Chapter Text
Brooklyn, 1 June 1939
Steve Rogers is on his way home, back aching, having spent the last few hours hunched over a small desk, stuffed into a supply closet with a single flickering bulb as his light source. His hands were stained with the cheap drawing ink his boss, Mister Acker favored, and his eyes were a little achy from all the focusing on the illustration he had been making in the dim light. Under his arm, he has a beat-up case that had been his Ma’s Nurse bag back in the Great War, holding all of his drawing things. It’s heavy, heavier then he’d ever cared to admit, and sometimes he wished Mister Acker would just let him leave it at the office. It wasn’t as if Steve had much time to do much personal Art at home. He was mainly focused on catching up on some sleep before his few commissioned art projects before he was due at the Newspaper, before starting the cycle all over again.
The air was sweltering, sort of heavy on his tongue, sweat rolled down the nape of his neck, matted in the longer than comfortable hair there. He made a mental note to ask Rebbeca if she could trim it. Bucky’s little sister was a whiz with scissors, being a seamstress and all, and she been cutting Steve’s hair since his Ma died. She did it for free, even though Steve wished she would charge him for it- but she argued that if she cut Bucky’s hair for free, she might as well do the same for Steve, “ ‘Cause you’re much as a brother to me as this mook, Stevie.”
He absently kicked at a pebble, wondering if Bucky was finishing off his work at the shipyard. It was late, near one in the morning when he had last checked the fine clock hanging over the door of the many desks belonging to the reporters, and Buck usually ended his shift at the shipyard around twelve. Unless Bucky managed to weasel his way into another shift, again. More and more he had been doing that, saving up money, for what, Steve didn’t know. Steve was honest enough to say that he was jealous of the money Bucky brought to the house, with his job, he barely made it to his half of the rent.
If he was home, Bucky probably had their version of breakfast already cooking in the apartment. The last slab of bacon they had been able to buy was no doubt already fried up, and much as Steve hated cold bacon, he was gonna eat it. He hoped they had some eggs left. The duck’s eggs were hard to come by, but they didn’t make Steve’s lips and throat swell like a balloon. They bought old Mrs. Wong, when she had some to spare and were probably the most expensive thing that filled the tiny Fridgeair his Ma had left to him. Bucky claimed he hated chicken eggs, but Steve knew that Bucky only said that for his sake. Bucky did a lot of things for Steve’s sake, and while Steve appreciated the loyalty his best friend showed, he couldn’t lie and say that he felt all sorts of shit for it too. He could never do anything on his own- It was always with Bucky or with Bucky’s help.
Steve pulled his leg back and kicked the pebble extra hard. It went skittering into the alleyway between Mister Murphy’s Newspaper stand, Brown’s laundry and the O’Conner’s grocery store. Bounced off the trashcans there, and Steve’s eyes automatically followed the rock as it dinged against the metal.
Steve Rogers got the light show of his life just a second afterward.
It was bright, flashing and flickering through what he assumed were different colors. Automatically, he dropped his Ma’s case, threw his hands up. But even then the light seared his eyes and made him stagger back with a swear. It was over in a minute, and blinking away bright spots in his vision, Steve staggered to brace himself against the wall of the Brown’s laundry, blinking back tears.
What the hell?
That’s when he heard a shallow, rattle of breath. At first, he thought it was his own because that’s what he sounded like in the middle of an asthma attack than he realized it was coming from the alley, ‘cause his heart was beating like a drum but his breath was as steady as it could be. Blinking back spots, he sucked in a startled breath.
There, sprawled against the O’Conner’s trash cans, was a girl. She was dressed from the neck down in a strange-looking armor, honest to goodness armor, chest plate-like pale chrome, a glass looking thing in the middle, shaped like a seven-pointed star. It was cracked, dull, and sort of looked like the inside of a lightbulb that had burned out. But a lot more complicated . Underneath her pale chrome armor, she wore a fabric, just a shade darker. Most of the fabric was ripped and torn in places, even looked burned.
She looked like she belonged in the pages of Bucky’s sci-fic dime novels, like an alien warrior.
