#robot is back on his pretentious title bullshit

[roboticonography]

Fic: The Fixed Foot (1/1)

Title: The Fixed Foot Relationship: Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers Rating: the very softest M Word Count: 6.9 K Work Summary: Steve goes back in time with a plan. Nothing goes according to it.

Notes: Posted for Steggy Week 2019, Day 7: Free Choice, because I didn’t make it in time for Endgame Day.

Read it on AO3

[questingtheworld]

Living The Fantasy - Chapter Two

AO3 Link | Find previous chapter(s) on tumblr here.

Story Summary: Meeting royalty, falling in love, and living happy ever after were the things Hollywood movies were made of…or happened only to the Meghan Markle and Daniel Westling’s of the world. Rylie Martin was neither made for the silver screen nor one of the lucky one percent—that is, until a bachelor party entered the bar she worked at one fateful night. Even after a magical meeting and love in the air, Rylie knew getting that fairytale ending wouldn’t be easy. But nothing could have prepared her for what awaited her in Cordonia.

Pairing: Liam x MC

Chapter Title Inspiration: My Wish - Rascal Flatts

Word Count: 3,805

A/N: I always wondered why the guys didn't join Liam and MC at the table in the club, and why it was Drake that had stayed with Maxwell the following morning. Those thoughts are the inspiration behind this first intermission!I've put in some foreshadowing to some future plot points, hope I didn't make them too obscure lol

* ~ * ~ *

First Intermission: My Wish For You

My wish for you is that this life becomes all that you want it to

Your dreams stay big, your worries stay small

And if you're faced with a choice, and you have to choose,

I hope you choose the one that means the most to you.

“Tell me why we can’t go sit with them again?”

Drake will admit that he had enjoyed himself when they had first come in—the club had the atmosphere of a Beaumont Bash, which he liked because it wasn’t a fancy ball, but without the pretentiousness, which their parties always had because they were still all rich, entitled people underneath it all.

However, he was never a party goer to begin with nor was he a robot who could dance the night away without pause. He wanted to sit down by the sidelines with his small group of friends and drink some whiskey while he relaxed. Every time he tried to look around for where Liam went off to, though, Maxwell would distract and otherwise prevent him from doing so. Either Maxwell had a good reason for stopping him or he was up to something, and Drake was going to find out what it was.

“I—I never said we couldn’t! Just…aren’t you having fun? The drinks are flowing,” Maxwell gestured towards Tariq who was in deep conversation with the bottle server, “And the women are beckoning!” As discreetly as Maxwell could, he jerked his head to the trio of ladies who were dancing nearby them.

When Drake locked eyes with one of them they winked at him and he gave them what he hoped was a smoldering look before returning his gaze to Maxwell. “I hate to admit that I am having fun, but it’s not like this is all going to go away if I sit down for five minutes.”

Drake tried to side-step him to search the tables for Liam but Maxwell got in his way again. “Okay, maybe you’re right, but I might get into trouble while you’re gone. You know I can go from zero to sixty like that.” Maxwell snapped his fingers.

Several first-hand experiences could attest to the validity of that, and if Drake was honest with himself it was half the reason he was still out there on the dance floor with them. He was always protective of his friends—something he liked to think he got from his father—but sometimes Maxwell needed…special attention lest he drag them all into a mess Drake couldn’t pull them out of. But Maxwell was an adult, and he wasn’t his keeper.

And he just really needed a break.

“Well good thing Tariq’s here to keep you company,” Drake offered, clapping him on the shoulder.

Maxwell gave him a deadpan look and Drake slowly removed his hand awkwardly. Okay, maybe that was a weak excuse. They both knew that Tariq would either crumble under the pressure of trouble or bolt in the other direction…or crumble and then bolt in the other direction.

“Look, Maxwell, I’m not your babysitter or your bodyguard. If you really don’t think you can handle yourself for five minutes I’ll keep you in my line of sight, okay? If worse comes to worst I promise I’ll bail you out of jail.”

