I will attempt the unstartled steppes of dream,
Until I find the Only Flower,
Which shall keep (I think) your little heart
While the moon comes out of the sea.

ee cummings

Colonel Phillips doesn't like sending Agent Carter in the field.

Steve's watched her plead with the colonel more than once, pointing out that she's perfectly capable of defending herself. Phillips just lets her talk herself out, then placidly responds that he's got plenty of men, thank you very much.

But when he has to send a team to find a pair of Russian officials fleeing from Schmidt's forces, he doesn't have much of a choice. She's the only one in the camp who speaks more Russian than Do svidanya and Za vas. When the colonel tries to tell her he doesn't believe it's wise, sending her out into dangerous territory, she unleashes a torrent of fluent Russian in response, rich and lilting, that Steve is about seventy percent sure includes at least one or two profanities.

He stands there, biting back a grin, watching Phillips scowl. "You trying to make a point, Carter?"

"With all due respect, colonel, I just made it."

The colonel sighs, waving one hand helplessly. "Fine. You're on the team. Don't expect any babysitting."

"I don't need any, sir."

She leaves the colonel's office with a determined air, her eyes bright, and after a moment, Steve realizes he has no reason to be standing there, and he should probably leave, too, before Phillips looks for another reason to scowl.

Carter shoulders her pack as easily as the men on the team, buttoning up her field jacket. She looks utterly at ease in her trousers and boots, her curly hair neatly pinned back from her face, and Steve feels an odd swell of pride as she shakes hands with the commanding officer, a smart, capable major named John Davis. "Ready to get our guys, Agent Carter?"

"Absolutely, Major."

Davis nods, moving on, and Steve takes the opportunity to hand her the rifle resting nearby. He can't resist teasing her, though. "You know how to use this, right?"

She shoots him a look, grabbing the gun. "Stand back, and I'll show you."

He laughs at that, but something catches his attention. "Your hand."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Your fingernails. You - they're normally red."

"Oh, that." She looks down at her unpainted fingernails. "I thought perhaps it would be better not to have ten tiny little targets out in hostile territory."

"I guess that makes sense."

She turns, as if to leave, but pauses. "You - noticed that? Red nail polish?"

It suddenly occurs to him that maybe this is an odd detail to notice.

"I just - I always thought they looked nice."

Whatever this test was, he seems to have passed it; it earns him a smile.

He waves to the team as they pull out of camp, catching the soft glance she sends his way before turning back to the rest of the soldiers in the truck.

"Rogers!" It's Dugan, striding up, rifle over his shoulders. "Carter gone?"

"Just left."

"You ever gonna tell her you're sweet on her?" Dugan chuckles.

"You ever gonna stop being an idiot?"

It's a sad attempt at a comeback, but it's the best he can do.

Two days later, he's walking across the center of camp with Bucky and Dugan when he hears a shout, and sees Miller, the junior radio operator, running for the mess tent.

The hairs on his neck stand up.

He jogs after Miller, ignoring Dugan's shout of Steve? What the hell?, and finds the radio tech leaning into the officers' mess, where Phillips has just picked up his fork.

"Colonel Phillips, sir. Message for you." Miller hands him a folded paper.

The colonel scowls, but takes it, unfolding it, reading slowly. Steve watches his face fall.

"Colonel?" He swallows hard. "Sir -"

"It's Carter," the colonel says quietly. "Got shot. Team's on the way back now. They don't know if she's going to make it."

Steve realizes just why the colonel doesn't like sending Peggy Carter into the field.

Twenty minutes later, the rumble of trucks in the distance stirs the camp from quiet to hectic.

The doctors are ready for casualties, and as soon as the trucks pass the security perimeter, they're scrambling, running for the front gate. News that Carter's the sole casualty has spread through the camp, and there's a crowd of soldiers standing around, watching the tac team exit the vehicles.

Steve's at the front with a handful of camp nurses, his fists tightening, as the back of the truck opens up and he sees Peggy on the floor. Her jacket is soaked with blood, dark against the olive drab, red against her fair skin. She's not moving.

The head nurse is already climbing in, feeling for a pulse, peering into Peggy's eyes. Steve holds his breath as she turns to him.

"Captain, can you -"

Steve lifts Peggy out of the truck and onto the waiting stretcher. She's dead weight in his arms. Her head lolls limply on his shoulder, and he's desperate for her to just wake up, come on, Peggy, please -

He settles her carefully on the stretcher, cradling her head gently, but she doesn't move. The nurses elbow him out of the way.

She disappears inside the hospital tent, leaving him standing there, helpless.

He looks back at the empty truck bed, where there's still a pool of blood on the floor where she was lying.

The doctors won't let him donate blood.

He offers, pleads, but Dr. Bennett tells him until they've completely analyzed the effects of the serum, it's too risky. I'm sorry, Captain. I know you want to help. But we don't know how she'd respond. It might overwhelm her system. Finish what the bullet started. They need other people. People who won't put her in more danger.