Then he realized as he stared, mouth gaping at the sight, she was the one that had breathed like she was having an asthma attack. At the corner of her dark lips, a trickle of blood was making its way, and Steve, not even thinking, was already half-way to her, eyes wide. He dropped to his knees next to her, hands trembling as he went through what his Ma taught him. Carefully, he unhooked the glass sort of covering, like a pair of corrective lenses, cracked and warped across her face. He stuffs them into his pocket, checking carefully, pushing down the surprisingly, stiff pale fabric for her pulse. It was slower then what he knew was normal for a person, a human- Sweet Mary I think I found an alien- and her breath was defiantly labored. But Steve didn’t know what to do beyond checking for that. Or if this was normal or not.
“Miss?” he asked, carefully, desperately.
At his voice, short, dark lashes fluttered. Encouraged, Steve called out again, pulse rabbit quick, as her eyes opened. She had light eyes. Light, round eyes surrounded by short lashes, liquid and sweet looking, and not for the first time, Steve wished he could see color. He wondered if her eyes looked like with color. If they were blue or brown or green as Bucky had described to him. She had a sweet, pretty face, like a fae, sharp but delicate, full lips and devastatingly young looking. The armor contrasted incredibly with her face, with her short stature. She was only a little taller than him, he could see, sprawled out as she was.
“Sokovia,” she whispered, her voice soft and hoarse, “Is it gone? I... I tried so hard to stop it. Was it enough?”
Steve felt his brow furrow, confused.
“Um, I’m not sure, ma’am. Don’t right know what Sokovia is.”
Confusion marred that pretty face. Desperately, the girl tried to sit up.
“Don’t you’re hurt-”
“Is Ultron defeated?” she asked, desperately, hands reaching out to grip his hands.
Steve felt something, like a warm blanket, settle over him. Her hands were surprisingly soft, and felt frail to him. She blinked, brows furrowed.
“Steve?” she asked, confused, “Steve Rogers?”
He stared, fascinated, confused and utterly scared spitless that this dame had managed to learn his name by just touching him, skin to skin. She pulled back, sharply, those light eyes blown wide. Her breath got quicker, rougher, and more blood startled to trickle down her chin, out of her plump mouth. She sat up in a swift movement, and that’s when Steve noticed the vivid gash bellow the chest plate, dark and stained with must’ve been her blood. She heaved, pressed her hands sharply into her wound, putting pressure on it.
Quickly, just like his Ma used to do in the face of the harshest attacks, he pressed his hands on either side of her soft face. His hands were large enough to cup her tiny face completely.
“It’s alright,” he told her, “It’s okay, just breath. Follow my inhales and exhales.”
The girl did as he asked, eyes wide and focused on him. He kept his breathing as evenly as possible, a feat in itself, but here was someone who needed him to do it.
“You’re… You’re Steve…. Steve Rogers,” she whispered, voice softer, less hoarse, and less confused.
“That’s right. I’m Steve. That’s a nifty trick, being able to know my name by touch,” he told her, seriously.
Those large, liquid eyes blinked. Her plump lips parted.
“You’re… You’re a good man,” she whispered, and he was shocked by the fact that she started to cry.
“I’m trying to be, doll,” the endearment passed his lips without his mean. Her breath stuttered for a beat, and he soothed his thumbs carefully on the arch of her cheek. Her skin was softer than soft, like newborn skin, “Helping ya out and all. Ain’t every day a pretty girl appears in a flash of dazzling lights...”
She blinked, tears still running down her face.
“Now, I want to help ya, but you’re hurt, and I figured you can’t exactly go to the hospital?”
She shook her head. She had dark hair, a riot of thick curls past her shoulder blades, the remains of a complicated braid half out, a dark tie hanging precariously on a curl, whipped back and forth at the violent motion.
“... It’ll be fine,” she whispered, “I just.. I just need somewhere safe to be for a few hours.”
“Ain’t much, but I got a place a couple of blocks from here. We take the back alleys, and I bet no one will see us.”
“Yes… Please.”
