Steve was released from the hospital on a Wednesday. Peggy took a half-day and no one argued when she declared that her weekend started at one o'clock Wednesday afternoon. After all, a national hero was being remanded to her care.

He was protesting the wheelchair apparently as she walked into his room, and didn't notice her at first. Apparently the very idea of an American institution needing to be wheeled out of the hospital was completely absurd, a point he was making clear to a harried looking nurse.

"Get in the wheelchair, Captain Rogers, and that's an order," Peggy demanded imperiously from her spot in the door, but she couldn't manage to tug the corners of her lips into a frown. Steve jumped and at least had the good sense to look fairly cowed.

"I can walk just fine," he grumbled. "That's the whole point of me getting outta here isn't it?"

He tended to drop all of the elocution lessons he'd had in favor of a more heavily accented Brooklyn accent when he got worked up, she noticed.

"Oh, hush," Peggy replied, crossing to kiss his cheek. Maybe a touch of affection would sooth the savage beast. He looked a little calmer when she brushed her thumb across his cheekbone. "Hospital policy is no more her fault than it is mine."

"Don't suppose-"

"Don't even think about it. Just get in the wheelchair. I won't ask again, Captain."

"I forgot how intimidating you can be when you wanna." He still looked ridiculously put out, but at least he planted his ass in the seat.

Peggy smirked and leaned down close enough to brush her lips across the shell of his ear when she spoke. "As I recall, you seemed to like when I wanna."

She pulled away before he could turn his head and catch her in a kiss.

"Now, are you going to be a good patient for this poor woman who is only attempting to do her job or am I going to have to request restraints?"

"You owe me, Carter."

"We'll see."

. . .

He looked almost absurd in her tiny flat. To be fair, she hadn't ever counted on having a houseguest when she'd looked for a flat. Steve was broad, tall, and her apartment was small with lower ceilings. And yet, though perhaps he was out of proportion, he seemed right at home as he respectfully poked around the place.

"I like it," he declared eventually.

"Oh, praise be!" was the tart response. "Thank goodness; I was so worried about your opinion when I decorated the place."

His cheeks turned a nice ruddy pink. "That's not what I- I just meant I like it because it feels like you live here. Feels like I've been let into some inner sanctuary or something."

"And you haven't even seen the boudoir yet."

Peggy was pretty sure that the laugh he gave was more to cover up a surprised cough than anything.

They hadn't touched since the front door had closed; somehow that felt supercharged. He'd forced her hand into staying in her own bed. He'd take the sofa bed, old and uncomfortable as it was. He wouldn't let her consider swapping, though he was the one returned from the dead.

But he'd made miraculous progress; aside from the occasional missing word, he'd regained command both of the English language and his mouth's capability to produce the sounds at a speed resembling his old speech. His body was fully healed; not a single mark left to remind him of the ice.

"Are you hungry? I could make you a sandwich or we could go out to eat…" Her mother had once told her that a good hostess never lets her guests go hungry and though Peggy's culinary skills weren't exactly world-class, but she could manage an edible meal in a pinch. When her nerves came out, she resorted to following her mother's advice.

Steve looked over at her with a smile, one that said he knew exactly what she was doing. "Food sounds good. If you're up to it, I could take you out." She must have raised an eyebrow or something because he laughed sheepishly. "Or you could take me out. Or we could go Dutch."

Peggy laughed, light and bubbly and full of life. "I've thought about it and you may take me out. On one condition."

"Oh? What's that?"

"We go nowhere fancy."

"I know just the place."

The place ended up being little more than a hole in the wall that served hot dogs and sauerkraut and nothing else, with two tables in the whole place. Peggy and Steve opted to sit outside, on a bench in the little overrun park across the street.

Peggy took one bite and fell madly in love. The food itself reminded her how ravenous she was and she stuffed her mouth with glee, taking soldier's bites, unladylike and messy, as she cupped her hand below her mouth to hopefully avoid staining herself.

"Take it you like it?" Steve chuckled.

"Best meal I've had all month," Peggy agreed, pausing only slightly to answer before tucking back in. "How do you know about it?"

Steve paused a moment and Peggy could have predicted the answer. "Bucky and I used to come here when we could spare the change."

She nodded and swallowed. "Well, it's delicious."

He was quiet for a long moment and Peggy could practically see the gears in his head turning. She stopped eating, wiping her hand on a paper napkin and studying him as he did.

"I dreamed about him. When I was… in the ice."

Peggy said nothing, letting him reveal what he wanted when he wanted.

"We used to go over to Coney Island, ride the rides when we could scrape up enough. I saw that a lot when I was… asleep. Him and me, the old days."

"I see."

He looked down, away from her. "Saw a lot of you too."

She couldn't help the pique of interest in her voice. "Oh?"

"Not so much memories. More… dreams."

"And what did you dream about?"

The tips of his ears turned pink. "Dancing, mostly. Taking you out properly… the whole works."

Well… no wonder his ears were pink; Peggy could feel her cheeks grow warm.

"I shouldn't have made you stay on the line like that. Made you listen."

She reached out and put her hand on his arm. "There's nowhere else I'd have rather been."

"Still-"

"It's over, darling. It's over and done with. I could have walked away if I wanted. You made your choice, I made mine. Now we live with it."

"You're pretty swell, you know that?"

"Gee, whillikers," she teased, adopting that flat American drawl. "I think you're keen."

"Peg-"

"I know, darling."

"No, I gotta say this, I think."

