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lavellenchanted · 1 year

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where the lovelight gleams

A belated Merry Christmas to @behindthelabels! Tis I, your Secret Santa! Thank you for being so patient with me while I worked on this and apologies for the lateness, but you can blame Covid finally getting me right before holidays.

You said you wanted lots of feelings and liked huddling for warmth and a canon setting, so I’ve tried to put all that together in a little something set during The First Avenger timeline. I hope you enjoy it and had a wonderful festive period.

AO3 link here

Winter, 1944

The safe house had, at one time, been a farmhouse.

They were somewhere in Central Europe, the closest town (which wasn’t particularly close) small enough that most maps of the area didn’t bother labelling it and they needed only to drive a short distance in any direction to cross a border. Most notably to the west was the German border, which they had retreated back over during the night after taking out a Nazi blockade.

The safe house itself was ensconced in woodland, set a good couple of miles away from the nearest road – a deliberate choice, since it meant lights or movement were unlikely to be spotted if any Nazi or Hydra patrols were sent in this direction. It had clearly once been a family home; there were still small, child-sized bed frames in a couple of the rooms, and the window shutters and door lintels were all hand-carved with hearts, roses and the sort of pretty designs you might think to find on a gingerbread house. The sort of designs chosen with love to fill the place with life and joy, all of which was very noticeably missing now.

Whether it had been abandoned early in the war or forcibly requisitioned Steve wasn’t sure, but certainly it had fallen into disrepair. The paint on the walls was faded and peeling, the window boxes that must once have held fresh, colourful displays of flowers were empty and the fields outside overgrown and choked with weeds.

In a way, that was what made it the perfect safehouse; from a distance it looked entirely unsafe, with little to recommend it. Up close it was another matter – despite the dingy décor, the doors were still air and watertight, secured by multiple locks, the glass in the windows intact, the electricity in good repair, and the cellar beneath the house a perfect to drop and store food and emergency supplies for agents and soldiers on the move and in need of resupplying.

Or, as in the Commandos’ current case, waiting for a contact to debrief them and provide instructions for their next move.

“Well, it ain’t the Ritz, but it’ll do for a couple of days,” Dugan had said cheerily when they arrived before going to look for firewood. Standing at the window now, however, Steve was beginning to wonder if they might be here a bit longer than a couple of days – it started snowing a few hours ago and was starting to come down heavily, in thick white flakes would no doubt have blanketed everything around them by morning.

He only hoped their contact reached them soon, or they might be stranded in the middle of a snowstorm and trying to mount a rescue mission with no idea who they were looking for.

“Ha – read ‘em and weep, boys!”

Bucky’s triumphant shout made him glance over his shoulder, where most of the Commandos were playing poker, the stakes being whatever ration coupons, cigarettes and breath-mints they had in their pockets. As Dugan, Morita and Jones all groaned at the sight of Bucky’s cards laid out on the table, Steve gave a quiet laugh.

“I did warn you,” he said, quite truthfully – he had learned the hard way not to take Bucky on at poker in his early teens.

“That was my last pack, too,” Dugan sighed forlornly as Bucky tucked the cigarettes he’d won away into his pocket, then lowered his forehead on to his arms in the perfect picture of despair.

Bucky was unmoved. “You could always try to win them back.”

“Oh, right, so I can lose the last of my gum as well?”

“You might win.”

“Don’t fall for it.” Falsworth, who had opted not to play – he had never quite gotten the hang of poker – looked up from where he was sat knitting what Steve thought was supposed to be a sock. “You can have some of mine if you’re desperate.”

Bucky pulled a face. “Come on, Falsworth, you’re ruining my fun.”

“Ruining your hustle, you mean. Now, if we had a chessboard here I could show you a thing or two. That’s a game of skill –”

As the room dissolved into a debate over the merits of chess versus cards and exactly how much skill it took to play either one, Steve shook his head and turned back to the window – only to realise that in those brief moments his attention had been distracted a shape had emerged from the trees and was making its way towards the house.

“Guys.” Steve’s voice was quiet, but it cut through the arguing and immediately everyone turned to look at him. “I think our contact’s here.”

“D’you recognise them?” Gabe Jones asked.

“Too dark to tell. Just . . . be ready.”

Steve didn’t have to look to know their hands were all going to their weapons. He was doing the same, reaching for the shield propped against the wall beside him; just in case this wasn’t the agent they were expecting but someone who had discovered the safe house, they didn’t want to waste precious seconds arming themselves while they were being fired on.

He had just gripped the edge of the shield, his shoulders tensed, when the first knock came. The was room was hushed as they all held their breath – and then it was followed by two shorter knocks and then another two longer ones.

That was the signal that it was their contact.

A collective sigh of relief rippled through all them. Steve let the shield drop again and crossed to open the door –

– where he found him looking down into a pair of familiar dark eyes, that sparkled with warmth above a curling, lipstick-perfect smile.

He could only stare. He had wanted so badly to think there was a chance their contact might be her, but he hadn’t dared to let himself hope too much.

“Good evening, Captain,” Peggy Carter said, clearly enjoying the look of surprise on his face. “Perhaps you could let me in? It’s rather cold out here.”

“One of our scouts has identified another Hydra base.”

There had been smiles and warm welcomes from the rest of the Commandos when they realised who was at the door, but Peggy, professional as ever, had been straight to work as soon as the hellos were done, her coat was off and a cup of tea made for her.

A map had been produced from her bag and now lay unfolded on the table where shortly the card game had taken place, and Steve had made markings on it to indicate where they had found and dealt with the blockade, the routes affected and the path of their retreat as they gave their report.

Peggy had listened quietly, interjecting here and there with questions – never noting down their answers, in case she was ever caught and her things intercepted, but memorising them. Her dark eyes traced the lines of the map, a furrow of concentration between her eyebrows, but every now and then she would glance up and meet Steve’s gaze, and each time he caught his breath.

It had been over a month since the last time he had seen her. Her hair had grown a little longer in that time, beginning to just brush the tops of her shoulders. There had been a flurry of snowflakes in the glossy dark curls when she came in but now they had all melted away in the heat from the fire. When she bent her head to look at the map a stray lock would fall forward across her cheek, and Steve ached to lean across the table and tuck it away behind her ear.

She wasn’t wearing the uniform he was used to seeing, or even a practical field outfit such as the Commandos wore and he had occasionally see her don for other missions, but the same sort of winter clothing the few locals they had seen wore; a thick, woollen sweater with simple pair of trousers and boots that wouldn’t look out of place on any farm. Good for the warmth, Steve guessed, but also to keep her from standing out too much if there were enemy patrols about.

It certainly wasn’t her typical get up, and he didn’t think it was something she would ever choose for herself – it didn’t quite seem her, somehow – yet even so, she was captivating. Mostly likely she could wear a paper bag and still be so. Steve remembered the first time he had ever seen her at Camp Lehigh and thinking she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and every time he had seen her since he found something new and interesting about his face to hold his attention; this time it was the small dimple in her right cheek that appeared every now and then like the sun breaking through the clouds.

“It’s on the Austrian side of the border, in the Alps, we think about here,” she continued, indicating a mark on the map. “We intercepted some chatter on the radio, a communication – we’re still working on fully decrypting it but what we have so far suggests there something of significance to Hydra there, so if you can get it to and cripple it we’ll hopefully deal them some real damage.”

“If it’s that important, there might be senior Hydra agents there as well,” Steve said.

“Exactly. Normally we’d get you back to base before setting out again, but you’re in a good position to get there from here so Phillips wants you to head straight for it. You can resupply on basics from here, and we’ll have a weapons drop waiting for you on the way here.”

