any indication. She bowed her head to study the knit afghan draped across her knees.
“I’m sorry, darling,” she whispered, “that must have felt very unkind.”
“More... bittersweet,” Stella admitted. She almost hoped that the years had taken Peggy’s hearing and, with it, her hushed truth, but Peggy was onto her, all the same.
“Come sit,” she said, gesturing to the stiff-backed wooden rocking chair beside her. And when Stella did, stiffly, Peggy grabbed at both of her hands and pulled them into her lap. “Now, I’m going to tell you this, only because I know you never were one to fish for compliments.”
“Peggy, you don’t—”
“I did get married.” …to a man, goes unsaid. “And I had two wonderful children that I wouldn’t give up for anything. But I only did it because it was expected of me, and because,” she eyed Stella meaningfully, “there was not a soul on earth that could follow in your shoes, so I picked someone who couldn’t even try.”
Stella’s chest felt too full for words, lungs buoyed by Peggy’s confession until there was no room for even air. She swallowed, weakly, and squeezed at Peggy’s hands. For her part, Peggy laughed sharply, a sure sign that she was self-conscious. Then she added, “I bet they didn’t tell you I got divorced?”
For sure, they hadn’t, and Stella hadn’t managed to make it that far into her biography. Peggy looked downright pleased with herself, though, and Stella had to smirk at her delight. “Always making trouble, you.”
“Indeed. And this was only 1967, mind, as soon as the children were off to school, so I assure you it was quite scandalous.”
“That’s my girl,” Stella said, probably too fondly.
“I did meet someone more to my liking, eventually. She—” Peggy cleared her throat, “she’s been at real treat, these past many years.”
“That’s, uh, good. Peg. I’m happy for you.” And though Stella had years of practice at keeping a polite smile on her face, this one felt strained. As if to offset the tension, or maybe just her own jealousy, Stella added, “I’ve actually met someone, too. Recently,” she added, in a rush. “It took a while—”
“She’s good to you?” Peggy prompted.
“Too good, I think.”
“That’s grand,” Peggy cut in, her cheerful expression looking as sharp as Stella’s own. “It can be done, these days. Even for Captain America, if you wanted to.”
“So she says."
“Good. Though, now that that’s covered,” and she paused to readjust some tiny detail of the blanket across her lap, and cleared her throat. “I’m thinking maybe we’ll leave other women out of the conversation. What do you think?”
“Works for me,” Stella agreed, and Peggy laughed again, still too brittle. Her gaze swayed up to the ceiling, where it lingered.
“What an old biddy you must think I am, jealous over some young girl who’s caught your attention.”
In response, Stella pulled Peggy’s left hand to her lips, pressing a wet kiss to the back of it. And then, just a few inches down but well over the line of decency, she left another one on the inside of her wrist. Peggy’s eyelashes fluttered, just like they used to, and somehow it brought Stella a sense of calm. Peggy was the same straight-talking, nearly unflappable woman she’d always been, but Stella was still able to get under her skin, just the littlest bit. “You’ll always be my girl,” she added, just to watch Peggy’s pleased expression once again.
“You charmer,” she chastised, but Stella wasn’t sorry in the least. Not then, and not when she bid Peggy farewell, promising to visit again.
“Oh,” she stopped in the doorway. “I meant to tell you. We started a charity to teach girls how to fight. I thought you’d like that.”
“I do,” Peggy agreed, and motioned to a side table full of glossy titles, the top of which was outlined in a sharp red border. “I read about it in your fancy magazine.”
Stella grinned, only a little bashful. After the Daily Show, she’d done an extensive interview with Time, posing on the cover in casual collared shirt and blazer and ‘enough makeup to look natural’. It pleased something in her to know that Peggy had read it. Stella wondered if she’d also seen the caricature that had gone around of Captain America dragging a woman out of a kitchen while two children sobbed behind her, but she figured Peggy would get a kick out of that one too.
“But they didn’t tell you we’re also going to be sponsoring athletic wear for women.” Peggy’s eyebrow went up questioningly. “I, uh, I’ve been tasked to find a brassiere that can support the more fortunate of women during combat.” She gestured, delicately, in Peggy’s direction, who then barked out a laugh.
“Stella Rogers, you don’t know the first thing about a good bra except how to take it off.”
Stella laughed too, rubbing a hand wryly across her forehead. “But if that’s what people want…”
Peggy snorted indelicately. “The people want,” she muttered. “Those always were your two favorite things – fighting and breasts. I’ll be damned if that isn’t your whole personality in a nutshell.”
And Stella, cheeks warm and tight from grinning, couldn’t say she was wrong.
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Stella loved Peggy – always would do, she suspected. Though, Becky had been right to push Stella into visiting again. Seeing Peggy now, whole, had soothed an unnamed fear inside her, as did knowing that Peggy’s fondness for her was untainted by her death. It was proof that the life Stella had been building in 1945 had been beloved, and was mourned, by Peggy, as much as it was the assurance that Peggy was well looked after now. It let Stella take that great surge of emotion that overwhelmed her when she thought of her first love, and place it on a short list of things in her life that, though over, were done right.
She had a new list, now, of things to get done properly. Reintroducing herself to the American people had been the first step of that. And the second, she knew, was earning the heart of her wartime Athena, with the gift of a little peace.
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On February 3, 2012, with both Becky and Jarvis’ help, Stella sent her first tweet out into the world. Jarvis called it ‘rather witty, Captain’, whereas Becky insisted it ‘broke the internet’.
It read, simply:
Hello? Is this thing on?
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THE END