Archive of Our Own

*

Despite being based in Shield’s New York City branch, Peggy hasn’t seen the Big Apple in nearly a year. The first thing she did upon arrival was purchase two bagels loaded with her favorite cream cheese that she scarfed down with the largest coffee she could buy, and fell straight asleep in her long-since abandoned apartment bedroom. She has exactly five hours to herself before she’s due back at the office to sit in on the briefing for a new operation for which she was called back. The lack of sleep over the last several months, and the jetlag catch up to her and she sleeps for more than four, leaving her to frantically rush into the bathroom to get cleaned up.

Upon arrival she heads back to where her old desk used to be. She’s sure it’s been given to some new recruit or junior-level Agent, but that station was where she practically lived for her first three years at Shield. She likes being a proper field agent, and she works well independently, able to call her own shots, listen to her own gut feelings. Still… Those three years, and the year and a half as a trainee afforded her the luxury of close friendships she had not anticipated developing upon joining the agency.

The chair is empty but the desk shows signs of occupancy: a knick-knack or two and several Styrofoam cups of instant noodles. She smiles before glancing over at the neighboring desk to her right.

“Apparently we’re really replaceable,” a familiar voice catches her out of her reverie.

She’d know him anywhere, at least by the sound of the voice, the one that helped her keep her sanity all those years pulling twenty-hour shifts. Still, she does a double-take. The Steve Rogers she knew never could grow out facial hair, but here he was with both a well-maintained, and daresay it very soft-looking, moustache and beard. The facial hair is dark and his blond hair has been dyed a dark brown, longer than she’s ever seen it. It’s not quite Steve Rogers, which of course was likely the point of the disguise, but it works for him. Works for him enough that it makes her want to inspect the changes further, see if it indeed feels as soft to the touch as it looks.

When she finally meets his gaze, the soft eyes of the closest friend she’s made at Shield she is pleased to confirm haven’t changed at all from those early days when they met as trainees.

“Oh I don’t know about that. I haven’t heard of anyone beating our marksmanship records just yet. Or any of our other records.”

He laughs, his eyes lighting up further and it hits Peggy that she’s missed him. Her friend, her constant ally. A year absence is a long time, she realizes clearly now that she’s not headfirst into a case.

“It’s good to see you Peggy,” he says, his voice slightly lowered, and it causes such a tumultuous turn in her stomach that she’s momentarily overwhelmed. It must be the distance, she rationalizes to herself, that’s all.

“And you Steve,” she replies honestly before tightening up her hold on the nostalgia she must be experiencing. “I see you’ve gone and had a makeover in my absence.”

He grins though she can see the vulnerability in it. She feels a thrill to see it, a reminder of the gangly and awkward guy she met all those years before, the guy who matched her passion and drive but clearly lacked confidence in social situations. It had endeared him to her immediately. He runs his fingers through the beard unconsciously, but she finds herself biting her lip at the motion.

“It served me well. I blended right in,” he admits.

“And how was Scandinavia?”

“Cold,” he says with a grin. “But Stockholm, where I spent the most time, was really nice. I was able to see the northern lights twice so that’s something checked off my bucket list.” She grins wanting to hear all about his assignment and time in Europe, at least what he’s freely able to share. “But anyway, I’m sure you were much busier than I was. You were technically stationed in London right? Was it nice to be home?”

It’s a good question. Sure London is technically home, and having even a few days free to visit her family was nice, but she’d spent so much of the last ten years in the United States that at this point she’s not sure what feels more like her home base. She must hesitate for too long because he quickly amends his question.

“I mean I know you were on assignment,” he adds, his hand back to rubbing at his beard.

“Yes,” she agrees. “It was nice though. It’s the longest I’ve spent in England since I first joined Shield, but the assignment required me being constantly on the move.” He nods in understanding. “Honestly, it’s been nice to be back in New York.”

“Ah.” He stuffs his hands in his pocket. “You missed the perfect slices of pizza that much huh.”

Her lip curls into a smile as she remembers all the late-night pizza runs they’ve had, Steve being the perfect guide for essential places for a New York slice.

“Maybe it was the company I missed more so than the pizza.

There’s something in his smile that she can’t quite place but it’s gone in a flash.

“Oh come on Carter, I’ve seen you eat,” he teases with a snort. “More so, I’ve seen you with food when you are both hungry and tired. The company was luckily enough to get a bite of their own plate.”

“What are we talking about?” joins a second familiar voice. “Carter when she’s hangry?”

“Nice to see you too Natasha,” Peggy greets.

“Are you going to be real mad at us for going to get Hot Pot yesterday?” Natasha asks.

She looks between Steve and Natasha and she has an odd sting of jealousy.

“You had Hot Pot without me?!”

Natasha shrugs.

“We can go again,” Steve says quickly, his eyes earnest and focused only on her.

“How long have you been back?” Peggy asks him.

“Two days. I didn’t hear you were going to be back in town until this morning,” he says.

It reminds her that she’s not always the best at keeping in touch. True, she had been working and the assignment took up the vast majority of her time and energy, but she should have made more of an effort. Especially regarding Steve. They were on the same continent for a long stretch of time. She should have reached out.

Peggy is spared any further thought about any personal relationships when their boss Chester Phillips calls them both into the conference room.