“You’re a true friend, Drake,” Maxwell said, placing a hand over his heart as if he was touched by Drake’s words. Still, even as he said that he moved to block Drake’s way again. “But maybe if you could stay just a little while longer…”

Drake frowned and crossed his arms. “Okay, what are you up to, Maxwell?” Maxwell opened his mouth to protest, but Drake continued before he could make a sound. “Don’t bullshit me. Your excuse was good but not that good. And you’re being way too persistent, even for you. So spill.”

Maxwell raised both hands up in surrender and took a couple of steps back; it was times like this he was reminded why he was glad Drake was on his side…most of the time. His mind wandered to a very likely scenario where Drake would probably wipe the Beaumont name off the face of the earth but he was pulled back to the present as Drake took a step towards him, closing the distance he created. “Look, it’s not what you think…or maybe it is what you think but it’s a good thing!”

“Maxwell…” Drake’s tone held a not-so-subtle hint of a warning.

“I—oh!”

Drake noticed Maxwell was staring at something behind him, and when he turned to follow his gaze Drake saw Liam and Rylie wrapped in a tight embrace. At Maxwell’s small cheer, Drake whirled back around to face him. “You’re trying to hook them up? That’s why you’re keeping me from going over there?”

“It’s not that I think you’d kill the vibe…too much…but who would want to interrupt that?”

Drake frowned as he watched Liam laugh. “Uh, me. I would very much like to interrupt that right now.”

Maxwell looked up at him with a mix of shock and horror. He had thought for sure that Drake would join him on his quest once he realized what he was up to. “What?! Why?”

“You can’t honestly think getting them together is a good idea.”

“Again, why?”

Drake crossed his arms. “First of all, Liam’s not even a one night stand kind of guy, which I know you know about him. Which means you’re trying to get them together, which is incredibly cruel to the both of them considering we’re leaving tomorrow to get him engaged to someone else.”

It was Maxwell’s turn to frown now. “It doesn’t have to be ‘someone else’…” he mumbled.

Drake snorted. “Right, because the court will really let some random woman from New York come in to vie for their future king’s hand in marriage. And what if she’s some gold digger? She’s a stranger, who would vouch for her? Then if she somehow managed to get in she has no idea what she’s in for with those people. She wouldn’t last one day.”

Vouch for her… A plan began to form in Maxwell’s head. “Apart from Olivia, Liam knows those women about as well as Rylie…maybe even less than now. And do you really think they want to be the next queen just out of the goodness of their hearts, that their families don’t want the prestige that’d come from getting their daughters hitched? I bet she’s tougher than you think.”

“Why are you defending her?”

“Why are you attacking her?”

“I’m not—” Drake cut himself off as he ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. He had to admit Maxwell had a point, but this wasn’t some fairytale; Liam couldn’t ditch it all to follow his heart like his brother did. And I’ve seen firsthand what court will do to someone who doesn’t belong…

There was a tense silence for a few moments before Maxwell shifted awkwardly. “Look, they’re both adults, they can make their own decisions. And Liam wouldn’t lead her on, either; you know that, too. Just…give him one night. One night out of the rest of his life.”

Drake looked back at Liam and Rylie, saw how in awe and happy and himself he was with her, and sighed in defeat. “Fine. But if this backfires—”

“Heads will roll, specifically mine, I got it!” Maxwell interrupted him excitedly before starting to dance again and beckoning him to do the same. “Come on, Drake. Show off those moves!”

“Another bottle of champagne!” Tariq yelled as he sauntered over to them, swinging the empty bottle in his hand as he danced. “Who knew we’d find a decent vintage here?”

Drake lost track of time as he drank and danced with his friends (and a couple of women), but eventually he seriously needed to sit down for a breather. After swearing on a kraken that he wouldn’t go over to Liam and Rylie’s table, Drake sunk into a chair at a table on the opposite side of the dance floor as them.

