"I've gotta put her in the water."

She's not surprised. Maybe she should be. She's upset, but she's not surprised, because she's been expecting this since she found him in that bombed out bar. Since he walked into camp without Barnes at his side, if she's being honest with herself.

"Please don't do this." It's what she wishes she'd said the moment Steve offered up his crazy plan to get into the base. It's a culmination of the fear she's felt since he marched back from the train mission. Marched back but never really returned. "We have time. We can work it out."

"Right now I'm in the middle of nowhere. If I wait any longer a lot of people are gonna die." A heavy feeling settles in her gut and she clenches her hand, nails piercing her palm.

She hears him take a breath. "Peggy, this is my choice." And she understands, because that's not what you say when there are no other options.

She wants to dissuade him. She wants to order him to take another way out. She wants to save him from himself.

"Peggy . . ."

"I'm here." That's all she can give him. She can't stop him, but she can make sure he's not alone.

"I'm gonna need a rain check on that dance."

She wants to laugh at the absurdity. She wants to laugh because it's easier than crying.

"Alright. A week next Saturday at the Stork Club."

"You've got it." He sounds grateful and she wonders just how close he is to the end.

"Eight o'clock on the dot. Don't you dare be late. Understood?" It's pure nonsense and they both know it. But what she says doesn't matter. It's not hope that she's offering him, but absolution.

"You know, I still don't know how to dance." There's regret, but there's no uncertainty. She almost wishes there were.

"I'll show you how. Just be there." She can hear the roar of the wind through the radio and she knows they don't have long. Steve's voice doesn't waver.

"We'll have the band play something slow. I'd hate to step on your—"

The line cuts off and she lets out a sob. "Steve?" He doesn't answer, and, however awful she feels for even thinking it, she hopes it's because he died on impact, because she knows that's the kindest thing that could have happened.

So when she asks again—"Steve?"—it's more for herself than for him. Whatever happened, he can no longer hear her.

She finally lets herself break down, lets herself sob, lets herself wish. Maybe in another life it could have been different.

But she learned a long time ago that wishing gets you nowhere. She'd told Steve to honor Bucky's choice, and now it's time to take her own advice.

Because no matter what she might have wished, this is Steve's choice, and she'll honor it.

So with one final confirmation that he's gone—"Steve?"—she breaks down and cries.