Steve picks up his Ma’s case, ‘cause he has to and he helps the girl to her feet. She’s heavy because of the armor, there’s blood dripping, but she doesn’t seem to notice. They make it, by some miracle, back to his shared apartment with Bucky, unseen. And he’s breathing a sigh of relief at the fact that all the lights are out. Bucky isn’t home yet. He helps the girl all the way up to their third-floor apartment and brings her to the beat-up sofa, chest heaving with the effort. She collapses with a whine in her throat.
“I’m sorry,” he tells her, blinking at the odd sight of an armored girl in his apartment. She licks her dark lips, grimacing at the blood, no doubt.
“Did... Did you see any glasses with me? A Visor-” she swipes the space around her eyes.
“Um, this?” he digs it out, relief is clear in her eyes as she extends a bare hand for him. He notices with a blink that those tiny fingernails are painted black, strange and almost rebellious. Most gals he knows to use a varnish that matches their lipstick, shades pale or if there more daring, something darker. But not black.
“Thank you.”
She smiles, pretty and soft and Steve feels his stomach flip despite himself. She places the visor back where they were, adjusting it carefully by her left ear.
“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” she called carefully.
He jumps as lights go across the cracked surface, different shapes, flickering, but obviously working.
“Yes, Boss-lady?” the voice is sweet, feminine and light. It comes from the visor, and it makes him jump again.
“Can you take off the STARDUST suit, please? My reactor is dead so I can’t do it myself.”
“One stripping, coming right up, Tinkerbell. Please stand up.”
She looks up at him, Tinkerbell, the fairy from Peter Pan.
“Will you-”
Wordlessly, scrambling, Steve helps her up. With a mechanical whirl, the ‘suit’ is off, condescending down to what looks vaguely like a suitcase, almost innocent looking. Leaving her in that skin tight light suit and what looked like soft boots without a heel. She is smaller than he thought, the suit giving her extra height. She is actually shorter than him, with the armor off, she sways, and again, Steve helps her onto the sofa, laying her down. The gash in the suit seems less bad, long and across the soft skin of her stomach, but less deep.
“You okay there? Your pulse rate is abnormally fast, indications of several broken ribs, a stomach wound, and internal bleeding indicate you are functioning at about twenty-nine percent efficiency,” said the voice, F.R.I.D.A.Y.
“I… I’m okay. I need a sec,” she said simply, hand squeezing Steve’s arm.
Steve jumped, back, rubbing his arm at the sparks that danced there. Without her suit, the young lady looked halfway normal, if dressed a little strangely. He blinked, broken ribs, internal bleeding, twenty-nine-
“You’re really hurt,” he said, stupidly.
The girl stared at him, nodded softly.
“Yes. But I’ll be okay.”
“Doc Smith lives up the road,” he blurts, panicked, “He won’t say much to anyone if ya pay him. Beats the hospital-”
“Steve-”
“Won’t take me more than five minutes if I run, and-”
“Please, don’t leave me alone.”
Her words stop Steve short, blinking rapidly at the crying girl in front of him. She reaches out a hand, weakly, an invitation. Hesitantly, he reaches back. Places a hand in her’s, and it's that same warmth, gentle and feels wonderful. She lets out a breath.
“I… I will heal on my own,” those light eyes stare at him with a desperation that takes his breath, “But I can’t- I need you here. Please, Steve, stay.”
Numbly, Steve nods. Is stunned when the girl drags him to the sofa when her other hand reaches out to grab his other hand. She sits up with a grimace, grinding her teeth and trying to breathe deeply, in and out through her nose. They sit facing each other for a beat, her breath shallow still, his a little faster than normal, along with the beat of his heart. Hands still held between them.
“F.R.I.D.A.Y., can you give me a rundown on what happened?” she asked, softly, squeezing Steve’s hands. Her’s trembled, so Steve squeezed back.
“Steve Rogers is present, would you like a complete report anyway?”
Steady light eyes looked at him. She was looking for something, something in him and she seemed to find it as she nodded.
“Yeah, and give me a status on STARDUST armor, F.R.I.”