It wouldn’t hurt to just look and check up on them, right? Drake asked himself as he took a sip of his champagne. Surely that wasn’t going to break his ‘contract’ with Maxwell. Discreetly, his eyes slid over to where he knew their table was…only to find it empty. Drake immediately sat up in his seat, his heart stopping for a moment. Okay, okay, there had to be a reasonable explanation for what was happening that didn’t involve kidnapping or injury or death.

As calmly as he could, Drake reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out his phone, both surprised and relieved to see a notification for one unread message from Liam. Perhaps he didn’t hear the noise over the music or feel the vibration with all his dancing. Hurriedly he opened the group chat.

“Hey guys, before you start to panic I wanted to let you know that I am safe and sound.

Rylie presented me with an opportunity I just could not refuse.

And no, Drake, she did not coerce me into it.”

Drake huffed at the callout—Liam knew him too well—before continuing to read.

“Our location has been given to our driver; he will take you to us when you guys are ready.

Please do not rush to leave on my account.

I want you all to enjoy this moment. It is as much for you as it is for me.

See you soon.”

“Hey, you got the texts too?”

Drake looked up to see Maxwell and Tariq standing by the table, phones in hand.

“Liam, you sly dog you,” Tariq said approvingly. It was clear what he thought had happened.

“He sent it twenty minutes ago.” Maxwell looked back at the message. “Do you think that’s enough time for him?” He suddenly looked up, eyes wide, as Tariq elbowed him with a laugh. “I mean, not for that…at least I don’t think they left for that—”

“How about we just go to the limo and meet him…wherever they went,” Drake stopped Maxwell before he finished that embarrassing sentence. “If he’s not…ready…we’ll wait.”

After paying off their tab and summoning the limo, they were on their way to the location their driver was given. Drake spent the majority of the ride questioning the driver of how Liam seemed when they spoke, whether he was ‘being held at gunpoint’, both literally and figuratively. But the driver was confident that everything was on the up and up, and that Liam even looked excited.

Not long after that the limo slowed as they arrived at their destination, and Drake was the first to get out and take in their surroundings. Quaint little shops, darkened to show they were closed, lined both sides of the street; ahead was a pier, and to the right of the docks were the makings of a large park. In the muted quiet of the night the gentle waves of the water could be heard, but all in all there was not sight or sound of Liam or Rylie.

“What could they possibly be doing out here?” Maxwell asked as he came up beside Drake.

“Are we sure this is the right place?” Tariq questioned, and Drake approached the driver to pose the same inquiry to the driver.

“This is the location I was told to go,” the driver confirmed, and the three men mulled over what that could mean.

“Perhaps the driver was given the wrong place to throw us off? Give themselves more time alone?” Tariq suggested, his eyebrows going up suggestively.

A scowl appeared on Drake’s face, thinking something more dark than dirty, and Maxwell hurried to calm him down.

“How about we trust them, trust Liam,” Maxwell added, seeing Drake readying to start arguing about Rylie. “Let’s just wait here for a little while.”

Well, it wasn’t as if they had any other leads to go on. So, they waited. As they neared the ten minute mark, they noticed lights coming in from the water—a boat. And soon after that, two familiar figures could be seen walking from the docks and up the pier towards them. But they hadn’t noticed them yet, so Drake cupped his hands around his mouth as an amplifier and yelled.

“Liam!”

The couple stopped and looked towards them before waving. As they turned to each other and talked, Drake didn’t miss how they held each other’s hands.

Neither did Maxwell, who came up to clap Drake on the back. “See, have a little faith.”

Drake grumbled something, which was as close as an apology as Maxwell was going to get. “What are they doing? Why won’t they come over here?” He frowned as a minute turned into two, deepening as he saw Rylie nod at him and Liam turn to look, seemed to laugh, before they continued to chat.

“Seems like you made an impression,” Maxwell teased, but before Drake could say anything Liam was heading towards them—alone.