He's no use in the surgery tent. So he goes to the chapel.

He's been there for what seems like forever when he hears footsteps behind him.

"Steve?"

It's Bucky. Steve takes a deep breath. "Yeah?"

"She's out of surgery. Doc says she's going to make it."

Steve pleads with the nursing staff, who finally take pity and let him sit beside her bed.

The stillness, more than anything, is what unnerves him. She's never still. Even when she's not moving, she's thinking. There's always something unfolding in that clever mind, something dancing in her bright eyes.

Steve sits quietly, watching the slow, even rise and fall of her breathing. Her skin is pale, but not as ashen as he'd feared. He wonders who ended up donating blood.

One of the nurses thoughtfully pulled her hair back, and must have worried she'd be cold, because there's a sweater over her hospital gown. She looks vulnerable now, the way she never does, spirited, bold Peggy Carter with her heels and her perfect hair and the sway in her walk that renders him far beyond stupid.

He loses track of time, and when her eyes slowly start to open, he thinks at first that he's imagining things.

She looks up, though, and when her gaze meet his, her eyes slowly focusing, he holds his breath.

"Hi," she whispers. Her voice is softer than usual. Fuzzy. The crispness is gone. She's not teasing him for sitting beside her like a mother hen.

He's never seen her like this.

"How are you?" He doesn't know how else to start.

"I've been better." Steve's happy to hear the soft note of amusement in her voice, weak as it sounds. "The Russians?"

"Safe and sound."

She nods, her hair rustling softly against the pillow. "Good."

Steve swallows hard, trying to figure out what, of a hundred things swirling in his stomach, he can say.

"You're staring," she murmurs. Her fingers are plucking absently at the scratchy olive blanket. "I must look dreadful."

"No, no." He can't imagine her ever looking dreadful. "You look beautiful."

Her face flushes, and Steve catches his breath. Relief clogs his chest. The pain that's been quietly cracking him open since the moment he heard the words It's Carter is dissolving, burning away. Finally.

She's safe.

"What are you thinking?" she asks gently. "I can see your mind working."

He hesitates. He's not stupid. He knows he shouldn't -

"Steve."

He looks up to find her struggling to sit up.

"I don't know if this is a good id-"

"Stop talking and help me."

He snaps into obedience and immediately tries to help, shifting her pillow, giving her a hand to lean on. It's slow going, but finally she gets up to a semi-seated position, breathing hard as she relaxes back against the pillow. She looks all right. She's not wincing.

"Steve, what is it?"

He can't lie to her. She'd catch him immediately. And then twist his ear off, once she's back to full health.

"I wish I'd been there," he says quietly. "I know you can take care of yourself. But the thought of you getting hurt -"

His voice breaks and he shakes his head, trying to get a hold of himself. He feels small again. No amount of muscle mass or super strength changes the fact that he wants to protect this woman, this clever, fearless agent who treated him with respect, long before anyone else did.

He starts when he feels her hand curl over his. Her eyes are fixed on his, her face gentle.

"For what it's worth, Steve, I do feel safer when you're around."

Warmth pours through his veins, and he boldly threads his fingers through hers, watching her lips curve into a smile, even on her tired face.

He wants to kiss her so badly right now, he's forgetting why he shouldn't. It's dangerous. He settles for humor. "Will you promise to stop getting shot?"

"So long as you promise not to start."

He squeezes her hand gently.

"Deal."

She bites her lip, and he can't help but stare at her mouth, full and pouty, even without her usual red lipstick.

She still looks exhausted, even though her color seems better, and Steve feels a pang of guilt. He should let her rest. "If you're tired, I can go. I didn't mean to bother you."

"I'm glad you're here."

She bites her lip again, and she really should stop doing that because it's hard to concentrate on anything else.

"What is it?"

"Come here."

Steve pauses - he's already sitting right next to her bed - but he leans forward. Maybe she wants to say something? "Is this - okay?"

"Almost."

She hooks a finger in his collar, tugs him closer, and kisses him gently on the lips.

It catches him off-guard, because this is something they just don't do, kissing, but her mouth is soft on his and her hand is on his jaw and he can't breathe.

"Oh! Oh, my."

A nurse is standing in the tent, her mouth open, watching them with wide eyes. Steve feels his ears get red.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't realize - I mean, Peg, I just -"

"It's okay, Nancy."

The nurse beams at them. "Sorry to disturb you, but Captain, I'm going to have to ask you to step out for a moment."

"Oh. Right. Of course." He glances back at Peggy. "I'll be back later."

"You'd better."

He squeezes her hand one last time before he stands, setting his chair back. "Take good care of her, Nancy."

"Will do." He walks past her, but she taps his shoulder. "Oh, and Captain?"

"Yes?"

She grins at him

"It's about time."