“Alright, since you two are more than familiar with each other we can skip the niceties and get to the brass tacks,” Phillips says gruffly and passes forward two identical packets. “Both your clearances have been raised and I suggest you two catch each other up in detail on your last assignments. You’ll find both your assignments centered around Hydra. You’ll both be familiar with a man by the name of Johann Schmidt.”

Peggy looks over at Steve with wide eyes. “What sort of dealings does Schmidt have in Stockholm?” she questions aloud. Her own crossings with Hydra dealt with black market arms trades and human smuggling, both leading her on a circuit of sellers and buyers throughout London, Paris and into Morocco.

“He’s known to be obsessed with Nordic culture. Mythology to be specific. Thor Odinson from Interpol who I was working with has been trying to nail Schmidt down for years. They’ve been hoping to catch him stealing the antiquities and art that he’s so fond of. But he uses plenty of proxies,” Steve briefs her quickly.

This was news to her, but she makes a mental note to cross-reference her notes with the new information.

“Which brings us to you two partnering up on an undercover operation,” Phillips says. “We’ve had rumblings of Hydra operatives in New York. Rumors all seem to circle around the Met Gala next Monday though we don’t know much more than that. You two are going to attend. Rogers you’ll be posing as a celebrity artist. You will walk the red carpet with the rest of the guests. Carter, given the nature of the fashionable event, you’ll be keeping a lower profile so you don’t stand out too much on camera. You’ll be posing as a member of the press.”

“Given the high-profile nature of the event, are any of the guests suspected Hydra allies?” Steve asks.

“It’s always a possibility. There will be plenty of people with deep pockets milling about under the perfect cover of a social highlight of the year known for being full of distractions.”

“Then realistically the event itself could be a cover for something else,” Peggy says. “Since the focus will be on the entertainment.”

“Obviously both angles warrant investigation which is why we need discreet boots on the ground. It’s too big a space, and yet too limited a guestlist for us to storm in quietly.” He gestures to the screen on the wall. “We’ve collated a list of known Hydra operatives that have been spotted in the area over the last six months, along with suspects from the guest list. Put your heads together, see if anyone sticks out. Carter’s had her run-ins with several of Schmidt’s elite team. Make whatever resource requests you need. I’ll sign off.” Phillips’ phone beeps and he sighs. “Damn. I have to head back to D.C. right away. You think you two can handle this for me?”

“Of course,” Peggy replies immediately.

“Good. Well then Carter, Rogers, put in the hours. We’ll sit down before Monday night and fine tune our approach. Keep me apprised.”

With another grumble about some nagging senator to himself, he’s gone.

“Looks like we’ve got a lot to catch up on,” Steve says.

“Quite.” She’s eager to get started. It feels just like the rush she used to get when she and Steve used to be jointly tasked on the background research and investigations for larger operations. They’ve always worked well together but she’s interested to see if their dynamic will translate out in the field on an undercover operation. “I’ll secure us an investigation room.”

He nods. “I’ll go get us some coffee to keep us company then. We’ll need it.”

“Bless you,” she calls after him.

They spend hours upon hours over the next three days catching each other up on what they learned about Hydra on their separate assignments. They order take-out and end up eating cold noodles as they work through their provided lists of guests and suspects. They combine their resources, Peggy reaching out to her MI6 contacts, while Steve checks in with Thor and Interpol.

“You said Thor’s been hunting Schmidt for a long time?”

Steve hums his confirmation without looking up from his laptop screen. “Yes. He said that Schmidt’s dealings were an open secret for a while, until the European Union officially cracked down on organized crime and formally put Hydra on their terrorist organization list.”

“It’s always astounding to me how long these ringleaders get to bend the world to their will. Schmidt made plenty of allies over the years, and clearly has his hands in more pies than we even realized, so I suppose it’s no wonder. Still… It would be nice to finally tie him to something concrete.”

“Agreed,” Steve says. “It wasn’t just antiquities he was smuggling in Norway and Sweden either. It seems its more of a tangential business as he started overwhelming the black market with drugs. Thor said there’s been a massive flood of tampered opioids on the streets. We weren’t able to tie Hydra to it before I was called back, but it definitely had their mark on it.”

“I suspect there’s more we’re not realizing to Schmidt’s varied operations. It’s hard to rule out the distractions with so complicated an organization. And the fact that he has this obsession with Nordic mythology…”

Steve hums. “It’s clear the guy’s a megalomaniac. The mythology seems to fit his vision of his power and ascension, but whether he’s actually considering himself a deity, it’s hard to tell when it’s so hard to directly catch him involved in anything.”

“In my experience, most power-hungry men consider themselves deities of one sort of another,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “That and men in general feel they are god’s gift to the world. Unfortunately for us, again in my experience, this is a delusion that is hard to shake.”

He stares at her for a moment before returning to his screen.

“Oh I don’t know,” he says. “I think we can arrange for them to get acquainted with your fist.” He peers at her over his screen, raising his brow. “Worked with Hodge.”

She grins at him before returning to her own screen.

“Can I ask you something?” Steve asks, his voice quiet, late one night when they’re both pouring over their research.

“Of course.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I’m thrilled we’re finally full field agents. We worked our asses off for the promotion. But… I don’t know about you, but after your last assignment, did you miss being here? I did. I mean. Being out in the field is what we both wanted for so long. And I like the work we’re doing. And Thor was great to work with. But I guess I missed having the team.”