Before they could say a word Liam spoke. “Let’s go before I change my mind.” Without breaking his stride Liam continued on to the limo and got in without looking back.

Drake and Maxwell shared a look before they followed after him, but they, along with Tariq, waved goodbye to Rylie before getting into the vehicle. Things were silent for the beginning of the ride back to the hotel, Liam gazing out of the window lost in thought, before Maxwell cleared his throat. Despite Drake’s frantic hand signals to not say a word, Maxwell said something anyway.

“So…did Rylie not want a ride home or…?”

The fisted hand that was holding Liam’s head up against the window twitched. “She believed it would bring unwanted attention towards me.”

Liam’s wording caught Drake’s attention. “Towards you? Not herself?” That didn’t make any sense. Why would that even be a concern? Unless… Drake gasped. “Liam, tell me you didn’t…”

Maxwell and Tariq’s gazes kept shifting between Liam and Drake, not following. “What are we missing here?” Maxwell asked them.

Liam sighed as he closed his eyes. “I told Rylie that I’m the Crown Prince of Cordonia.”

A stunned silence followed Liam’s confession.

Maxwell was once again the one to say something first. “That’s…wow. Wow, okay, that’s out there now. How did she take it?”

“About as well as you are taking this news, actually.” Liam chuckled softly as he opened his eyes again and shifted to face his friends. “At least at first. Then she treated me like a normal person as if I’d never said anything. It was everything I could’ve hoped for.” And more, but what happened after that was between him and Rylie only.

“Well, I trust she’ll keep your secret,” Tariq said in support.

“Yeah, well I don’t,” Drake said under his breath.

“Then trust me,” Liam replied, hearing him despite the low voice Drake had used. Liam had always appreciated the way Drake never held back with him, but Drake had been testy where Rylie was concerned all night and Liam found it unwarranted. “She told me to pass along how much of a pleasure it was to meet everyone. I told her it was likewise; I hope I have not lied to her.”

That was the second time someone told him to trust Liam, including the man himself. Didn’t they understand that it wasn’t Liam he didn’t trust? “I’m just trying to protect you, Liam.”

Liam smiled ruefully. He knew Drake was coming from a good place, which was why he usually didn’t mind when Drake got like this. “I know you are, but I don’t need you to be your father, Drake. I just want you to be my best friend.”

Drake nodded—it meant a lot to hear Liam say that, especially after hearing how his father couldn’t have the same relationship with King Constantine that Drake had with Liam— but said no more.

“So…what else did Rylie say?” Maxwell prodded after a few peaceful moments when it seemed safe to bring their waitress up again.

“Oh!” Liam perked up as he remembered—something else that did not escape Maxwell’s eyes. “Rylie told me to tell you that she said ‘I said what I said’. Does that mean anything to you?”

“Does it mean anything to me?” Maxwell parroted incredulously. “She’s like a walking meme enactor! I can’t believe I missed that!”

“She did say you’d be sad you weren’t there for it.”

“Rylie knows me so well already.”

As Drake looked out the window, much like how Liam was earlier, his friends’ voices faded into the background until all he could hear were his thoughts. He had been too vocal about Rylie without any proof. A huge part of him felt justified in his actions, but there was a small part of him that felt guilty. While he tried to reconcile his feelings one way or another, Drake wondered if there was even a point to his inner turmoil.

After all, it wasn’t as if he was ever going to see her again.

* ~ * ~ * ~ *

The next morning, as the smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the kitchen of their suite, Drake scrolled through his phone, checking for any mention of Liam in the news or on social media. Even though running into Rylie was no longer an issue, she knew information that could blow up on them at any time. It was something best exposed while it was still fresh, but nothing yet.

Perhaps it’s still early…? Drake thought as he absentmindedly reached for the coffee pot, only for another hand to grab it before him. “What—”

“I didn’t take you as someone who’d be glued to their phone,” Maxwell said as he poured himself a cup.