There was that accent again, the nerves. Peggy gestured for him to go ahead. "Shoulda told you a long time ago. Shoulda told you before the Valkyrie or at least-"

"Steve."

"I'm pretty sure I'm in love with you."

Peggy kept her face smooth and watched Steve start to flounder a bit. "Sorry, was that-"

"I'm pretty sure I'm in love with you too," she said and watched his face get brighter, happier.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Peggy?"

"Yes?"

"Is it alright if I kiss you now?"

"I'll taste like sauerkraut."

"Two things I love then."

He kissed her then, a slow-burning careful kiss. The kind of kiss you give when there are a million more in the future. It tasted like hot dogs and sauerkraut and it was perfect.

. . .

He insisted on sleeping on the couch that night. Something about old-fashioned sensibilities and respect. Peggy didn't press the issue, though all she wanted was to wake up the next morning with him right there, to prove that this was all real, that Steven Rogers was in her flat, in her life, and in love with her.

She couldn't sleep, not for all the tea in China. Restlessness invaded her bones when they said goodnight and try as she might she couldn't get comfortable. She was about to resort to the novel she'd been attempting to read for the past six months when she heard the squeak and groan of the old sofa bed. Instinct told her to stand and check; her instincts had always held her in good stead.

Steve wasn't asleep, wasn't even in bed. There was a tight clench in her chest as she realized this fact. It wasn't until she heard the tap in the small kitchenette that she relaxed at all. Padding softly into room, there was Steve. He stood over the sink, gripping the counter with white knuckles. Peggy cleared her throat to alert him to her presence and he turned. He'd washed his face but the red eyes gave away the fact that he'd cried.

She didn't say anything, again, waiting for him to reveal what he wanted to say.

"I'm sorry."

"You hardly need to apologize to me. I haven't slept a wink all night. May as well be up with you."

"Bad dream. I get 'em sometimes."

"Me too," Peggy said and they both lied about the severity of their bad dreams.

"Really?"

Peggy had noticed he was already less tense; she knew acknowledging her own night terrors often had a way of helping to relieve them. She nodded and took another step forward. "You figure prominently into them. Always somewhere I can't reach you. In danger. I haven't had one in awhile. Right after the war, I couldn't sleep more than an hour at a time."

"Peg, I'm-"

"I'm not saying it so you'll feel sorry for me or guilty. I'm just… I'm here for what you need, alright?"

He nodded, muscles still tense but looking less pale and wan. Slowly, tentatively, she reached for him and he collapsed in her arms. Peggy ran gentle fingers through his hair until he felt more solid, more present.

"Come to bed, Steve."

He shook his head slowly, teeth catching on his bottom lip and fingers closing gently but firmly around her wrist. "Nah, I'll be alright."

It took her a moment for her sleep addled brain, but she remembered just how terrifying those first nightmares had been, how truly terrible it had been to be alone with her thoughts. Peggy kissed the spot just below his ear. "Come to bed, Steve," she repeats. "Come lie down with me."

That seemed to be enough and he shuffled behind her, hesitating only slightly at the threshold and moving when she tugged at him. He didn't lie down until she tugged at him, but collapsed the moment she did. Peggy carefully arranged herself around him so she could run her fingers through his hair, watching as his body relaxed under her ministrations, as he grew more peaceful, his breath evening out.

He turned towards her at some point in the night, their noses nearly touching and breaths mingling in the early morning hours. She woke when he stirred, scared he'd been roused by another dream and determined to be there if he had been. He wasn't. Instead, he simply turned towards her, hand stretched out as if for her to take. She didn't, for fear of waking him, but she didn't move away.

When she woke, Steve was staring at her. Studying her, like she'd seen him study the subjects of his drawings, like he was trying to store every minute detail for later recollection. Peggy's cheeks turned rosy at the thought.

He was the first to break the silence, a murmured good morning that Peggy returned. It seemed so beyond reality that he was really there. The sun had turned her bedroom golden, the cramped bed they shared turned into some strange form of paradise. She waited to wake up, terrified she'd lose this, no matter how many times she'd been assured of his physical presence in the past few weeks.

But he pushed her hair away from her face, leaned on his elbow to put his face closer to hers. Peggy waited, watched, nervous and unsure and beyond amazed that this man had chosen to dedicate himself to her. He pushed even closer, pressed his lips softly against hers and didn't protest when she pulled him close.

She let him kiss down the column of her neck, pull her nightshirt over her head when the buttons proved too frustrating, so she was bare beneath him. When she finally felt his skin against her own, Peggy shivered. He stopped, worried she was cold, and she pulled him back, assuring him that she was fine, that she loved him, put sleep-warmed hands where she needed him most.

They fit together somehow, like pieces of a puzzle finally solved, and when he stilled within her, Peggy collapsed against him and he held her tightly. Peggy shivered again.

"You're cold," he accused her.

"I'm not."

"You're shaking."

"I just missed you is all."

His arms tightened around her and he kissed her hair. Whispering promises that she wanted to believe—he'd never leave her like that again, he'd be by her side always—he pressed his lips to hers again. He couldn't promise her any of that. But he could promise her tomorrow and maybe that was enough.

Someday she'd let him see how thoroughly she was destroyed by his absence. She knew that it would hurt him to hear, but she needed to tell him. One day.

For now, she let him hold her—still like she was something precious—and she'd enjoy this little piece of a happy ending they'd been afforded for as long as it was there. Maybe they could be happy ending people after all.