She wonders if he’s stretching his meaning, if he’s generalizing to avoid making her uncomfortable, because sure they’ve been part of larger teams, and working with Natasha was a nice addition, but really, more than anything they only had each other. She wonders if he’s trying to find a casual way to tell her that he missed her, of if that’s her own heart talking.

“I liked being able to work independently,” Peggy starts slowly, “but, it’s different not having someone you trust to be accountable to. And I did miss having you by my side. I missed having the perfect sounding board, and having those moments of insight when we stumble upon something we know will change the course of the investigation.”

The shy and perfect smile of his appears, and sharing feelings suddenly doesn’t feel so uncomfortable and stupid.

“Maybe if we do well on this op we’ll get more opportunities to work together,” Steve says and she’d be lying if that hope doesn’t worm its way into her gut.

*

“Did you catch Carter up on all the celebrities that she needs to be aware of or do you need me to do that for you?” Natasha asks them two days before the Met Gala.

Steve snorts and Peggy glares at him.

“I was given a briefing on the highlights,” Peggy replies.

Natasha smirks. “Steve may be the one having to walk among them, but if you’re going to be part of the media you’re going to need to know their names Carter.”

Peggy narrows her eyes. “I do know how to do my own research thank you very much.”

“I’ll give you a refresher while Steve gets his tux fitted. Bummer about the role reversal you two are getting. A Roaring Twenties theme would have been a perfect opportunity for you to kill with a stellar outfit Carter. No offense Rogers, I’m sure you clean up nice.”

“None taken Romanoff. But I’ll remember that sass the next time you need a favor.”

She rolls her eyes at Steve. “Phillips knows what he’s doing though. If you were wearing some crazy flapper dress you’d definitely cause heads to turn, and we need you slip through the crowds and do the real spy work. No offense again Steve.”

He laughs. “Believe me, nobody knows better than me how amazing Peggy is at her job. I take no issue being the supplementary role so she can get shit done.”

Peggy feels an argument bubbling up on the tip of her tongue at his comment because though she supposes she does have more experience at traditional espionage in her arsenal, that does not mean that Steve, ever-watchful, always observant Steve, doesn’t warrant his own praise. In the last week the reason they’d made so much progress is because they worked together, bouncing ideas off each other as easily as ever. Her finesse paired with his ability to think on his feet she is sure will prove to show them to be a joint tactical force to be reckoned with. And yet despite her annoyance at him putting himself down, she felt that odd swirling warm feeling in her chest at how easy it was for him to compliment her, to hear how at ease he is with her skill and competence.

“We’re partners for a reason,” is what she ends up saying instead. “Working together we’ll be about to scour the crowds better. And he’ll be able to get me the access I need to investigate the staff and building.”

He beams at her and out of the corner of her eye she swears Natasha rolls her eyes.

*

She still has to wear an elegant dress, what with it being one of the biggest events of the year, but it’s demure and black, precisely designed to blend into the black-and-white background of a sea of press, yet still fit the black-tie sophistication of the event. Still, her prep time is significantly shorter than Steve’s. She waits in the command room, assisting their support surveillance team in double-checking that they have all the necessary equipment for so large an event. Peggy was listening to the briefing of where Shield managed to set cameras around the red carpet and the event space when she hears footsteps approach.

“Sorry I’m late. Apparently my hair wasn’t 1920s ready,” Steve says.

Peggy can’t seem to turn her eyes away from him or the three-piece suit he’s wearing, full with silk black bowtie, a three-button blue velvet jacket with shawl lapels, with his vest perfectly matching the pocket square. On top of that, a pair of black round-framed glasses sit perched on his nose. He looked… Good. A bit of Gregory Peck as Atticus Finch in his look. Quite good indeed.

She wonders if her stare has become obvious but when she finally looks up at Steve’s eyes, their trained on her, his lips just slightly parted. The look startles her so much she knocks her hand against the nearest desk and sends a stack of memory cards flying.

Steve rushes forward to pick them up.

“Thank you,” she says in a very formal tone. She finds herself reaching up to fix his now mussed bowtie before retreating. “All set to go over logistics then?”

He nods and they run through their identities, signals and their plan for meeting up once inside the event.

Natasha and Peggy and the crew have long since been sitting in the surveillance van, checking cameras, entry points, and checking the communication devices before finally Steve checks in to let them know he was en route.

“The way Dugan drives, Rogers should be here by the time you’re in the press line. Focus on the guests, and we’ll keep an eye out on the perimeter for any strange characters trying to make a play.”

“Let us know immediately if you spot any strange approaches. I don’t care if it looks like just a staff member of the catering company,” Peggy commands as she checks the pistol in her hidden thigh holster.

“You got it Carter. Now go. Don’t forget to pretend you care about these celebrities when you talk to them,” says Natasha. And then as Peggy sighs and makes her way out, she calls after her. “And get me Michael B. Jordan’s phone number while you’re at it!”

The press line is business as usual as she plays her part, smiling excitedly when asking for a sound bite or two from the guests crossing the red carpet. She glimpses Steve finally, who she sees flanked by two garishly dressed women who seem to be talking his head off. Peggy finds herself needing to unclench her jaw and return to the task at hand.