“And you’re usually not up until the afternoon,” Drake ribbed back. “What gives?”

“I indirectly asked first,” Maxwell grinned impishly.

Drake rolled his eyes but relented. He wasn’t going to play Maxwell’s childish games and he had nothing to hide; that would imply he was doing something wrong, which he totally wasn’t. “Just making sure no surprise scandals or hordes of paparazzi were waiting for us outside the door.”

Confusion spread across Maxwell’s face. “Why would—” Then it dawned on him. “You think Rylie sold us out, sold Liam out.” Drake’s silence was a deafening answer. “And? Did she?”

Drake was reluctant to answer as if he was almost upset that he was wrong. “…No, but that doesn’t mean she won’t in the future.”

“And pass on the perfect opportunity she had to be in the morning news? Not to mention how easy it would’ve been for her to be seen in our limo, which she refused last night.” Maxwell retorted. “Just admit that you’re wrong about her, man.”

Drake stubbornly shifted against the counter he was leaning against. “That remains to be seen.”

Maxwell once again continued speaking as if Drake hadn’t said anything. “…Just as I’ll humbly admit that I was totally right for choosing her!”

Drake was almost afraid to ask. “Choose her for what?”

“I’m so glad you asked! It’s actually the reason I’m up so early. I need your help.” Maxwell rubbed a finger under his nose and took a quick glance at the closed doors of Liam and Tariq’s rooms before leaning in closer to whisper to Drake. “I’ve decided to sponsor Rylie so that she can contend to marry Liam.”

Drake actually spat out his coffee. “You what?” he hissed as he wiped his chin and turned to glare at Maxwell. “Have you lost your mind?”

“You actually gave me the idea last night; you’re right, she wouldn’t have been allowed into court otherwise.”

“That wasn’t—” Drake shook his head as that wasn’t the point. “Why her?”

“Why not? We’ve proven she’s not a gold digger, and she handled us pretty well, so I think she’ll do just fine against the other nobles. But more than that…didn’t you see the way Liam lit up around her? Even just mentioning her name would bring a smile to his face. I haven’t seen him like that since…like, ever. That’s more than good enough for me.”

“Life isn’t that simple, Maxwell.” Drake sighed before dragging a hand down his face. “So, what exactly do you need my help with? Seems like you already figured everything out yourself.”

“I can’t do this alone, but I can’t ask Tariq! You saw how he and I acted around her; we���re totally out of our element. And I obviously can’t ask Liam. You, though, she looked to you for normalcy. You can vibe with her—”

“Because we’re both commoners?” Drake finished for him, raising an eyebrow as if challenging Maxwell to argue otherwise—he didn’t. “That sounds like a ‘you’ problem, not a ‘me’ problem,” Drake dismissed as he moved towards the living room of the suite.

“I know you won’t do it for Rylie, and you probably wouldn’t do it for me, but doesn’t Liam deserve this?” Maxwell called after him, and Drake paused. “You’re his best friend. Don’t you want him to be happy, to at least have the chance to be happy with her?”

Drake wanted nothing more than for Liam to be happy. He couldn’t think of anyone else who deserved it more, who deserved the whole world at his feet not because of his lineage, but just because of him as a person. But this…

Before Drake could answer, the door to Liam’s room opened, and Liam rubbed an eye as he yawned, coming to a stop in the space between his two friends. “I knew I heard voices out here. What’s up?”

Maxwell stared at Drake’s back for a moment longer before plastering a smile on his face as he moved his attention to Liam. “I was just saying how I’m gonna take a later flight back to Cordonia.”

That woke Liam up more than coffee could. “Oh? By yourself?”

Maxwell opened his mouth, but Drake answered before he could make a sound. “No. I’ll be with him.”