Another mark on the map.

“So, if we come down this way and cross the border here, we should be able to make the drop in a day or two.” Steve reached out and drew the imagined path along the map with one finger; as he did so, he let the side of his hand just brush against Peggy’s. Her skin was warm and soft to the touch. Her eyes darted briefly up to his and then down again, unreadable, but he thought he saw the ghost of a smile cross her mouth. “Then get to the base in another day.”

“That’s the idea,” she confirmed. “Although given the weather, your departure might have to be delayed for a couple of days.” She nodded at the window, where the snow was still coming down thick and fast, and they could see the trees bending as the wind picked up. “As will my extraction. But all being well, you can have shut down the base within a week and be back in England by Christmas.”

There were murmurs of excitement from the Commandos – less at the promise of Christmas in England, as it was difficult to summon up much festive cheer on the front lines of a war than at the though of being back in a base with indoor plumbing, proper beds and decent food (at least compared to the field rations they were living on now).

“I thought you’d like that idea,” Peggy said with amusement. “Shall we talk travel arrangements?”

Steve started to agree, but was cut off by Bucky.

“Maybe we can do that tomorrow? Like you said, we’re gonna be here a while. And I don’t know about you guys, but I’m beat and would like to hit the hay.”

There was a brief pause as he looked – somewhat pointedly, Steve thought and felt his cheeks heat as he started to realise what was happening – at the other Commandos.

“Oh, oh, yeah!” Dugan raised his arms above his head and yawned in a not-entirely-convincing manner. “I’m ready to sleep.”

“Me, too,” Jones agreed, and the others all gave nods and murmurs of asset.

“Of course, if you two wanna talk shop we can’t stop you.” Bucky aimed a wide grin at Steve and Peggy. “You can always just tell us the plan in the morning.”

He had started moving backwards as he spoke and now lifted a hand in a casual wave.

“Night, all.”

“Dibs on the bed,” Dugan quickly put in.

“Oh, no, you don’t –”

Tuhus, arguing all the way, they vanished so quickly up the stairs you might have thought it was a practised manoeuvre.

Steve and Peggy stared after them for several moments, then both caught the other’s eye and dissolved into quiet laughter.

“They’re not exactly subtle, are they?” Peggy said with warm fondness in her voice, looking up at him once their laughter had subsided. Something tightened in Steve’s chest as he met her gaze and realised they had unconsciously leaned in closer to one another.

“To be fair, neither are we.”

Her eyebrows arched upwards. “I think you’ll find one of us is more subtle than the other. I haven’t yet been caught on camera with your picture.”

Unable to deny the justice of her comment, he only grinned.

“Yet? Does that mean you could be?”

He couldn’t help being curious. At the time it had happened they hadn’t defined what this thing between them was, although they both knew something was there, and the picture of Peggy in his compass was one he had clipped himself from a newspaper – he hadn’t been able to resist when saw the paper lying in the commander centre, not when he knew he was starting to be sent off on missions that might mean he went for weeks without seeing her – rather than a gift.

Being caught with it on camera had been entirely accidental, though the next time he had seen Peggy after the film had been approved she hadn’t scolded him for his presumption, as he thought she might, but had just given him a small, secretive smile and murmured as she passed him in the hall that, “I rather enjoyed seeing the footage of you on the front lines. It was very . . . enlightening.” Nor had she asked him for a photo or anything in return, so if she was carrying one around it meant she had found one for herself, just as he had done.

Now she just gave him a coy smile and replied, “I think it’s unlikely, since my missions aren’t being filmed.”

“But if they were …?”

“If they were, several of our intelligence operations would be horribly compromised.”

Recognising he wasn’t going to get the answer he was looking for, Steve moved back to flop on to the couch and gave a loud sigh, which just made Peggy laugh again. He wished he could bottle that sound, to listen to whenever things were hard – which, these days, was more often than not.

“You’re so dramatic.”

“Says the woman who shot at me.”

Her cheeks flushed an adorable shade of pink as she shot him an outraged look. “That was – very specific circumstances, as you are well aware –”

“I know, I know,” he quickly assured her. The few days that she had given him the cold shoulder over that incident had been some of the worst, as worried quietly gnawed at him that he might have ruined something completely before it even really had the chance to begin. “I’m not saying there weren’t. I’m just saying it was a kinda dramatic reaction.”

Her lips pressed together into a line for a moment before she relented with a huff of annoyance.

“Oh, fine, I suppose it was a little dramatic.”

As if the world itself wanted to agree, a gust of wind chose that moment to rattle against the windows and a chill breeze swept through the room, causing the fire in the grate to flicker and the temperature to drop. Peggy visibly shivered, goosebumps breaking out on the back of her neck.

“You’re cold. Here.”

Steve reached out without thought, drawing her down to sit with him. She went still for a moment, then let herself be shifted so that she could sit with her back against his chest and his arms wrapped around her. A rough blanket hung off the back of the couch, so Steve pulled that down as well and tucked in around them both – leaving them cocooned together in what a detached professional should think of as a huddle but what felt far more like an embrace.

This was the closest he had ever been to her. Though there were still the thick layers of their woollen sweaters between them, he could feel the soft lines of her body pressed against his and his mouth was suddenly dry and his heart pounding so hard he was sure she would be able to feel it through his chest. She was close enough that some of her curls were brushing against his jaw and throat and he had had dreams about running his fingers through them but he could never have imagined how silkily soft they felt, or how they smelled of the rose-scented soap she used. Steve closed his eyes and clenched his jaw for a moment as that scent wafted over him, trying desperately to push away the raw desire and longing it sent pulsing through him.

Pure instinct was all that had driven him, seeing her cold and needing to rectify it and thinking only that body heat was the best way to combat this sort of adverse weather (never mind that they were in a house with beds and blankets and a fire). Now, confronted with the reality of having Peggy in his arms, he was amazed both by his boldness and his by stupidity – because now he could barely fashion a coherent thought, his mind lost in fog that was made up only of the feeling of his hands holding hers where they rested on her stomach, of her legs stretched out against his along the couch, of the sight of her ear just in his eyeline, peeking out from behind the curtain of her hair.

A vision passed through his mind of what his life might have been like in other circumstances, of a little house like this one but kept in good repair, sweetly decorated with a Christmas tree in one corner and stocking hanging by the fire, of Peggy in his arms after a long day at the office and – maybe – of their child sleeping upstairs.

The thought made something in him ache. Could such a life still be possible, once this war was done with?

He wanted to ask her, but even as he opened his mouth the words dissipated into nothing on his tongue. They had by unspoken agreement never really talked about the future, other than to imply they might go dancing. No one did. It was too difficult to think of now, when every day brought news of another death, another bomb, and they could see the grief and destruction wrought all around them. What hope they had was left vague, shapeless, an idea of something better that they were fighting for without knowing exactly what that something would be.

So instead he just asked, “Better?”

“Much.” Peggy leaned back to rest her head against him, tucking it just beneath his chin. His breath caught with the intimacy of it, and his arms tightened a fraction around her. “You’re lovely and warm. Like my own personal hot water bottle.”

Steve chuckled. “Yeah, well, one of the side effects of the serum is that I run a little hotter than most people.”

“Helpful, when you’re out here.”

“It can be.”

A note of teasing entered her voice. “Do you offer your services as a heater to the other Commandos as well?”

“No.” He leaned down to speak softly near her ear. “This service is reserved just for you.”

Another shiver ran through her, but he didn’t think this one had anything to do with the cold. His heart gave another hard thump against his ribs.