It’s good, she reminds herself, that he seems to be mingling easily. They’re going to need all the inside help they can get in a crowd of this size.

With nothing amiss, and no news from the surveillance van, Peggy moves from her station on the red carpet into the museum proper.

“Ah Mr. Smith,” she directs at Steve in a peppy tone. “Daisy James of the Times. I love what you and the chairs of the event have done with the exhibit. Could I persuade you to a quick interview before dinner?”

He grins at her. “It’ll have to be quick. I’m expected elsewhere. Ladies you’ll have to excuse me, we’ll get drinks shortly.”

The two women pout at him but wave him away. Steve and Peggy find a quiet corner away from the celebrities taking selfies with each other.

“Anything suspicious?” she asks out of the corner of her mouth.

“Nothing so far. The blonde woman, she bought into my persona immediately. Good thing too as she’s a wealth of gossip. She’s a wealthy socialite who sits on the Met’s fundraising board. The most scandalous thing she’s reported to me thus far involves the affair her best friend is having with some guy who works at Bloomingdales. Any better luck on your end?”

“No. Nothing suspicious. I know we said we’d keep the blackmailed celebrity guest angle open but I don’t think this involves any of them.”

“Agreed,” he replies. “But hey! Don’t think I didn’t see that you met Arlene French! Was she anything like her big screen persona?”

She rolls her eyes, knowing he’s messing with her. “You know very well I hardly know who the woman is.”

“And you met Meryl! I can’t believe you had a conversation with Meryl and you don’t even know who she is.”

“I know who Meryl Streep is Steve!” she hisses in exasperation when he smirks at her. “Keep at it with the woman at dinner. Perhaps something else will slip. Once everyone is occupied I’m going to slip out and take a lap around the exhibit, see if there are any stragglers.”

Steve nods. “Okay. Once you’ve done your checking interrupt me at the table during dinner. Insist I promised on a formal interview and insights into the curated exhibit.”

“I just have so many questions Mr. Smith!”

He snorts and they part ways, both winding into the gallery from different directions. If her gaze follows him as he leaves her, it’s only because of the implicit promise of watching his back as his partner.

No pays her any mind, not with the hundreds of similarly lavish recreated flapper dresses striking everyone’s attention. Most people are now huddled around various displays of authentic vintage dresses and accessories in their display cases. She hears more than one-person giggle about how they feel like they’re about to meet Gatsby himself. She spies a heated conversation between two of the wealthy entrepreneurs on the guestlist but all what she overhears relates to shareholders and the usual one-upmanship of greedy men.

She makes a beeline for the restroom and listens in on the ladies room gossip but all of it relates to the star-studded red carpet. Peggy, more than a little frustrated at failing to sniff out any signs of Hydra related activity, calls Natasha to check in.

“Hi, just wanted to check in on you,” she says in her undercover persona’s peppy voice as she pretends to be focused on fixing her hair in the mirrors.

“Any luck on the Michael B. Jordan sighting?”

“Oh, yes he’s even more handsome in person,” she plays along.

“Hot, he’s seriously, seriously hot. Speaking of hot, who knew Rogers could fill out a three-piece suit so well.” A red-hot lick of something comes over Peggy but she ignores it. “I mean clearly other people are noticing as well.”

Peggy clears out of the bathroom and finds an empty alcove.

“Have there been any facial recognition hits with any of the arrivals?” she asks Natasha, ignoring her commentary of Steve’s looks.

“No. Nothing. Is it just me or does it feel oddly quiet tonight?”

Peggy sighs and quickly checks her mental list. “I was thinking the exact same thing. Though I trust Phillips’ intel.”

“Maybe they reconsidered given how high-profile this night is,” Natasha says.

“And that’s exactly what makes me still feel something is coming. I suppose I should go mingle. I’ll catch up with you later.”

By the end of the hour, she has the layout and most of the display cases memorized. It’s an interesting enough exhibit, curated with enough historical context that made Peggy wonder what her life would have been like if she’d have been born a century earlier. The dresses definitely have their appeal. She enjoys her femininity, but she can scarcely imagine it being social unacceptable to wear trousers in public except as beachwear.

“Ah, Ms. James. Enjoying the exhibit?” Steve fills the role of an artist well physically, but she also knows that he’s the most qualified person at Shield for the event. She knows the Met is his favorite museum, and that once upon a time he thought about becoming a painter himself.

“I will say, Mr. Smith, that I’m pleased to see the nuance and depth in the pieces on display, rather than just some art deco and Great Gatsby references.”

“Yes, well the curatorial direction for this exhibit was meant to delve more into the everyday fashions of young women in particular and their relationship with shaping a rapidly evolving set of social conventions.” As she looks at him, the slightly nerdy looking glasses, his clear blue eyes highlighted further by the complimenting color of his suit, the kind and engaging features in his expression, she could picture him in an alternate life truly being a curator at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. “Pretty good, huh?” he whispers to her with a proud looking expression. “Not too shabby for an art school dropout.”

Her lips curl up with amusement.

“Please Mr. Smith, continue. You have been most engaging. I’d love to hear more about your curatorial decisions as would our readers I’m sure.”