Drake didn’t understand why it had to be Rylie out of everyone in the entire world, didn’t understand what it was about her that captured people so, and he didn’t think he ever would understand. But this wasn’t about him. Maybe he couldn’t take the weight of the crown off Liam’s shoulders or protect him in all the ways he wished he could, but if accompanying Rylie back to Cordonia was all he needed to do to bring happiness to his best friend, he’d do it. No question.

“We have some unfinished business left here.”

The rest was up to her.

[roboticonography]

Fic preview: The Fixed Foot

Pals, I regret to inform you that the fic I had planned to post today is not done. I was hoping to put the finishing touches on it today, but out of nowhere it got a lot longer and somewhat sexier, so I hope you’ll forgive me for posting just this first part, a small taste of things to come.

The title is a reference to John Donne’s “A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning,” which has been in the back of my mind ever since Agent Carter’s S1 finale episode.

Extended metaphors about compasses for the win.

This is for Day 1 of Steggy Week 2019: It’s Endgame, Baby!

===========

He starts with a date range. He doesn’t want to risk making things too complicated. This is going to be tricky enough as is.

He reads up on Peggy. He’s avoided knowing some of the details thus far; she wasn’t able to tell him directly, and using the internet felt intrusive.

There isn’t a lot of detailed information to be had through official channels. Employment forms and tax forms give him a dry chronology of cities, addresses, changes in marital status.

Howard’s butler’s unpublished memoirs are more illuminating. Edwin Jarvis uses pseudonyms for all of Howard’s associates, but it isn’t hard to figure out the identity of “Nancy,” who nearly knocked Jarvis unconscious the first time they met. In spite of that—or maybe even because of it—he seems to have really liked Peggy. (Steve can’t imagine meeting her and not liking her, but he is, of course, biased.)

Steve discovers that Peggy and a friend lived in one of Howard’s Manhattan penthouses for a period of time in the late 40s, after both of them were “asked to vacate” a women’s boarding house. He suspects there’s more to the story than that. He hopes he’ll get to hear it in person.

In one entry, Jarvis specifically mentions that Peggy is single. He seems to be one of those types who loves being married so much that he thinks everyone ought to try it at least once.

Steve decides on a date.

He collects the things he’ll need: a set of clothes, a paper map, some valuables he can hock for cash when he gets there, and a few keepsakes that won’t give him away.

He debates whether to get a different haircut, whether to grow a beard or get a pair of glasses. He wishes Natasha were here to help him with this part.

He wishes Natasha were here for a lot of reasons.

He reads everything he can get his hands on: what’s happening in politics, movies, music. Who made it to the World Series. It’s a sobering reminder of the time he’s returning to, and the battles that will lie ahead.

He has Bruce explain how time travel works, again and again, until it finally feels like it might be starting to sink in. He doesn’t want to do anything that might cause harm to his loved ones—those in the here and now, or those in the past. But he also knows himself. He knows he won’t be able to sit idly by.

Bruce assures him that there’s nothing he can do in the past that will alter what’s already taken place. His actions will create a new timeline, with its own outcomes; once he’s there, he won’t be able to take anything for granted.

Last but not least, he makes sure he has a backup plan. He loves Peggy, and he knows Peggy loves him, but it’s got to be her choice.

Bucky figures it out, of course. 

Sam doesn’t.

*

The one thing he should have thought to check was the weather report. The night he lands, it’s raining in sheets. The sidewalks are flooded.

He finds a spot to disable his quantum suit and change into the clothes he brought, which are instantly soaked as soon as he goes outside. Naturally, he didn’t think to bring an umbrella.

By the time he makes it over to Howard’s building, he looks like a drowned rat. The concierge eyes him suspiciously when he asks if Miss Carter is in.

“Who?”

“Margaret Carter. I know she lives here. She’s a friend of mine. Please.”

“I’m sorry, sir, I can’t help you.”

He scans the cavernous lobby; he doesn’t particularly want to have their reunion here, under the watchful eye of the building’s staff, but he may not have much choice.