“Well, then.” Peggy said softly. “I’ll have to take advantage of it more often.”

They lapsed into silence for a time, just listening to the gentle sound of the fire crackling in the hearth and their own breathing. Steve started stroking one hand up and down Peggy’s arm, feeling a warm, cosy contentment settle over him, and wished it were possible to stay like this with her forever.

Her other hand shifted beneath his, until he felt her fingers lace between his and squeeze tightly. Smiling, he squeezed back and said, “I guess you don’t mind staying an extra couple of days then?”

“Mmm, well, obviously it’s a trial but I expect I’ll manage.”

He chuckled, and then finally gave into temptation and reached up to brush her hair back. “I’m glad it was you at the door. I hoped it might be.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be. It was supposed to be Agent Andrews, but he got delayed on a mission in France and I was able to volunteer. Probably more quickly than was entirely subtle,” she said with a quiet laugh, and Steve could just imagine the look on Chester Phillips’ face. “But I didn’t want to lose the chance. I’ve missed you.”

The tenderness that filled that those three words was like nothing he had ever felt before.

“I’ve missed you, too.”

Peggy turned in his arms so that she was looking at him, her eyes soft and entreating. With a smile, Steve leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. Her mouth was warm and welcoming, the kiss slow and languid, both of them wanting to stretch it out as long as possible since the opportunities they had were so rare and fleeting.

With effort, Steve kept his hands still, though the quiet moan that escaped Peggy’s lips almost undid him. It would be so easy to flip them over so that he was on top of her, and holy god, he wanted to with a ferocity that was difficult to control, but quite apart from the fact that the Commandos were upstairs and would probably hear everything, they had talked about their relationship and decided (with some reluctance) not to rush things in one of the few stolen moments they could manage but to wait and take their time.

Which didn’t mean they were entirely chaste, but those sorts of things Steve did want to leave until they had more privacy on the base or could grab a hotel room for a night rather than having a potential audience upstairs.

Although it was struggle to remember that when Peggy had brought her hand up to curl around his neck, her fingers in his hair, or when, in the brief moments their lips parted, she met his gaze and he could see in her eyes that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. When she looked at him like that he knew he would hand his heart over on a silver platter if she asked for it.

But clearly he wasn’t the only one thinking such things, as when they stopped to regain their breath she suggested, “Maybe we could send the Commandos out for a while tomorrow . . . to check the roads and – and gather firewood.”

“We will need to make sure we’re well supplied,” Steve agreed.

It wasn’t subtle, but as had been pointed out already, neither were they.

“Just for an hour or two.”

“Or three.”

She laughed and snuggled back down into his arms. Quiet fell over them again, and this time Steve was beginning to feel the heaviness of sleep draping across him when Peggy spoke again in a hushed voice.

“Do you think, one day, we’ll be able to stay like this for as long as we like? Without having to worry about the world outside?”

Heart aching, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head and whispered back, “Yes, Peggy. I really do.”

#steggy #steggysecretsanta #steggy secret santa 2023 #steve rogers #peggy carter #apologies if there are any typos!#I think I caught them but I always think that and there's always hundreds #but I hope you like this #otp: the right partner #my fic

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steggyfanevents · 6 months

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Steggy Secret Santa 2023 gift exchange - signups now open!

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Event timeline

November 17, midnight CT: Sign-ups close.

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November 20 - December 24: Make your gift.

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Steggy Secret Santa is hosted by the friendly elves at @steggyfanevents. Follow us for Secret Santa updates, or @ us to get answers to your burning questions.

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Steggy must be the focus of your gift. Including other pairings is fine, but Steggy should be the main pairing.

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#steggysecretsanta #type: mod post #type: announcement #steggy #stevepeggy #steve x peggy #steve rogers #peggy carter #trackmarvel

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doctorhelena · 2 months

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Summary: A mix-up with one of Howard's spy lipsticks leads to Peggy and Steve spending an unexpectedly candid evening at home.

Rating: R

Words: 15k

Chapters: 1/1

Note: This is my extremely late @steggyfanevents Steggy Secret Santa 2023 gift for the amazing @theawkwardterrier. I'm so sorry it's late, but as usual, it ended up considerably longer than I expected!

Read it on A03

Excerpt:

A ringing phone in 1949 was a far more common thing than it had been in 2023, but that didn’t stop Steve from worrying whenever theirs rang while Peggy was out, even though he knew perfectly well that nobody who worked for the SSR had any idea that Peggy even had someone at home to notify if anything should go wrong.

He hadn’t fully considered this particular consequence of retiring from the top-secret line of work that Peggy was still very much in the thick of. He knew, of course, that she was very, very good at what she did, and could absolutely take care of herself. It was just - well, he guessed he just missed working with her, missed knowing at least the general outlines of what she was doing out there. Their relationship had always been professional as well as personal, and now he wasn't part of that world anymore.

Before Steve had left on his journey to return the stones, Bucky had teased him that he wasn't going to know what to do anymore when he couldn't Google things, but in truth he did miss the casual ease of text messaging a lot more than he'd expected to. Maybe that was part of it. Even though he and Peggy had never actually had the benefit of anything like it, he'd been in the 21st century so long that he wasn't used to everyone being routinely unreachable.

Of course, it wasn’t that they never talked Peggy's work life. In the four months since Steve had arrived on her doorstep, they'd actually spent a lot of time discussing some of the intel he’d brought with him, and making plans for how they could use it to greatest effect to prevent the worst of the disasters of the original timeline. Steve's role was going to be more the guy in the chair than the guy with the shield (although clearly still the man with a plan, Peggy had teased him), but he was still involved. But as to her day to day work at the SSR - and even the finer details of her other side project, the development of SHIELD with Howard and Phillips - Steve was mostly in the dark.

He hadn’t realized how much it would bother him. Or maybe it was just that he still hadn’t quite figured out what he wanted to do all day while Peggy was out saving the world. He hadn’t really planned that part out when he’d decided to come back and see if she’d be interested in making a life with him - which she very much had been - and, now that he'd recovered from the bone-deep exhaustion he'd arrived with, he was feeling a bit at loose ends.

He reached the hallway and answered the phone, his relief at hearing Peggy's voice lasting only until he processed what she was saying. “Darling, it’s me. I’m in a little trouble. Don’t ask me to explain just now.”

“Wh - ”

She cut him off. “Not now. I'm sorry to ask, but Mr. Jarvis isn't available, and I need a lift as quickly as possible from someone I trust implicitly. But I’m all right for the time being and it’s snowing quite hard, so there's no need to drive like a maniac.” She gave him her location, a phone booth a few blocks north of the White House, and hung up before he could ask any more questions.

Well, Steve thought wryly, this was more how he'd imagined his life with Peggy was going to go.

Read the rest on A03

#steggysecretsanta #fanfic #steggy #peggy carter #steve rogers #my fic

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theawkwardterrier · 4 months

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Have Yourself a Scheming Little Christmas

The big reveal of my fic for @steggyfanevents's Steggy Secret Santa, especially for @lavellenchanted! December has been a big and busy month so I fell down on my Santa-ing a bit along the way, Sarah, but I hope that you enjoy some family and fluff here and have a wonderful holiday, a delightful end of 2023, and a great beginning to 2024!

Summary: Natasha's dad seems like he might need someone in his life. So does Sharon's Aunt Peggy. Luckily, they have two smart and savvy matchmakers to help them along the way.

AO3 link here.