He leads her towards the hallway leading away from the event space and towards the closed off sections of the museum’s other gallery rooms. He continues passionately giving his spiel on the fashions of the 1920s until it’s clear they’ve snuck past where guests are meant to walk.

Steve’s expression then turns serious and he holds up a finger.

“There’s a name I got that I want Natasha to look into.”

“To see if there’s a potential Hydra connection?”

He nods. “Victor Harris. He’s a hedge fund manager but apparently has really forced his way into the art world in a hurry by his very generous donations. According to the ladies at my table, they’ve never heard of him having any interest in the fine arts until last year.”

“Could be a Hydra financier,” she suggests.

“Exactly. This could be the connection.”

Once he’s passed the request for a closer look in the usual databases to Natasha, Peggy suggests they check the galleries, even though they’re supposed to be off limits for the evening.

“I was telling Natasha earlier that it seems way too quiet tonight. And yet this would be the perfect opportunity for Hydra to hide in plain sight.”

He hums. “I think it’s safe to say that apart from a possible connection to Victor Harris, the actual Gala itself is not of interest to Schmidt.”

“I would agree with that. It doesn’t seem like he’s targeting one of the celebrities. Which leaves us with the museum itself. Or someone on the museum staff? Or some completely different connection we haven’t made yet.”

She can’t help being frustrated and she knows Steve is too. But then his expression relaxes and he gestures towards the galleries.

“Come on. Let’s do a sweep. I’ll show you my favorite rooms while we’re waiting for an update from Romanoff.”

He’s a good guide, probably even better when he’s off duty, but while the situation remains quiet she takes pleasure in listening to him point of favorite works of art.

“These are my favorite galleries apart from the Temple of Dendur. You’ve seen that right? I think I remember telling you about it years ago when we found out we both had an Egyptian phase as kids.”

She does remember that, all those years ago when they were in training. He had insisted that the first chance she had, she was to spend the entire day in the Egyptian Wing of the Met. And she did just that. Only now she realizes that she wished it had occurred to her younger self to have asked him to join her. But they had hardly known enough other, and who was she to have even thought they’d find themselves at the Met together undercover.

“I have seen it. I spent what must have been an hour just sitting there, channeling my inner child and imagining what it would have been like to live in Ancient Egypt.”

He grins at her. “Well this does not quite cause the same sort of awe, however there is plenty of grandeur to be found in some humble oil paintings. For example, we have Degas’ dancers, full of movement and drama. And of course Van Gogh, who wouldn’t even imagine the tremendous inspiration he’s been to countless young artists choosing to pursue their own style of painting.”

She laughs. “Oh yes, please do go on Mr. Resident-Art-Expert.” Her voice is teasing but she means it. Passionate and fiery Steve is one of her most favorite of Steves. “What else strikes your wonder?”

He pauses for a moment then snaps his fingers. “There’s a portrait I love. I’ll point it out when we get to it.”

As they pass through a threshold from one room to the next, Steve gestures to a large painting on the far wall.

“Now that is a masterpiece of portraiture,” Steve calls. “John Singer Sargent caused quite a scandal in Paris with his refusal to alter any part of the pose despite a call for modesty. And yet, scandal or not, the woman in the painting, frozen forever in time, in a moment, captures so much power and prowess.” He pauses and looks over at her, tilting his head. “You know, there’s no doubt in my mind that if he were alive now, Sargent would have begged to paint your portrait. You command the same spirit and attention.”

She blinks up at him, only now realizing how close they are standing to each other. Close enough to see the movement in his chest and throat as he breathes.

Peggy hears footsteps approach and she defaults to acting on her instincts alone.

She grabs Steve by the shoulders only briefly seeing the shock in his eyes before she closes her own and kisses him hard. When their lips touch Peggy is aware of three things at once: the still approaching sound of footsteps, the softness and hesitancy of Steve’s lips, and thirdly and most overwhelming, the fizzy thrill of butterflies filling her up. As the footsteps still approach, the both lean into each other, Steve’s mouth finally parting, Peggy encouraging the kiss further as she cups the back of his neck. They need to make this convincing. Just a man and a woman who snuck away for a secret rendezvous, nothing more. She can feel Steve’s hands at her hips, the heat of his breath against her skin.

The footsteps stop with a final clack and Peggy makes a show of pulling away from Steve only for them to be greeted with a girlish giggle.

“Sorry, sorry! This is definitely not the bathroom huh?” It’s a sheepish looking middle-aged woman who looks between them and winks. She points back out to the hall. “I think I’ll take my chances with going the other way.”

Peggy stares after the woman watching her teeter on her high heels back towards the event space, her tipsy giggle still echoing. Peggy takes a second to try to compose herself, but her composure disappears the second she turns to face Steve. He’s breathing hard and staring at her.

“I…”

His hands are on her cheeks, his lips devouring hers before she can even form a full thought. The move surprises her but she doesn’t find herself fighting him. Just as she feels her body sinking into the kiss, he’s gone, and the distance between them causes a chill to run through her.

Steve gapes at her as if he weren’t the one to just have kissed her. Both look around the room but apart from the paintings, they are alone.

He clears his throat and runs the back of his hand across his forehead.

“I, um, thought I heard someone.” He doesn’t meet her eyes as he gives the excuse.

“Right. Um. We should probably keep moving along.”