“You got it, Tinkerbell. Self-repair is occurring with a STARDUST suit,” said F.R.I.D.A.Y., voice cheerful, “System damage indicates that total suit shut-down occurred when you reached past your normal limits in the Battle for Sokovia. Ultron’s device and your powers caused you to reach a similar event in what the closest approximation we can make is the Bifrost, however, it also caused a quantum change. Approximate local time is 2:15 am, location, Earth, Brooklyn, New York, the current temperature is 92 degrees, humidity 70 percent, and the local date is June 1st, 1939.”
The girl sucked in a startled breath. She looked at him, eyes wide. She licked her dark lips.
“F.R.I.D.A.Y.? Any suggestions on how to go forward,” her voice was higher, panicked.
“Three actions suggested. Wait for the Team to find a way to repeat the event. Call for Asgardian assistance. Or, find a way to mimic the event yourself.”
She laughed, slightly hysterical.
“HEIMDALL!” She called out, loudly, “HEIMDALL A LITTLE HELP!”
She was looking up, desperately but nothing happened.
“Asgardian assistance unachieved. Options one and three still open.”
“Will attempting option three kill me?”
“Probability of death at one-hundred percent. The reason you did not die in the first place is still unknown.”
She blinked, hunched forward, breathing rapidly again. Automatically, Steve reached forward and placed his hands on either side of her face. He eased his own breathing, and when she looked up with her large eyes, filled with tears again, and gave Steve a weak smile. He returned it.
“It’s okay… You’re friends are gonna find you, take ya home,” he felt his pulse hitch up when she pressed her face into one of his hands, turning her head to hide her tears, “In the meantime, I got a bed that is calling your name, sweetheart, and you can figure this out as you go-”
“My name is Penelope.”
“That’s a pretty name, Penelope.” And awful normal for an alien girl. Is she translating that for me?
She turned to him. Gripped his wrist in her small hands. She stared with those large liquid eyes that dazzled like the stars she came from.
“You would really let me stay?”
He finds himself hot in the face, but he nods.
“You look like ya need the help.”
“Will you let me take a shower? Because I am covered in sweat and blood and Thor knows so much Ultron oil it isn’t funny.”
“Bucky’s sister Rebbecca left a nightdress last time she was over- and a couple other things. She’s a little bigger than you, but I think you can make it work. The shower doesn’t have much warm water though.”
“Bucky?” the question in her eyes was there.
“My roommate.”
“Won’t your roommate question why a strange girl is in your apartment?”
“Frankly, ma’am, I think he would just be impressed,” his words spilled out, and it suddenly occurred to him that could be considered flirting, or invasive.
Penelope surprised him by laughing.
“Okay. Can you show me the way to the restroom?”
Steve blinked at the sudden ease in which Penelope stood up. And goggled at the fact that the gash on her stomach was all but gone. Just a raised scab along her trim stomach. Yeah, she’s from outer-space alright, even with a name like Penelope.
1 June 1939
Bucky expected a lot of things, when he finally came to his shared apartment around six, wishing for coffee, but resigned to some cold bacon and burnt cornbread toast.
He did not expect a pretty little dame sitting down on his sofa, wearing Rebbeca’s spare dress, her lips a pretty and real red, shapely legs without stockings, a cream expanse of alabaster skin, curled next to her but visible, with black hair that was set in curls all about her face, a little bit past her shoulder blades. He blinked, willing the vision to go away, especially when she turned towards him, no doubt having heard him unlock the door. She had wide, gorgeous eyes that were violet , soft and clear, and around those eyes was a slight slash of black liner that flared at the end, emphasizing that fantastic color. She was all extremes, slight, delicate with a large curved and plump bottom, but waifish, large hair and bright eyes and dark lips.
She was a sight. Not fashionably beautiful, but something that made ya stop anyways. Something unique and peculiar.
And Steve was looking at her with awe and delight in his eyes.
“Morning Buck,” he said, sheepishly.
Well, I’ll be damned.
Pretty girl smiled a sweet thing that was timid and a little on the small side.
“You must be Bucky, the roommate,” her voice had a delicate quality to it, and her accent wasn’t from New York.