Natasha wouldn't say that her father is sad, exactly. He doesn't spend all his time crying like the preschool kids do when their parents leave at drop off or someone pushes them down on the playground, after all, and he smiles when he watches her in her ballet shows and cheers for her when it's her turn at bat during baseball season (he might be the coach and cheer for everyone, but Nat thinks that he sounds just a tiny bit louder when she's up). Their apartment is clean and warm, and Dad makes her laugh with stories from his work and is always getting better at cooking, even if they do end up ordering takeout at least once a week.

Still, sometimes when she turns back to him before he notices that she’s watching or she's up to go to the bathroom in the night and sees him awake, he’s gazing into his mug or at the TV screen with this certain look. It reminds her of back when she was in foster care, that feeling of sitting in her room listening to the family laughing and talking while she was behind the wall. It makes her think, too, of Uncle Bucky: that staring, empty sort of face he sometimes gets, ever since she can remember, the one that Dad says is because of the war. Dad was in the war too, but a long time ago, and Nat doesn't think that he is sad because of that.

Dad might not talk about why he's sad, but there are hints, like how he tucked his hands into his pockets at Parent Night in October every time he talked to a pair of parents together and it was just him standing alone. Or like how they were in the park one day, and she was petting a puppy, and as she stood up, Dad's face was full of that look, just from watching the way that the puppy's owners were standing super close, holding each other's waists. And just like there are hints about what might be making him sad, there are hints about what might make him happy. She and Dad almost always get to school at the same time in the mornings, and the same kids are almost always getting dropped off then too, and Dad almost always starts glancing across the path in the same way at the same person, and the look on his face makes Nat think that if she saw it on a worksheet, she would mark it as the opposite of that nighttime look.

Nat might not know exactly what it is that is making him sad, but she decides that she is going to fix it. She is going to make him happy.

And to do that, she is going to need a partner, so she can get him his.

When she came to live in Brooklyn last year, Aunt Peggy told Sharon that she didn't know exactly what she was doing or why Daddy had decided that she was the right person to come take care of Sharon after he died, but that they would do their best and would always be honest with one another and would figure things out together so they would both be happy.

That has, Sharon feels, worked for the most part, but it is hard to be honest with someone else about your happiness when you aren't being honest with yourself. This is what she reminds herself when Aunt Peggy responds to Sharon's probing with a laugh and a quick, "I'm perfectly satisfied with you, my work, and everything in my life, thank you." She might not be lying to Sharon on purpose, but that doesn't mean it isn't a lie anyway.

So she is quite prepared to accept when Nat Rogers from the other class comes up to her in the line for the swings during recess on the first Tuesday in December and asks, "Are you available to come over after school sometime this week? I think that your aunt and my dad have something in common."

Aunt Peggy doesn't need to beg for attention, and Sharon won't either. Watching Betty's pumping legs on the swing, she says casually back, "Is it that they both want to be dating but they won't do anything about it?"

She likes Nat more for neither squealing nor stomping off in a huff at having her surprise spoiled, but instead saying calmly, "I assume that if you’re already aware, that means we can arrange something?"

Even though it's probably a good sign that she and Nat, both pretty smart people, had the same idea; and even though Sharon saw the way that Aunt Peggy smiled as she and Natasha's dad talked on the phone to arrange their "playdate" but also noticed the way she carefully kept her smile out of her voice; and even though Sharon finds herself approving of Mr. Rogers, who tells her to call him Steve and clearly drew the picture of him and Natasha that's framed on the bedside table in her room...even with all that, it isn't until she suggests that they get Nat's tablet to write out their plan and Nat tells her that the rule is that she isn't allowed to have much tablet time, especially when friends are over and they aren't doing schoolwork because "my dad thinks it limits my imagination," which is almost exactly the same thing that Aunt Peggy always says, that Sharon actually believes this might work.

It is not a hard sell at all to get Dad to take her to the ice rink at Prospect Park. Their weekends are usually filled with outings, even if it's just errands, but Dad's been especially busy getting orders ready over the past few weeks, plus they went over to Uncle Bucky’s last weekend.

“I’m sorry we haven’t spent much time just the two of us lately, kiddo,” Dad says as they tie on their skates, and Nat laces hers tight and doesn’t feel at all guilty that as long as Sharon held up her end of the deal, it won’t be just the two of them for long.

She does a few jumps and glides around the ice, choreographing to her ballet music in her head, and right at the dramatic flourish, Sharon enters the rink, with her aunt behind her.

Natasha has taken the time to study Peggy Carter before, calculating the meaning of her purposeful stride and perfectly done lipstick during the mornings and afternoons at school or at Parent Night. Still, she notes approvingly today that she is wearing a nice black peacoat and a scarf that is the same color as Dad’s eyes that is looped easily around her neck and corresponds perfectly with her hair and skin, and that she looks graceful and competent on the ice. Taking a deep breath, Nat puts the first step of the plan into action.

“Hi, Sharon!” She skates toward her quickly, knowing that Dad will follow without thinking or noticing who she is skating toward, just to keep an eye on her.

"Slow down, Nat," she hears from behind her, and then an oof!

Dad would never say no to her if she wanted to go to the rink, but he isn't exactly as skilled as she is. Uncle Bucky has always said that Dad has "two left feet and probably a couple of left hands too," especially when he's nervous...and seeing Ms. Carter is definitely the type of thing that would make him nervous.

She and Sharon reach out and grab each other's hands, catching eyes as they listen to the conversation behind them.

"Are you alright there, Mr. Rogers?"

"Ms. Carter...!" Dad gives a sort of wince-laugh. "Could have done without face-planting in front of everyone in Brooklyn, but I'll get over it."

"She's almost laughing," Sharon whispers in shock, glancing at the pair of them over Nat's shoulder, and Nat feels a little zing of triumph – all this time, Sharon was going along with the plan without the belief in it that she has – but of course she does not let that show on her face.

"I believe you did the opposite of a face-plant, if you don't mind my saying so," says Ms. Carter, and now Natasha can hear the laughter in her voice, although it is very proper laughter if she says so herself. That's okay; it sounds like it would match pretty well with Dad's crinkle-eyed smiles. "May I help you up?"

"I'd say that I'd only take that offer if you were really firm on your feet, but I can see that you are and I don't think you'd just ask to be polite."

"Right on two counts. Now give me your hand."

Nat and Sharon skate back over to quickly say that they're going to go around the rink together.

"Safely," Dad warns. "We'll be watching, and I think that Ms. Carter, at least, could get over to bust you in a half a minute if I wasn't holding her back."

"Probably less," Ms. Carter says, but as Nat and Sharon skate away, Nat notices that she has still not let go of his hand – and it doesn’t seem like it’s much about keeping him upright at this point.

She does finally let him go later, as they all agree to walk over for cocoa together (something that would probably have taken a lot longer if Nat wasn't there to push Dad past all of his stumbling, "If you aren't busy, and I don't know whether you or Sharon have any dietary restrictions, and we're happy to let you pick the spot if you have somewhere you like" and might not have happened at all if Ms. Carter had done less standing there with slightly amused patience and more making excuses to leave in the fact of what Nat considers his awkwardness) but she also, it seems, is walking very close to him, much closer than two new friends on a sidewalk would need to be, even if they are making sure to catch every word from each other among the crowds.

When they get to her and Dad’s favorite diner, Mr. Phillips seems to know Ms. Carter — “I’d ask why you were hanging around with this reprobate, Carter, but you’ve got quite the degenerate streak yourself,” he says as he gets their menus and drops crayons and his latest hand-written set of mazes and puzzles on the table for Sharon and Nat, although he pretends he isn’t doing it, just like he pretends that he didn’t add extra whipped cream or mint sprinkles to their mugs of cocoa when they come. Natasha likes that, when she asks what a reprobate is, Ms. Carter doesn’t tell her she’s too young for it to matter; instead she defines the word and writes it down in big clear letters on Nat’s paper. Dad seems to like that too, smiling down into his mug, even if it means that he ends up with a bit of whipped cream all over his top lip and Ms. Carter leans over the table to gently wipe it off with her thumb.