Luckily for them, any awkward silence doesn’t last long. They both freeze in the next gallery room over.

“Shit,” Peggy hisses.

They break away from the glaringly bare wall in front of them and look at each other with wide eyes before looking back at the piece of broken frame on the floor.

Not a moment later does Natasha call.

“Rogers, I got a hit on Victor Harris. It’s preliminary but he’s got a shit ton of offshore accounts and there’s a definite connection to Heinz Kruger.”

“I know of Kruger,” Peggy says. “He was all over a human trafficking operation centered in Paris, but Romanoff, we’ve got a more pressing concern.”

“You’re sure none of the surveillance equipment picked up anyone coming in?” Steve asks, his eyes never leaving the wall.

“No, like I told Carter it’s been quiet as hell,” Natasha says.

“Then we missed something because a Picasso is missing. Ripped off the wall.”

They hear Natasha swear and start commanding the crew to pore through each camera’s footage. Peggy grabs her gun from her holster.

“We’re going to need to continue discreetly for the moment. The thief could still be in the building. We can’t raise any suspicions just yet. Have every spare eye watching all the exits, especially the dock. Romanoff, you and Dugan call for backup and quickly make your way in here. This building is too big for Steve and me to secure. Start at the dock.”

Peggy unholsters her pistol from her thigh holster and turns to Steve.

“What if we were next door when this happened?” he questions aloud, his expression full of alarm.

“If that’s the case and they still managed to slip past us, then that hopefully means we’ll be able to catch them on the way out. How big was that painting?”

“Not much more than four feet by three foot.”

Peggy sighs. “So relatively easy to walk out. Damn it. Damn.” She follows as Steve leads her to the staircase. “If it’s not enormous, how did they damage the frame in the process?”

“The frame probably was heavier than they expected. Also points to this being a rush job. Something fishy about it. Go. Meet Romanoff down there. I’m going to do a quick sweep of the floor just in case. Keep you comm channel open. I’ll catch up.”

The split up and Peggy sprints as quickly as she can down the stairwell. It’s empty, but she still checks the landing on every floor she descends.

“We’ve got movement near the freight elevator on the ground floor,” she hears Natasha call on the comm and picks up speed. “Shit. Got a runner! No sign of a painting though. He’s heading up the South West stairwell. I’m in pursuit.”

She’s lucky to be outside the first floor landing when Natasha gives an update that their suspect ran off onto the first floor. She gives Natasha instructions to follow behind, Peggy coming up from the opposite direction to hopefully box this guy in. She’s got her gun trained as she finally sees movement ahead of her just as Steve lets her know he’s almost there.

“European Sculptures overlooking the park,” Peggy murmurs to him as she ducks to stay hidden. Finally, finally she gets a clean look at the suspect’s face. He’s young and not any Hydra operative that Peggy is familiar with, but he’s very likely just a fall guy. Disposable to Schmidt, too far away from the ringleader to cause any real damage.

“Peggy I’m here. East Archway. You got him in your sights?”

She makes the smallest noise of confirmation. “Flush him towards you with a loud noise.”

No more needs to be said. A moment later she hears a loud clattering from the seemingly empty east threshold. Their suspect freezes and turns away from Peggy. He’s three steps from the doorway when Peggy whips her handbag over and catches him on the side of head. As he startles, her right fist hits the target of his jaw, her elbow to the solar plexus, finally her knee with a clean sweep to his groin. He’s gasping for breath on the ground before he even knows what’s hit him.

She spots a satisfied grin on Steve’s face in the shadows before she sets her stiletto on the suspect’s stomach.

“Where’s the painting?” she demands as both Steve and Natasha approach from different directions casting shadows upon the guy on the ground. Natasha makes a point of cracking her fists and neck. When he makes no answer Peggy applies pressure down on his stomach. “I’m going to ask you one last time. Where is the painting?”

When her foot comes down on his groin again, he starts to plead.

“No! I know nothing! It’s Zola. It’s all Zola!”

Peggy and Steve exchange a look, a silent understanding between them. He’s just a pawn. A fall guy, just as Peggy anticipated. Steve grabs him and binds his wrists behind his back just in time for Dugan and backup to arrive. Natasha volunteers to follow their suspect back to Headquarters and see if she can’t make him talk.

“Good teamwork there Rogers,” Peggy tells him as they stand amidst towering life-size stone sculptures.

He frowns. “I was hoping we’d actually find the Picasso.”

She sighs. “I know. Me too. But we caught a Hydra connection. He might be a pawn but he knows something. Zola. Arnim Zola. Now he’s Schmidt’s right-hand man.”

Steve’s frown deepens, but she doesn’t press him when he doesn’t respond. Phillips arrives with the FBI team who have now been informed of the theft. They’ll take over the theft investigation while Shield concentrates on the Hydra angle. They follow Phillips back up to the scene of the crime as several FBI agents are placed on guard at various locations to pose as museum security while the Gala continues underway none the wiser.

Phillips has them review their movements and the evening’s events to the FBI lead. Once all their information is relayed, Peggy watches Steve, whose frown only continued to deepen, walk over to the gallery room next door. The one they stood in when they were interrupted. The one they stood in when they kissed. Twice.