“Right on that account, ma’am,” he tipped his cap and gave her a charming grin. “And who ya might be, other than an angel?”
She blinked, lashes short but full, dark as her hair. Her full little lips parted.
“Um, well, I’m the girl you’re friend here saved.”
Bucky blinked, as the girl, looked over to Steve, her violet eyes shimmering with emotion. Steve turned as pink as a rose, shifted from his end of the sofa with a frown.
“I- I just did what-”
“What most people wouldn’t. Save a complete stranger in the middle of the night and offered her a place to stay. I could’ve been a complete lunatic and hurt you. But Steve Rogers ignored that and just helped a girl off the ground and slept on the floor next to her because she was scared.”
Those violet eyes stayed on Steve, her arched brows furrowing together in a small furrow. But her eyes still shimmered. Reminded him of his Ma’s favorite violet candy, that bright of a color.
“Off the ground? Scared enough you needed Steve to watch over you? Ya in trouble dollface?‘
The girl turned back to Bucky, and she gave another smile.
“Something like that. But I’m scrappy. I can handle a little trouble.”
Why do I have a feeling I’ma have a little trouble myself, doll? Especially with Stevie looking like Christmas and his birthday have come early?
Midtown, 4 May 2012
“Mister Rogers, I think it’d be best if you moved away from the Central Library. Just for a beat.”
“Who is this?” Steve doesn’t recognize the voice, sharp, crisp British accent of a man.
“My name is Edward Carter, and there’s someone important out there in Midtown that could use help.”
“Uncle Eddie? How the hell did you hack this feed?” that’s Stark, and there’s some comfort to know that the voice in his ear isn’t a stranger.
“Never mind that, Anthony, I really need the Captain to go help my granddaughter-”
“What the hell is Sharon doing in the middle of this shit, she was with Aunt Peggy-”
“It’s Penelope. Anthony, it’s Penelope out there. She decided to be a damn hero and help out. Please. Captain, please help Penelope.”
There's a swear on Stark’s end.
“Mister, there’s a lot of people that need help,” that’s Barton next to Steve, letting arrow after arrow loose, voice sharp and exasperated, “We can’t just-”
The name is like a blow to the head, and even though he knows it’s not his wife- Steve finds himself moving.
“You guys hold the fort!” he calls out to both Romanov and Barton, moving, bolting.
“CAP!”
“Thank you, Captain Rogers, please, keep an eye on her. She was at a Bakery called the So Delish , near the library there in Midtown, and last I heard she was heading towards Stark Tower.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll find her.”
“Penelope?”
Steve thought he was seeing things, watching as the small young woman, hands glowing and all, turned over to him.
“Um… Yes?” confused violet eyes, eyes he had spent hours sketching, trying to get the shape just right, stare at him.
There’s no warmth. No recognition. Just confusion and the look of a scared dame in the middle of an Alien Invasion. A strong contrast to the woman he knew. Steve Rogers swallows, heart in his throat.
“You’re Penelope… P-Powell right?” he asks stuttering like an idiot, and at her confused nod, he feels his heart surge.
He wasn’t wrong then, he wasn’t seeing what he wanted to see in a stranger. Powell was her maiden name. Held it barely a year after she met him, because she’s Penelope Rogers, as far as he’s concerned. He still wears the ring on his hand, and he has his ma’s and her wedding rings on that fine chain she had, next to his dog-tags. He’s confused, because it’s his wife, looking up at him as if he’s a stranger. And then he sees it, going into that pretty blue dress of her’s, that fine chain she had worn every day since he had met her. The one that’s around his neck now, and he’s even more confused-
“Well, I’m Steve Rogers, and-” I love you, I need you, I thought you were dead and it nearly ended me and then Bucky was lost and Jesus, doll, I missed you, “And I think it’s best if you follow me, ma’am. Edward Carter said you wanted to help?”