They end up staying past just cocoa, Dad and Ms. Carter sitting in the inside seats of the red vinyl booth across from each other and talking for so long that Angie comes over with her pad and offers to get something started for dinner. Nat and Sharon glance at each other, seeming to agree that no matter what had been said about the seating arrangements being so “the girls” could have easy access to slide out to examine the dessert case or to help Mr. Phillips with combining the ketchup bottles, it was really so they would be able to laugh about Dad’s design clients and the other lawyers Ms. Carter works with or to watch each other gesturing as they talk about important but boring things like the school board and “the political situation.”

She and Sharon also seem to agree, Nat thinks as she twirls some pasta on her fork and Sharon bites into her tuna melt, that the first step of the plan has gone just how they wanted.

"Oh good," Aunt Peggy says, holding up a book called Recipes for Feeding Demons. "I think that this will be a helpful guide for Dottie Underwood." She glances at the cover again thoughtfully, then adds with some sourness, "Although I suppose that it might encourage her to believe that I'm interested in her well-being."

Sharon reaches over to take it and add it to the pile they've already made of intended books for friends, coworkers, and their small amount of remaining family. "At school they say that if you don’t have anything nice to say, you shouldn’t say anything at all,” she comments.

“I suppose they’re right,” Aunt Peggy says, paging through a copy of Chicken Soup for the Soul at Work that Sharon thinks might end up wrapped on Jack Thompson’s desk tomorrow; Sharon is familiar with him because there are always amusing stories about the other lawyers at Aunt Peggy’s firm, although fewer and fewer these days and more frowns and looking at documents on her laptop with pursed lips. “As much as I support being direct and honest and not holding back your opinion in most circumstances, keeping quiet can be a very effective way of making certain that the other person doesn’t sense your true feelings and allowing you to maintain the upper hand.”

“I guess if I was trying to find some Sun Tzu, you would be the right person to ask, huh?”

Sharon looks over, face showing careful surprise to see an amused Steve standing behind Aunt Peggy’s shoulder in the aisle of their favorite local bookshop, just one of dozens of fellow holiday shoppers crammed into the space. Nat joins him a minute later, holding a couple of graphic novels in one arm. Sharon approves of that casualness. They’d known it would be a little risky for her to try to get her dad to work a present-buying excursion into their plans for the day – he might have gotten wind that something was afoot if Nat too steadfastly refused to take no for an answer, but since they're regulars, it would have been even more suspicious for her to hover around once they'd arrived and give any appearance of trying to guide him anywhere in particular in the store or of this being in any way more than an average visit.

"Steve," says Aunt Peggy, turning in surprise and even seeming to flush just a little across her cheekbones. It's actually nice to see, Sharon thinks, pretending to straighten their book pile while giving Natasha a subtle thumbs up. Over the past few weeks, as her aunt and Steve have found more and more reasons to have them all spend time together in the afternoons and evenings and over the weekends, they’ve gotten more and more comfortable with each other, but knowing that Aunt Peggy still has that flash of excitement when seeing him tells Sharon that she’s made the right choice. The couple of times that her aunt has had dates since coming to Brooklyn, Aunt Peggy has been really careful to be her most shiny and controlled self. There’s a lot about that self to admire, sure, but it’s a lot nicer to see the real Aunt Peggy allowing herself to peek through, that little bit of vulnerability but also ease. She doesn’t do some sort of quick maneuver to spruce up the old jeans and sweater that she’s wearing, or try to cover up her pleased little double take. It’s equally nice to see Steve blushing a little in return, pinkening his smiling cheeks.

“It’s good to see you two,” he says quickly, tucking his hands into his pockets. “I’m glad that Nat had the idea to come here to pick up a few last minute gifts.”

"Funny, Sharon had the same thought," says Aunt Peggy, casting a glance at her, and Sharon smiles before digging into her pocket for one of the candy canes they'd had in a bowl at the counter. She tries to unwrap the plastic as if her heart hasn't suddenly picked up rhythm at the thought that sharp-minded Aunt Peggy might be realizing that it isn't all coincidence. But, as Sharon sticks the sweet into her mouth, her aunt turns back to Steve and adds, "I suppose our girls' great minds think alike."

"I'd say that we could get some credit for that, or at least for sending them to a good school, but I think it's all them."

Aunt Peggy puts her hand on his arm, an unexpectedly tender look on her face, and Sharon freezes a little; there's something about the moment that makes her wonder if there's about to be some comment made about how Steve has already done far more for his daughter than he gives himself credit for. Natasha had mentioned – just quickly, so that Sharon would barely even remember it except for the careful way that she had relaxed her jaw, which probably would have misled most other people but just made Sharon more alert – how much she dislikes people talking about her adoption like her dad is just doing charity work, like Nat's presence in his life is some huge burden or something he should get endless gold stars for enduring.

"We're certainly lucky to have them, just as they are," Aunt Peggy says instead, as the whittled pinprick end of the candy cane accidentally stabs at Sharon's tongue and she holds back a yelp to listen. "But I've seen bits of you in Natasha as well."

The two of them are making long eye contact. Steve's hand comes up to cover Aunt Peggy's where it rests against his forearm. Sharon very purposefully does not grin around her candy.

"Luckily the hair isn’t one of them," says Nat. Sharon wants to glare at her but channels it by chomping down and filling her mouth with peppermint shards, because the bubble of quiet that they had existed in so briefly disappears, the noise and chaos of a Saturday afternoon nearing Christmas rushing back over them with Nat’s flippant tone. "I don't know that he could pull it off."

Aunt Peggy replies, "Oh, I’m not certain I agree. I think he has at least a chance of managing with that color, even if it wouldn't be as lovely as it is on you," but her voice sounds normal now, teasing but confident rather than close and confiding the way it was a minute ago. She turns to Steve and asks, "What else will you two be up to today?"

Steve's smile somehow seems to have shifted from the gentle, private light it showed a minute ago. It just looks like a regular grown-up small talk smile now, the same way that Aunt Peggy's question sounded. But he says easily, "We're going to drop the books at home along the way to the holiday party that my best friend's family is throwing. They like to have it far enough in advance that no one's started traveling yet, no one's in a complete last-minute panic over gift-buying, and it might even actually overlap with some of the holidays that aren’t Christmas – practically half of the people in their neighborhood show up, so they want to give as many people as possible a chance to come.” With a tiny extra pause, a little blink and a deep breath, he adds, “I’d—I’m sure they’d love to meet you if you have the time to join us."

Aunt Peggy laughs, half-thoughtful. “Your friend wouldn’t happen to be a member of the Barnes family, would he?”

“You know Uncle Bucky?”

It is not until she hears Natasha's question, the truly surprised and curious blurt of it, that Sharon recognizes that her earlier comment had not been simply making conversation or trying in some misguided way to move things along to the next phase; it had been Nat, after all, who had suggested that the party would be a good next step, a way to push things from accidental run-ins and purposeful but casual dinners together. Between the bright embrace of Nat’s extended family and the assured presence of mistletoe that Steve and Aunt Peggy might just so happen to find themselves beneath, it would be the right setting to move things from falling to fell. But between their consultation during lunch three days ago and now, something seems to have happened.