She watches Phillips and the FBI for a moment as they make the start their forensic investigation before she follows Steve. He’s standing in front of the portrait he’d pointed out to her earlier. The seven-foot-tall oil rendering of Madame X.

She knows he hears her approach, but he doesn’t look away from the painting. “Steve?” She watches him study it. There’s a power in the woman’s pose, as Steve had suggested earlier, even though she is turned away from the viewer. And yet there’s a sense of power in the vulnerability of her exposed throat. There’s an elegance. A mystery. Grandeur but also a sense of remoteness.

Peggy tries to catch his gaze but Steve doesn’t turn away from the painting for another few moments. When he finally does, there’s a look on his face that she can’t quite read but she trusts enough to make her pause. “What is it Steve?”

He looks from her to the painting. “Something’s not right about this,” he says. “I can’t explain it, but my gut tells me that everything about this is backwards.”

She’s been in that situation. Where she’s not quite sure what the deal is, but can tell the situation is all wrong. She knows when to trust her gut. And she also knows she trusts Steve’s gut.

“Tell me,” she urges.

“The Picasso… It’s the wrong choice. It’s not even one of his prominent ones. It’s not the portrait of Gertrude Stein that’s hung in the same room.”

“Maybe that’s why it was targeted. Maybe they naively thought it wouldn’t cause as much of an uproar if it was a lesser painting.”

“Maybe. But we both know these weren’t amateurs. And even if it was only value they are after, the Picasso would have been the wrong choice.” He hesitates. “But there’s another problem.”

“Another problem?”

“We were what? Fifty something feet away from the gallery that was robbed. What if the Picasso taken is a smokescreen? What if someone is trying to distract us?”

“Distract us from the Gala? As far as we know, none of them have ties to Hydra and nothing flagged as suspicious tonight.”

“Not the Gala. This room. I think this room was targeted. I think the Sargent has been replaced with a forgery.”

She takes a double-take and studies the painting, but she doesn’t have the nuanced knowledge that Steve does.

“It’s good. Real good. That’s why I can’t quite explain it yet. I’d need more time. But Peggy, I’ve been in this room for countless hours in my life. I’ve stared at Madame X for days on end. And she’s not right. I know it sounds crazy and overly complicated but Peggy doesn’t everything about this heist feel all wrong?”

Peggy doesn’t dismiss his less that airtight argument. Instead she runs through the scenario, taking into account that the obvious crime was to cover up a different crime.

“Replacing masterpieces with forgeries has always been lucrative,” she admits. “It sounds about right for Hydra. But why would they target Sargent? I’ve never understood Schmidt to be keen on any American influences. The Picasso would be more his target.”

“True, if the goal were reselling or smuggling for future interactions. Unless Schmidt has no interest in collecting art or making money off selling them. He’s made his hatred of American culture loud and clear. What if forgeries are how Schmidt silently destroys American works?”

Peggy’s eyes widen but the suggestion makes the cogs in her head pause as they start to click together. “Wiping out the history without anyone the wiser. But Steve. Why Sargent? Aren’t there other targets he’d strike first?”

“Perhaps. But maybe this isn’t the first.”

“Shit.”

“You know they used to call Sargent the painter of Jews? And he likely wasn’t heterosexual. I can guess of one antisemitic group that would like to erase both those cultures.”

“Hydra. Double shit. Steve, what if you’re right? What if this is a much bigger operation than we realized?”

He sighs and looks up at Madame X with sorrow in his eyes. “I guess your instinct about the Gala being a distraction was correct. Only what if were we too late getting here to begin with?”

She chews her lip and they look at each other before turning their attentions to the paintings surrounding them. What else may have been stolen? And how long could something like this been happening?

When Phillips finishes up with the FBI, Peggy calls him aside for a private conversation and quietly relays Steve’s hunch. She expects Phillips to rebuke the idea, but his grimace betrays nothing.

“I’ll admit that I’m no art expert,” Phillips tells them quietly. “But I’m not fool enough to think the smokescreen of tonight doesn’t point to something much bigger at foot.” He pauses. “We’ll let the FBI deal with the immediate theft. After tonight you two will continue on this angle. But for now, return to the party discreetly and continue on as originally planned. Dance, mingle and don’t break your cover. And keep an eye out for Harris or anyone else. If there are to be any further surprises tonight I wanna know about them immediately.”

“Yes sir,” they reply in tandem.

“And good work you two. I know it doesn’t feel like it just yet. But keep at it. We’ll get that sonofabitch.”

Sneaking back into the party as Mr. Smith and Daisy James is easy now that it’s in full swing, the pop star entertainment long since commanding the event’s attention. They grab glasses of champagne and at one point, Mr. Smith’s budding flirtation with Daisy James affords them an opportunity to slip into the crowd of dancers.

It’s strange to feel Steve’s arms around her again now that she knows what it feels like. She wonders if they should discuss the kiss like adults. They continue to dance, his hand fitting perfectly into hers, but don’t talk. It would be impossible to hear each other over the music anyway. She keeps her eyes peeled on the crowd, not Steve.

There’s a cool breeze when they finally make their way towards the parade of cars at the end of the night that she finds refreshing. Her head’s been buzzing with a multitude of suspects and possibilities as they wait for Dugan to return with Mr. Smith’s ride. In a bold and daring move, Daisy invited herself to Mr. Smith’s place for a more in-depth and personal interview that he eagerly accepted. Peggy wonders what it would feel like to actual go home with Steve. She feels goosebumps on her arms and swallows down the thought.