She licks her lip, that lip he knew were soft and plump, stained presently red by her favorite lip ‘stain’, something she had mourned the loss for, so long ago. He spent ages trying to find a replacement, and he couldn’t find a stain, but he had found this lip-stick she had liked just fine. Gave him a nice kiss for his efforts, his girl, and more. Because of that kiss, he knew those red-stained lips tasted warm and rich like the best thing. Under that grime, that soot and dust, he realizes with a start that his wife was younger. Not by much, for when he had known her, she’s still that clean face and without wrinkle, but there was a softness that had yet to leave her elfin features, a roundness to her otherwise sharp cheekbones. She was twenty-three when they met, three-years older, but he realizes now that he’s older then her- Everything clicks, with a remembrance of her vows to him in that church, “ This time and the next, I love you , Steve Rogers .”
It was a clue. Your vows were a clue, doll. Oh, I don’t lose you. I get you back .
He thinks of her first appearance, when he thought she was an alien, that was later than the now- She was from the future, not outer-space. Or she’s from the future and outer space. Either way, I get my girl back.
“Eddie sent Captain America to help me?” her voice was dubious, eyes wide.
“He sent Steve to help you. Said you wanted to help,” he corrected firmly, eying that beautiful glow about her hands. Less firm then the hallo he knew from his past, fluttering with disuse. He held out a hand, hesitatingly, Penelope took it.
It was like coming home, and it nearly knocked the breath out of him.
“You’re a good man,” she murmurs, brows delicately furrowed, “Coming to get a wayward mutant girl on the request of a stranger.”
This time and the next, I love you, Penelope.
He felt himself smile, soft and too familiar, he is sure. But he didn’t care.
“And you’re a sweetheart, doll,” he told her, easily returning what was a ritual between them, or would be, Sweet Mary, is time-traveling confusing, “Let’s go fight some aliens.”
Hand in hand, they did just that.
Stark Tower 4th of May 2012
She was human, he realized with an interested hum. She was being checked over by S.H.E.I.L.D. medics, and unlike with Thor, they went about her all normal. It hadn’t mattered to him in 1939, to marry what he thought was an alien. Been too far gone on the thought of her. Been so stupidly happy that a gal like that could turn around and see him. She had her secrets, he knew, STARDUST ( must’ve been Stark’s work, fancy that ) told him that much, and the way she jumped around things he wanted to know of her, but he also saw the true warmth in her eyes as she regarded him. Part of him, wondered, as Peggy Carter embraced her like a grand-daughter if she loved him for the man he had become, instead of the man she had found.
But no. He knew. Penelope had not been with anyone here, in her past, in their future, he knew.
“ Hard to see a dame like you, without a fella, ” Bucky said, a grin on his face.
Penelope snorts, sipping delicately at her coke. Something about that, seeing her enjoy something Steve had bought her sent a bolt of happiness. She drank with a small, satisfied hum. She rolled her eyes at Bucky.
“I didn’t have time for fellas. ”
Steve felt like an idiot for being so happy about the fact.
“But the fellas had time for you, I bet, anyone sticks out as extra annoying?”
Lips pursed, Penelope’s eyes flickered to Steve, a helpless plea.
“Why you so interested Bucky?” he asked, “You planning to line up?”
He meant it as a joke. But something about his words twisted into fear. Because most girls looked at Bucky. Most girls didn’t mind stepping over Steve for a chance to dance with Buck.
Bucky flushed, and he shook his head.
“Look, inquiring minds need to know. Just want to make sure you ain’t stepping on any toes, Stevie.”
Steve went hot in his face.
“There’s was one fella,” Penelope said, softly, and Steve’s stomach fell, “He was friendly. Always wanted to help me. But I think he was waiting for something...”
A faraway look. Those eyes focused then, straight at Steve. Brows furrowed. Steve shifted uncomfortably. Then, she smiled, timidly as she did. Soft, as if she was afraid to express joy.
“But he wasn’t my fella. Just a friend that was extra nice... You aren’t stepping on anyone’s toes, Steve Rogers.”
She fell in love with Steve Rogers then, not now, and it was hard to understand as Peggy gave her one last squeeze before she marched straight for him. A frown on her face.
“Peggy-”
“March, Captain Rogers,” she snapped, pointing.