It seems that she is not the only one to have realized the difference in Nat’s tone – Steve glances down at his daughter with his brow creased – and there is a slight slowness to Aunt Peggy's words as she says, "I only know Bucky himself by reputation, I’m afraid. His mother was my realtor when I was looking for somewhere that would be a mutually positive living situation for Sharon and myself when I relocated to Brooklyn, and she was kind enough to show me around the neighborhood afterward and tell me about life here."

She shifts so she is facing Sharon. "What would you think about coming along with Steve and Natasha for the party? I think it would be nice to see Winnifred again, but it's up to you. I know that you might have had other plans for how you wanted to spend the afternoon."

"You don't have to if you don't want to," says Natasha, like she honestly couldn’t care one way or the other and isn’t pretending to be casual anymore, but Sharon ignores her.

As much as she misses Daddy and despite the little burn of guilt at the thought that her current life is only possible because he died, this is one of the things that Sharon likes about living with Aunt Peggy. She has no problem putting her foot down or making rules when needed, but she also treats Sharon like her own person, someone whose opinions and desires and feelings should count equally to those of any grownup.

It's moments like this that remind her all over again about why she is working to make sure Aunt Peggy gets the things that she wants too.

"Do you think we should bring a gift to the party?" she asks, and Aunt Peggy and Steve smile in unison.

"What were you doing back there?" Sharon hisses to Nat as they walk ahead; the conversation behind them has moved from a lively and distracting description of some updates to a project that one of Steve's clients had tried to demand at the last minute over to a more serious discussion of something happening at Aunt Peggy’s work – something about “irregularities” and “starting to suspect malfeasance,” which sounds like just the sort of adult thing to keep them distracted so there isn't much danger of Nat and Sharon’s planning being overheard. "For a minute I thought they might even kiss right in the aisle, and then you blew it."

"I didn't blow it," Nat says, facing ahead. "I changed my mind."

Sharon almost stops walking. "Changed your—What are you talking about? Why?"

"My dad...My dad really likes your aunt. And I know you say that your aunt likes him back, but I don't think it's the same thing. I saw how he was looking at her back there. I think that he really likes her, and if that first plan had worked out and they had gotten together, his feelings could have ended up getting really hurt."

The sound of the words first plan and Nat’s use of the past tense echoes alongside their footsteps on the cold sidewalk. "My aunt wouldn't hurt his feelings," Sharon says, quiet but staunch, crossing her arms over her chest, although it's difficult in her puffy coat. "And you should have thought of all that in the first place. You're the one who started all of this!"

"And now I'm cancelling it. So don't think of trying to do something at the party. I've got cousins' eyes everywhere."

The coldness and finality in her tone does not scare Sharon, but it does mean that she needs a chance to regroup and gather any allies and resources as she makes a plan B. She's pretty sure that the party would have been a lot of fun and the perfect next milestone for Aunt Peggy and Steve to start moving toward dating if not the moment that got them there, but instead she hangs at the edges of the crowd, avoiding Aunt Peggy's eyes and brushing off Steve's questions and trying to pretend that everything is okay so that they don't delve any deeper, so that they have fun with Bucky and Winnifred and the rest of the Barnes family who seem to like Aunt Peggy a lot, so that she might salvage at least a little bit of the future that she and—that she has been working toward, even if she has to do it alone.

Natasha wouldn't say that her father is sad, exactly.

So maybe he doesn't smile in that certain, slanted kind of way that he did when looking at Ms. Carter. And maybe he goes to bed early instead of chatting on the phone with her about planning things for them to do together, and then about all sorts of other stuff until really late so that he’s yawning as he comes to wake her up for school the next morning. And maybe he just quietly boxes up the leftovers at dinner because it was just the two of them instead of four and Ms. Carter wasn’t there to tease him or stand next to him at the counter as they both tried to chop things.

Okay, so maybe he is a little sad.

She asks him directly as she sets the table a few days after the party why he hadn’t just invited the Carters over if he wanted to see them. And he had looked at her with that Dad look of his and said, his tone even more gentle in comparison to her tight one that she couldn’t quiet help, “It seemed like you and Sharon might have had a fight, so I didn’t want to make things harder for you.”

“You aren’t going to make me apologize?” She makes herself look at him as she says it, even though she wants to look down at the forks in her hand.

He looks back, with only the littlest raise of his eyebrow at the demanding tone. “I trust that if you’re having a problem with a friend, there’s a reason for it, and that you’ll make the right choice to apologize if you need to, to forgive her, or to decide that your friendship is over.” He steps over and places a kiss on her head. “That’s the kind of thing that we do for the people we love, Nat,” he says softly against her hair. “We trust them.”

As she lies in bed that night, Nat, pinching the twisty worm of guilt tunneling through her insides, thinks about choices, and about trust. Yes, Dad might get hurt from being with Ms. Carter, but maybe he won’t. Maybe she should trust that Ms. Carter will be careful with him, or that even if something does happen, Dad will be glad to have been with her anyway for as long as it might last.

One of the things that Dad taught her, first as his foster kid and now as his kid, is that we can look for people to be good instead of assuming that they won’t be. She decides to try that now, decides that she will talk to Sharon in the morning.

Even if her father isn’t sad, that doesn’t mean he can’t be happier. If not seeing Ms. Carter is already hurting him, maybe Natasha was right in the first place about what he needs and what she needs to do to get it for him.

Sharon had been a little bit surprised that Steve and Natasha don’t have huge Christmas Eve plans; there seemed to be infinite relatives at the party, all hugging them and laughing, part of the sort of enormous family that she has only seen on TV or in movies, where they would all gather and watch some holiday classic and fall asleep in a big pile so they could wake up to open presents all together the next morning.

She is, however, far more surprised when Natasha comes over to her at school two days before Christmas and says that she was wrong to try to stop their plan and that she is ready to finish things.

“And how do I know you won’t back out again?” Sharon looks out across the playground, only flicking her eyes back in tiny darts to catch glimpses of Nat.

“You just believe, I guess, the same way that you do with anything about other people,” Nat says simply. “But also…If your aunt has been anything like my dad over the past few days, you’ll be willing to take the risk.”

Sharon looks at her fully now, red hair glinting metallic under the afternoon sun covering the playground despite the cold, face not overly apologetic but certainly determined. She thinks of Aunt Peggy, the way that over the last few days she had more than once picked up her phone to check for messages or to start sending one herself before placing it forcefully back down again, how dinner was somewhat lackluster because although they were back to eating good takeout, Aunt Peggy carefully cut and ate each bite as if programmed and as if she wasn’t enjoying it half as much as she would choking down whatever Steve had made recently, the way she would go back into her home office to work afterward because Steve wasn’t there to prod her into playing a board game together or talk about whatever was happening at work that was adding to her mood.

“Fine.” She crosses her arms and Nat does the same, the two of them scanning over the other kids on the playground. “What did you have in mind?”

The sleepover, they decide, will be at Natasha’s house. Sharon offers all sorts of logical reasons for this — Dad and Nat have a TV for showing movies while the Carters mostly watch things on their laptops and tablets, and the couch is smaller which will make it easier to box Dad and Ms. Carter into squishing together during the evening — and Nat doesn’t say that she suspects that, more than anything, it is because their place is simply cozier. She knows what it feels like to have those sorts of tender things which you don’t want to speak about, and exactly how much it means to come into the apartment and see the fridge with her papers and projects magneted firmly to the front and the walls covered in the paint that they picked out together after Nat’s adoption was finalized and the coffee table chest filled with Dad’s handmade afghans that anyone can curl under.

