They sat and reminisced for what felt like hours, until the natural light shining through the window began to fade.

Peggy glanced at her watch. "Will you be alright for a few minutes? I'm going to go and order some food."

"Are you sure?" Steve asked a little dubiously. "I mean, if your metabolism is anything like mine …"

"It is." Peggy said with a smile. "And that's why I'm ordering. If I'm going to cook for an army, I need to start earlier in the day. I'll order pizza." She got to her feet. "Deep dish okay?"

She managed to keep a straight face, even when Steve looked up at her with an expression of great offence on his face. "That's … not pizza."

Peggy finally cracked a smile. "Relax, I was kidding. I'll get your traditional New York thin crust instead. Any topping preference?"

"I hear they do a lot more now," Steve said. "So could you pick?"

Peggy nodded. "Yeah, of course. I'll go and dig out the menu."

She flicked on the attic light as she left, jogging down to the kitchen and rooting through the bottom drawer for the pizza menu.

It was an old menu and it was going to be a large order, so she forewent the website in favour of calling them.

"Marco's Pizzaria, can I take your order?"

"Yes, hello," Peggy said. "Can I order one large pizza in every topping?"

There was a pause, then …

"Is that one pizza with everything, or separate pizzas with each topping?"

"Latter." Peggy said with a grin. "How many would that make?"

"Just regular menu combinations?" There was another pause while the server counted up. "Eighteen, ma'am."

"In that case," Peggy said, "can I also order one of every side … do you still do those spicy chicken bites?"

"Yes, ma'am, we do."

"Two of them please."

"Is this a prank call?"

Peggy chuckled. "No, I'm just feeding a lot of people."

It wasn't technically a lie – she and Steve, between them, had the metabolism of at least eight regular adults. Combine that with the emotional upheaval from the last few days and the relatively small amount of food they had eaten in the meantime, and she needed to cater for about twenty.

She gave the server her address and hung up, checking her purse to make sure she had enough to pay for the pizza and give a decent tip.

Her old record player caught her eye as she passed by the living room on her way back upstairs and she doubled back to poke at it dubiously.

She hadn't used it in years, not since Tony had helped her digitise all her old records. She had a playlist on her StarkPod (because Tony's godmother could not get away with Apple products, even if Stark Industries hadn't begun to compete with Apple commercially yet). But they didn't sound the same.

The record player was dusty and a little scratched, and she wiped it off as best she could, before setting one of the records that had somehow survived from the 1940s.

It stuttered a little but miraculously began to play, soft familiar music wafting through the living room.

Peggy smiled and headed back upstairs to collect Steve. On a whim, she ducked into her bedroom and rifled through her closet. She couldn't remember what had happened to it, but …

Aha!

With a triumphant grin, she pulled a red dress from the back of the closet.

The doorbell rang just as she was fluffing her hair around her shoulders.

"Steve! Dinner's here!"

Peggy hurried downstairs and opened the door on to a pile of pizza boxes. "Good evening."

"Evening," a muffled male voice said from behind the boxes. "Who ordered the entire menu?"

Peggy laughed, effortlessly taking the boxes and setting them on the side. "Thanks, how much to I owe you?"

The delivery boy – barely nineteen, she could see now – gave her a figure utterly disproportionate to the number of people eating.

Peggy counted out the payment, added a number of bills on top of it and handed it all to the kid at the door. "Keep the change."

He grinned at her. "Thank you, ma'am. Have a good party."

"We will, thanks." Peggy shut the door and carried the pizzas through to the living room, setting them on her old sideboard and opening the boxes.

The scent of eighteen different pizzas wafted over her and her stomach growled loudly.

"How many did you order?" Steve asked from the doorway.

"One of everything," Peggy answered, pulling a slice free and pausing momentarily to fight with the cheese. "Pizza hasn't really changed since the 40s but the variety has. Also we have one of every side as well, so help yourself."

She didn't hear him move, so she turned to look at him. He was watching her with a strange expression on his face. "Uh oh," she murmured, setting her pizza to one side. "Was the dress a bad idea?"

"No!" Steve said hastily. "God, no, Peggy, you look amazing, just … Is that the same dress?"

Peggy smiled, spinning around so the skirt flared around her thighs. "Yes, it is. I was going to wear it when we went dancing and … Well, here we are."

"Here we are," Steve agreed quietly.

"And you are far too maudlin for a man surrounded by pizza," Peggy said with a smile. "Now come and eat?"

By the time they had both conceded defeat there were still several pizzas left.

"I think you over-ordered," Steve commented.

Peggy smiled. "No, I knew what I was doing. The only thing better than pizza is leftover pizza for lunch the next day."

Steve laughed, helping her gather up the boxes. "Excellent plan, Agent Carter."

"I am rather known for those," Peggy said, setting the leftover pizza in the refrigerator. "And speaking of excellent plans," she added, pushing the door shut, "you owe me a dance, Captain."

Steve gamely followed her back into the living room, where she dimmed the lights and turned the music up a little. She turned around just in time to see his face light up. "I know this song."

Peggy smiled, holding her hands out to him. "You're lucky I could find it – most of my old records are on my StarkPod. This sounds better."

"It really does," Steve said, taking her hands.

His own were trembling and she stepped into his chest, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "Relax," she murmured. "Put your right hand on my waist."

As she talked him through the steps of a dance that she herself had not danced in years, he slowly relaxed. He learned quickly, as she knew he would, and soon she was spinning around a makeshift dancefloor, both of them relishing in a second chance they very nearly never got to see.

Even super-soldiers tire, however; physical and mental exhaustion slowly caught up with them and Peggy spun back into his arms to be held tightly in a gently approximation of a waltz.

"And you didn't step on my toes," she said softly.

Steve chuckled, the sound reverberating through her. "You're a very good teacher."

Peggy tilted her head back to look up at him. Without her heels on – even the low heels in her boots – the height difference was even greater. "And you are an excellent student. However, I think saving the world gives us an excuse to save dancing the whole night away for another night."

Steve heaved an overdramatic sigh. "I suppose that would be for the best."

Peggy laughed and slipped out of his arms to turn the record player off. "Come on, my love. Hopefully, tomorrow will be quiet and we can spend the whole day recovering from Manhattan."

Even as she said it, she should have known that she was practically inviting Tony to call her at five o'clock the next morning.