Steve touches her arm gently and when she looks over he’s shrugged his jacket off and already was slipping it on her shoulders.

“You look beautiful,” he says quietly, not as Mr. Smith but as Steve. “I mean you always do. I mean. In a dress. I just, um, you know, never seen you in a dress before. Not that the dress matters. Just that I meant to tell you earlier.” He nods curtly and shoves his hands in his pocket.

Peggy can’t help but grin. She wants him to know that he made much more of an impression tonight than she did. But then Dugan arrives and they climb into the towncar and it’s back to Headquarters.

The night fades to morning, then morning back to night.

Days pass and they’re not much further in their investigation. While Steve’s been planning the best course of action for identifying any other forgeries, Peggy spends every waking moment looking into the Zola connection. They plan a new undercover operation for Steve at the Met while Peggy digs deeper into the daily dealings of Victor Harris. But until the plans are set, they practically live in their investigation room at Headquarters.

Her frown feels semi-permanent on her face as she stares hopelessly at her computer screen one night. Steve plops down beside her.

“There’s a connection here Steve! I know there is. We’re so close I can taste it. Zola for god’s sake. Arnim Zola could lead us straight to real evidence against Schmidt.”

He smiles. “I know Peg. But speaking of things you can taste, how about dinner? We’ve been here for two straight days. I can’t eat any microwavable meals any longer.”

“But there’s so much to do.”

“Yes which is why I don’t want us to burnout. Phillips seemed to agree. He’s told us to clear out for the next twenty-four hours. But that might have been because he’s sick of us hogging this room.” He grins at her and it doesn’t take more to convince her to take a break.

When the taxi drops them off in front of their favorite Hot Pot restaurant, Peggy genuinely gasps to Steve’s amusement.

“If you had told me we were getting Hot Pot I would have left hours ago.”

He grins and shrugs his shoulders. “It’s okay, our table was reserved for eight so I let you finish up that last background check.”

Peggy tries not to read too much into Steve making a reservation. He just set a time, it’s not like he really put any other forethought into the dinner. And anyway, he came here with Natasha recently. He could have just as easily made a reservation then. She tries to ignore the unpleasant feeling rising within her at the thought of Steve here with someone else.

She lets Steve lead the conversation, easily agreeing to no shop talk, a rule they always have on days off but one they also consistently break since they find each other the best person to bounce ideas off on. He asks about her brother. She asks about his best friend Bucky who is an active Army Ranger. And then when their broth arrives with their usual astounding array of dipping ingredients, talk turns to food.

“This place is so good,” she says moaning around a thin slice of pork belly, still warm from the simmering broth. “I’ve missed it so. I can’t believe you came here without me.”

Steve flushes pink. “It wasn’t planned or anything. Nat was the only familiar face when I got called back and she wanted to vent so when we walked past it and I mentioned it was a favorite spot, this is where we ended up.”

Natasha had become a good friend and good teammate to both of them. Peggy feels stupid to harbor any sort of jealousy or claim on either Steve or the restaurant.

“You don’t have to explain,” she tells him quickly. “It’s great food.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “The thing is that I missed you.”

Peggy swallows hard and looks up at him with wide eyes. She knows exactly how he means it, not just professionally, but that he missed her personally. She knows because it’s exactly how she feels. Only here he is, taking the risk, making the leap.

She must ponder the statement too much because suddenly she realizes that Steve is no longer looking at her, the pink in his cheeks returned and he’s concentrating on his chopsticks.

“I missed you too Steve,” she responds in a soft voice.

She finds herself so curious about how well they fit. How he’s always been her stalwart friend and supporter. How she has never felt anything less than respected by him. How maybe the special something between them should not be ignored, even if personal connections in their line of work were so high a liability.

Is it really that much of a surprise that Steve might feel similarly?

“Steve?” When they lock eyes she knows she has no other option. “I was thinking about us kissing…” She watches his jaw work, his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, the unconscious swiping of his finger against his brow. She’s distracted just looking at him. “And how we should try it again.” His gaze moves between her eyes and her lips. “Now.”

When his mouth opens to question her she slides closer to him on the seat and cupping his cheek, kisses him square on the lips. She feels the same warm tingle she felt kissing him at the Met. They part a moment later and Steve’s face is full of joy and excitement. He grins so wide at her it makes that warm feeling explode within her.

Steve surges forward and kisses her again and again. And again. Until they are both breathless and they remember that they are in public. His forehead rests against hers, and Peggy lets her fingers brush at his jaw, his beard as soft as it had looked.

“I really, really wanted to run my fingers through your facial hair.”

He grins. “I’ve really, really wanted to kiss you for ages.”

“For ages?”

He guffaws. “Peggy I’ve had a crush on you since day one.”

It’s not so surprising to hear that, she supposes. But there’s still a bubble of elation of hearing Steve Rogers admit to having feelings for her.

“I think you should kiss me again,” she tells him. “And then once we’re finished with dinner, we should go back to my place and kiss some more.”

He kisses her hard to let her know exactly how he feels about that. And then on her couch, cradling her close to his chest he continues to prove to her just how well they fit together.