They had assumed that their careful planning would ensure that Ms. Carter wouldn’t just drop Sharon off and leave, but instead it is Dad. Even in the face of her laughing remarks that allowing herself a quiet bubble bath and a new coat of nail polish on Christmas Eve will be a treat, he says a soft and simple, “Peggy. You should stay with us,” and she actually does.

There are times during the evening that Natasha forgets that this is all part of the plan. Between decorating cookies, trying to play some games together (Pictionary in particular is a hilarious disaster, because Dad is very good and that makes Ms. Carter turn grumpy in the most steely and genteel way) and watching the argument between Dad and Ms. Carter about the best Christmas movies and which classic songs should simply be tossed out, it’s all just so much fun.

Originally they had planned to keep things going until it was late enough that Dad would be simply forced by politeness to ask her to stay, but the weather lends them a hand, the snow coming down in heavy flakes and with heavier gusts as the night wears on. Sharon’s hand clenches slightly in silent victory on the rug in front of them when it is Ms. Carter who comments, stretching as the credits of It’s a Wonderful Life roll on the screen, that she wishes she’d remembered her gloves for the walk home. Dad practically trips over himself inviting her to spend the night.

Instead of having that sleepover sort of excitement, the important sense of showing someone else your space and everything about your routine just being a little more when seen through the eyes of a friend, Natasha finds that getting ready for bed mostly just feels…comfortable. She and Sharon brush their teeth while listening to the sounds of the dinner dishes being cleared up, the voices of the grown-ups rising and falling peaceably around the rush of water and clink of silverware and shutting of cupboards as the dried dishes are put away.

Even though she knows that Sharon isn’t the sort to need to call home to say goodnight or to fuss about glasses of water and nightlights to avoid having to go to sleep in a strange place, there is something particularly cozy about two familiar faces framed in the doorway checking to make certain that they are sleepily settled in Natasha’s room. And although it could easily feel uncomfortable to have the usual night sounds of the apartment outside suddenly different, enhanced by an unfamiliar presence alongside her father, Nat finds herself relaxing into the humming murmur of conversation from beyond the door, so much so that it is only seeking out the triumphant glint of Sharon’s eyes in the almost-dark which keeps her awake enough to sneak out as the clock ticks over near midnight.

“That’s a tough thing,” Dad is saying as the two girls creep over to hide behind the sofa. The living room is lit only by the table lamps and the little bulbs wrapped around the Christmas tree where they are carefully setting gifts; even if they are too old for Santa tales, there’s something nice about traditions. “That’s a tough thing, Peg. You’ve already had a big year, losing your brother, moving across the ocean, taking responsibility for Sharon. Leaving your job over this would be hard — the financial issues, not to mention that bit of stability.”

“You say that as if you wouldn’t feel disappointed to find that I’d stayed at the firm after what I’ve found out,” she says, in return, smoothing some errant corner of wrapping paper with a firm hand. Despite her cut-glass diction and attempted humor, there is a bit of a question mark beneath that even the girls can hear wavering in the air.

But Dad shakes his head immediately. “I say that as someone who knows that whatever you decide, it will be the right choice for you both.”

“Ridiculous man,” she says, and Nat knows as she meets Sharon’s wide eyes that she has noticed the shake of tears in her aunt’s voice and that she hadn’t expected it either.

“Sure. Although not for this.”

When Dad touches her cheek gently, Nat has the immediate feeling that she should look away. But she reaches out a hand and grips Sharon’s instead, the two of them holding what suddenly feels like their shared breath. “I’ve seen the kind of person you are, Peggy. I’ve seen how smart you are — sharp as hell, six steps ahead and around the corner from everyone else — and how strong and certain and self-reliant. I’ve seen the way that you care for Sharon. There’s no one whose judgment I would trust more.”

“Well.” Somehow Ms. Carter makes even shifting herself forward on the floor surrounded by pine needles and presents look elegant, even with that remaining vulnerability there too. “Coming from a deeply kind and upstanding and moral man, and the best father I know, that means quite a lot.” And then she leans that last bit and presses her mouth to his.

Nat is certain that the small, excited squeak did not come from her, but based on Sharon’s matching warning look, she is equally disavowing being the source. Through some silent, mutual agreement, they decide to chalk it up to a mysterious but necessary atmospheric venting of joy at this moment and turn their attention back.

“What about the girls?” Dad asks as he and Ms. Carter part. “I don’t think that I can just kiss you, or just do it once, and they’ve both had it hard. If we started something…” but Nat notices that he does not move away and that he has her fingers still held in his, their hands twined and tucked snug between their chests.

Ms. Carter smiles, bright-edged and knowing by the blurry holiday lights. “Somehow I have the feeling that they won’t precisely mind,” she says, and when he leans forward to kiss her again despite his quizzical expression, Nat and Sharon take the opportunity to crawl away, exchanging a triumphant nod.

When they get back to Nat’s bedroom, hearing the low laughter still coming from the living room, they cannot help but high five as well for a job well done, a successful plan, the future that they made for all of them together.

(And if perhaps Ms. Carter clued in somewhere along the way, well, they couldn’t really expect to make it through without that happening, could they?)

Sharon should be sleeping. December has been so packed: between all their usual traditions – skating, sledding, peppermint cocoa at the diner, buying gifts at the bookstore, the annual Barnes family party, decorating the tree and the apartment – and their move this year into the new place (which Winnifred Barnes had called “a steal,” Aunt Peggy had called “quite reasonable,” and Steve had referred to as “a travesty that would be solved by rent control”), by Christmas Eve she’s honestly exhausted. But something woke her and she can’t quite get back to sleep, so she finally gets up to go get a drink from the kitchen.

She passes Nat’s room on the way down the hall, smiling at the small picture of the four of them together which her sister had stuck up on the door. As she nears the living room, there’s a small sound that makes her freeze. For a moment she wonders if one of their gifts this year actually is the cat they’ve been asking for, but as she slowly turns her head, she finds that Aunt Peggy and Steve – probably tired out too from all the activity, Aunt Peggy’s work with the new firm, and the slow way they were turning in a circle together before the girls went to bed – are asleep and breathing deeply on the sofa together; it’s the bigger one from their old apartment but they’re still cuddled together, Aunt Peggy’s head on Steve’s shoulder and his tipping over hers as the bulbs from the Christmas tree illuminate them, tiny and glowing.

“Better get back to bed,” Nat says softly from behind her, and somehow she isn’t surprised to hear her there. “You don’t want to be too tired tomorrow to appreciate Peggy rating Dad’s attempt at the full English breakfast.”

“I could never be too tired for that,” Sharon says with a little laugh, but she is actually feeling sleepy again, so she turns and follows Nat down the hall, glancing over her shoulder one last time at their parents, all ready for another Christmas together.

#lavellenchanted #SteggySecretSanta #Steggy Secret Santa #Steggy #Steggy fic

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meidui · 4 months

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i'm answering all 30 fic writer asks as seen on kelly@fohatic's blog 😽 HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE I LOVE YOU SO MUCH

1. What’s something new that you tried in a fic this year? How did it turn out and would you do it again? fool's gold was a 1872 fic and it was one-sided dialogue but with no quotation marks, so it was supposed to read like somebody from timely was telling you about what happened! i liked it but i don't know if i would do it again because it's just stylistic, i think it worked for 1872 because it suited the small town setting

2. How many fics did you work on this year? (They don’t have to be finished or published!) i have too many wips but i posted 56 fics on ao3 this year!

