Steve was dreaming. Actually, he was having a very nice dream. He was sitting in his living room with – of all people – Peggy. And they were talking and laughing, and then the lights dimmed and music – music that he knew – filled the room, and all of a sudden they were dancing.

"Thank you," she murmured quietly, "for having this last dance with me."

Steve smiled slightly. "I've moved on," he replied, not quite an answer, but it served its purpose. "I'm happy."

"I'm glad. You picked a great partner, a great life. I wish you all the best, Steve Rogers."

"I wish you the same, Peggy Carter." He dropped a gentle kiss on her forehead. She grinned up at him and they continued their dance, no longer talking. It was peaceful, soothing – final.

"Papa?" a voice said behind the music. "Papa, pwease. I ha' a bad dweam."

Steve forced his eyes open, feeling a small, chubby hand lay hesitantly on his broad shoulder. He smiled tiredly at his four-year-old daughter, whose whimpers died down a bit now that her father was awake to protect her. Sitting up, he scooped the teary-eyed little girl into his arms.

"What's the matter, sweetheart?" he asked, hushing her soft cries.

"I ha' a bad dweam," the shaken child repeated in her somewhat adorable lisp. "They was bugth, thpiderth and co- co- co'roacheth, and they wuh crawlin' all over me. I'm itchy, Papa!" She scratched desperately at her arms and legs and scalp. "It itcheth were they wuh crawlin' on me!"

She whimpered again, burying her face in the crook of his neck. The poor child seemed to have more of a fear of bugs than most children. She was absolutely terrified. He hugged her close, careful not to accidentally squeeze too hard, stroking her mussed blonde hair soothingly.

"Alright then, up we go," he whispered, rising from the bed with his daughter still wrapped up in his arms and trudging towards the bathroom, making as little noise as possible. It would not do to wake his seven-year-old son or down-on-sleep husband. He sat the girl on the counter by the sink and began to rummage through the cabinets. "Maria Anne," he scolded, hearing the scrape of bitten-down nails on skin as she continued to scratch at her pink skin, "don't do that. You'll only make it worse."

"Bu' it itcheth!" she whined, her hand gravitating towards her chest, where the pinkness seemed worst. Steve grabbed the tiny hand and placed it back on the counter, muttering an 'aha!' as he found what he was looking for. A bottle of lotion.

"This should help the itching," Steve assured her, beginning to rub it into her arms, which were still rounded with baby fat. Maria Anne closed her eyes as the cool, relieving sensation hit her pink skin. He worked in silence for a few moments, before Maria Anne spoke up again.

"I 'on't like bugth, Papa," she stated seriously. Steve stifled a chuckle, nodding.

"I know you don't, pumpkin," he replied with a smile. "Don't you worry, no more bugs tonight."

Maria Anne visibly heaved a sigh of relief. "Okay," she said. "Tank 'oo, Papa."

"My pleasure, pumpkin." He had just finished rubbing in the lotion on the last bit of the little girl's legs when he saw her eyes flutter drowsily. "Let's get you back to bed."

Eyes closed, Maria Anne held her arms out to be picked up, yawning cutely. "Can I stay wit you an' Daddy?" she asked sleepily, resting her head on Steve's shoulder.

"Of course, sweetheart."

Maria Anne was already half asleep by the time Steve got back to his bed seconds later, surprised to see the seven-year-old Peter snoring softly against the bluish glow in Tony's chest. Tony grinned tiredly at him, mouthing 'nightmare,' and raising an eyebrow towards the little girl in Steve's arms. Steve mouthed 'same' back at the genius, settling the two of them in.

It was the perfect family picture, which would stay in the memories of Steve and Tony for the rest of their lives. Their two perfect children snuggled up between them, smiling slightly at whatever childish fancy had appeared in their dreams, their hands intertwined and resting protectively over the two. Neither of them would have ever dreamed of this, years ago, but now this, this perfect little family, was their whole world. And they wouldn't change that for anything.

"I wish you the best, Steve Rogers," a voice whispered in the back of his mind.

He was truly happy.