Hands up in sheepish surrender, giving Penelope one last look, Steve followed Peggy into one of the few empty spaces. An office by the look of it. Plastic wrap covered everything, and it reminded him that the Tower was brand new.
Peggy let out a frustrated sigh as she sat.
“Twenty years ago, Rose Lorriane told me her estranged daughter had given birth to a lovely little girl named Penelope Powell.”
Steve’s heart fluttered and ached in the same movement. He was older then her, and his wife had been watched over by one of her own best friends.
“Must’ve been confusing, Peg,” he told her, sitting down with a sigh.
Warm brown eyes looked to him, and she snorted.
“It didn’t become confusing until her powers manifested. An echo, I thought at the time. Similar to someone I once knew. Then I saw her. Met the girl who would become a dear friend, or was already a dear friend. This little scrap of a girl, curls and sweetness. My friend who went missing found nearly fifty years after the fact.”
“Must’ve been a sight. It nearly knocked me over today. Beyond being stupidly happy to see her, I had to fight aliens. It’s been a day, Peg.”
Peggy’s eyes locked on him.
“She’s going to disappear, Steve. From this, for whatever reason, whenever in the next few years, she’s going to go back to our Past. She’s going to marry and love you, and she’ll be gone again. She has not resurfaced since she went missing in 1945.”
“Three years. Sokovia. Against someone or thing called Ultron.”
Peggy breathed, deeply. Her fists curled, wrinkled but impeccably manicured.
“Three?”
“She was twenty-three when we met.”
“I have loved her, taken care of her as soon as I knew who she was… ”
“Thank you.”
“Will you be able to handle being so near her? She isn’t you’re wife Steve.”
“Yet.”
“Yet,” Peggy allowed, lips pursed, “But in three years you are going to have to let her go, Steve. Can you do that?”
“I’m not letting her go. I’ma send her home.”
Sokovia, 2015
“Penelope!”
“I have too, or thousands die-”
Sweet Mary, I never thought it’d be this hard.
“Penelope!”
“I’m sorry! I can’t Steve-”
“Penelope listen to me-”
A helpless sob.
“I’m sorry-”
“Everything you see, it all is supposed to happen-- I love you, this time and the next!”
And in a blaze of dazzling lights, she was gone. And so was Sokovia. She did it, saved those people. Unconsciously, Steve thought of the fact that she was going to be in that alleyway, meeting a skinny little guy from Brooklyn.
Wakanda, 2016
“Stevie,” a hoarse voice, Bucky, looking tired.
“Hi, Buck.”
“I… I saw the footage of Sokovia. What was Penelope Rogers doing fighting giant robots?”
He grinned, despite himself. Especially the way everyone in the room spluttered.
“She fought cultist nazis, what’s a little robot in comparison?”
“Wait, back up, what the hell did Terminator call Tinkerbell, Rogers?”
Bucky squinted at Stark.
“My mind is a little scrambled for reasons outa’ve my control. But I sure as hell remember Steve’s wife .”
“Captain,” murmured Natasha, eyes flashing, “Care to share with the class?”
“Well, I first met Penelope Powell in 1939. It took a bit but she was Penelope Rogers soon after I met her. She first met me in 2012. I think everyone can fill in the blanks.”
It was Hawkeye who groaned, placed his head between his hands.
“How the hell is this my life?”
Wakanda 2024
Than. There.
“ Hey, Steve, on you’re left. ”
Glowing. Beautiful, beaming.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he calls, waving with Thor’s hammer.
“If we weren’t in the middle of a war I would punch you!” she called back.
“Aw, shucks, come on Pen-”
“1939! I was sent back before cellphones and decent hot water Steve!”
“You barely use your phone-”
“WAR WORLD TWO, STEVEN GRANT ROGERS-”
“Was marrying me that bad?”
“Of course not ya mook,” she curled her words just like he used too, “But I have every right to be cross with you. A little warning would have been nice.”
He grinned.
“I did warn you.”
“You suck!” she called back, a near growl.
“I love you!” he called back, hammer swinging.
Violet eyes gleamed with tears and the promise of a life time.
“I love you! This time and the next you, asshole!”