3. What’s something you learned about yourself as a writer? that i dilly dally a lot to avoid writing smut scenes and that the discord sprinting bot is my best friend

4. What piece of media inspired you the most? probably endgame because we had the @stevetonyisendgame exchange and prompt fest this year, so i rewatched it a lot and ended up writing lots of endgame-adjacent/post-endgame!! they're so soft in that movie i can't help myself

5. What fandom(s) did you write for this year? all marvel except for one fic for game changers! i foresee house md fic in 2024

6. What ship(s) captured your heart? stevetony has always had my heart does that count

7. What character(s) captured your heart? i love steve rogers even more than i did last year

8. Did you write for a new fandom or ship this year? new ships!! i wrote steve/thor and steve/natasha for the first time for captain bottom bingo and steve/peggy for the first time for steggy secret santa

9. What fic meant the most to you to write? nobody saves me, baby (the way you do) because kristina@samcky had an unposted draft of it that she let me rewrite 🥺 so it meant a lot to me because she's all over that fic and i just love her with all my heart

10. What fic made you feel the happiest to work on? i think it's a tie between winged and how porcupines kiss because they're so fluffy! although this might a little biased because @capnstars drew the cutest winghead!steve art you've ever seen in your entire life for winged and @itsmaybitheway drew THIS PRECIOUS PORCUPINE!STEVE AND ARMADILLO!TONY for how porcupines kiss 🥺

11. What fic was the most satisfying to finish writing? probably hell and high water because i worked on it slowly for months which usually doesn't happen, and it might even be one of my favourite fics that i've ever written so i was really proud

12. What fic was the most difficult to write? Did you finish it? i don't think anything was difficult to write but new york is a hell of a town (and i'm brooklyn down) was so silly of me because it's set in august, but i wrote the first part in april and the second part in october and didn't really work on it during the actual summer 😶 like what was that?? why did i do that?? i'm so sorry

13. What fic was the easiest to write? into the forever and beautiful sky! it's a rocket-centric fic with rocket & steve friendship, i wrote it right after watching gotg vol 3 and it's just feelings vomit ahahah

14. What were your shortest and longest fics this year? my shortest fic was fool's gold which was 546 words and the longest fic that i wrote by myself (not just this year but also ever in all my life) was a rose by any other name which was 11.6k words! without caveats the longest fic is heartbreak prince, which i wrote with @areiton and it was 12k words!!

15. Rec a fic you wrote or posted in 2023 a beast of a burden is really special to me so i want to rec that one! because i wrote it for the endgame exchange that i loved so much and it was for mrsgingles, who is my favourite stevetony artist, and it reminds me of this summer, and it also feels like the truest love letter to endgame that i've ever written

16. What were you go-to writing songs? i don't have any! usually it's whatever i'm already listening to or a movie or show that i'm watching, but i listened to exo's lotto on repeat when i wrote hit the lotto because that's what the fic sounds like in my head and taylor swift's timeless when i wrote once in a lifetime because it was based on that song

17. What were your go-to writing snacks? NO TIME FOR SNACKS WHEN THERE ARE PEOPLE WHO NEED TO KISS

18. What was the hardest fic to title? maybe lovelorn and nobody knows? i started working on it before 1989 tv came out and it didn't have a title for way too long, the google doc was literally just called "there are still beautiful things steve pov" and then it took me like 20 minutes of comparing 1989 vault lyrics to pick one 😭

19. Share your favourite opening line from the ice is getting thinner under me and you (a hockey au)

Steve is supposed to be at a bar downtown with the rest of his team. Steve is not supposed to be back in the emptied out stadium, his back slammed against the lockers with Tony's tongue in his mouth.

20. Share your favourite ending line i added the second last line for context but this ending line is my favourite because time has always been against steve and peggy, so i feel like the best show of how happy and safe they feel together is that they finally don't have to watch the clock or worry about time slipping through their fingers anymore 🥺 this is from from we were born to be national treasures

When she laughs, eyes glittering, he has the most peculiar feeling that he was always meant to end up right here, kissing the maroon lipstick off Peggy’s mouth, swaying under the sprig of mistletoe they never took down from Christmas as someone starts to shout a countdown to New Year’s. She cups his face and he smiles into the kiss, and neither of them bother watching the clock.

21. Share your favorite piece of dialogue from if my wishes came true (buckynat)

“You got that written down in your notebook?” “I don’t need to write you down to remember you, Natasha Romanoff.”

22. Share an excerpt from your favorite scene there were so many close contenders aahh but my favourite scene has to be the one from catastrophic blues when tony finally catches steve!!

“Then don’t make me hurt you,” Tony says, raising his palm and lighting up his repulsor. “I know you know what this does. You’re unarmed and backed into a dead-end alley. You’re not winning this one, kid, I can tell you that for free. Take off your mask.” The Vigilante glowers and stands his ground. “My whole life is dead-end alleys. I’m not taking off my mask.”

23. Share the final version of a sentence or paragraph you struggled with. What about it was challenging? Are you happy with how it turned out? the whole end part of near-death cliché took some wrangling just because i was trying to make it sound like something kang the conqueror would say haha

“I’ve killed a lot of Avengers and it all starts to blend together,” Kang says, “but I remember you because you always end up fighting for him. I admire the consistency. It’s rare.” “Him?” “You could be with Steve Rogers,” Kang says almost empathetically, and it’s like he has gently wrenched Tony’s heart out of his chest. When the repulsors on his palms falter, Kang continues in the same disarming tone. “I could send you back to the battlefield. You’d open your eyes and he'd be there.”

24. What's something that surprised you while you were working on a fic? Did it change the story? this is hilarious to me because the recurring motif in but saving what we love was supposed to be steve and tony calling each other's bullshit over the years but it ended up being overshadowed by star wars. so much star wars, in fact, that it warranted a "star wars references" tag

25. What did you use to write? (e.g. writing programs, paper & pen, etc.) google docs

26. If you had to choose one, what was THE most satisfying writing moment of your year? all of i thought the plane was going down (how'd you turn it right around) for two reasons! one is that i feel like maleness informs a lot of their lives and experiences and for a while i didn't really get the appeal of genderbending them, but then i read all of isozyme's lesbian stevetony fics and i had an epiphany about genderbending being an opportunity for character and relationship study, and two is that once i had said epiphany i realised i actually had a lot to say so i wrote captain eve rogers in one go and now i love her so much

27. Did you do anything special to celebrate finishing a fic? hmm i don't think so!

28. How did you recharge between fics? i don't think i really do that either

29. If this were an awards show, who would you thank? oh my gosh. with all the sincerity in my heart, every person who gave me a kudo or a comment or is subscribed to my ao3, recommended my fics or my blog, said in a reblog/tweet/discord message/dm that they liked one of my fics or it made them happy or they were excited about reading one, follows me on tumblr or looks at my gifs or likes/reblogs my posts, runs fandom events, shares their beautiful fics or art or edits with us, all the members of the steve rogers defense squad, truly everyone who i've had an interaction with (except the steve antis and bots in my block list 😠) because i'm so grateful to have this community and that we met because we love the same thing and we can make each other's days better. deactivating for 10 months was the right thing to do but i'm so happy to be back this time because of you

30. What’s something that you want to write in 2024? some of these have been cooking in my head for so long that they have TITLES

that famous happy ending (enchanted au)

play house (wandavision au)

plausible deniability (rival lawyers au)

wild and beautiful (feral/tarzan steve au)

yoga instructor steve and discharged air force pilot tony

prequel to kristina's beautiful ocean's 11 au, Give me a kiss before you tell me goodbye

#the header is from the scene in catfa right before steve marches back onto the base with bucky and all the other soldiers he saved in tow #*#text*

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