Mercifully, the place is empty, aside from a single resident. Her back is to Steve, but her arrow-straight nylons and her tidy blonde pincurls remind him of Peggy, and he feels a heady rush of longing and anticipation. 

Watching her collect a letter from a bank of tidy pigeon-holes along one wall, he has a brainwave: he’ll leave Peggy a note. She might not believe it, but it’ll probably at least make her curious enough to want to meet him. And it’ll give her time to adjust to the idea before seeing him in person.

He borrows a sheet of paper and a fountain pen from the concierge, and makes an effort not to drip on the counter as he ponders what to write. He tries to think of a place nearby where they could meet.

“Is there an all-night diner anywhere around here?”

The concierge has just opened his mouth to reply when Steve is distracted by someone tugging on his sleeve.

It’s the woman who was picking up her mail. She’s young, and looks strangely familiar, though Steve has no clue where they might have met. Hopefully not at a USO show.

Fortunately, she doesn’t seem especially star-struck. “If you’re just looking for coffee and pie, I know an okay place,” she tells him, pointing to the waitress’s uniform under her rain slicker.

“Great, thanks.”

“Did I hear you asking for Peg earlier?”

Steve nods.

“She went to the pictures. I’m the roommate.” The blonde loops her arm through his. “You can wait upstairs, it’s okay. I’ll even scare up a cup of coffee for you, pro bono. Come on.”

He knows he shouldn’t; he needs to get his story straight with Peggy before he starts interacting with her social circle. But he’s been on the move for days, and it’s miserable outside.

“Sure. Thanks.”

*

The apartment is huge, a carefully curated monument to old-school wealth: antique furniture and oil paintings, dark wood and heavy fabric. The only thing that keeps it from being oppressive is the elegant simplicity of the architecture: long, clean lines and tall windows.

Angela—Angie—has the kitchen send up a tea tray. It’s enough food for six people, which is a blessing, because Steve is starving. He has to force himself not to be a pig.

“Nice spread,” he observes. He’s trying to remember the way he used to talk. It feels like he’s back in his USO days, playing a parody of himself.

Angie doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss. “I know! Oh, how the other half lives,” she says, comically, shoving half a raisin scone into her mouth.

Steve suddenly realizes where he knows her from: a 1951 movie musical called Life of the Party. She was billed as Ella Martin, but the cheeky grin is the same, and the strident voice. She couldn’t sing worth a lick, but she had razor-sharp comedic timing.

“So what’s your story?” asks Angie, still chewing. “How do you know Peg?”

“We met overseas during the war.”

“Oh yeah? What’s your name?”

He hesitates before replying, “My friends call me Steve.”

“That your way of telling me you want to be friends?”

“I’d like that a lot,” he tells her, with absolute sincerity.

She licks her fingers and eyes him suspiciously.

“I promise I’m not…” All the euphemisms he can think of are modern ones. “Trying to get anywhere with you,” he finishes, awkwardly.

“Good.” She nods in agreement with herself, and tops off his teacup.

Angie supplies the deficiency of the small talk, while Steve quietly polishes off most of the pastries. For the first time in days, he feels like he can let his guard down a little.

He starts to sink deeper into the plush sofa, his mind drifting pleasantly as Angie regales him with a story about a customer who tried to smuggle a cat into the automat in a briefcase.

Down the hall, the elevator dings.

“Angie?”

The sound of Peggy’s voice hits him like a sucker punch. It must show on his face because Angie asks, “You okay?”

“Fine. Thanks.” He sits up straighter, suddenly uncertain of where he should put his elbows.

“In here, Peg!” Angie hollers.

Steve can hear Peggy talking quietly—and a distinctly male voice whispering back.

“There’s someone with her,” says Steve.

“Probably just Daniel.”

“Who’s that?”

“Oh boy.” Her voice is suddenly soft, sympathetic. “Been a while since you saw her, huh?”

Before he can get the answer out, Peggy strides into view.

Her hair is different—longer than he’s ever seen it, swept over to one side in soft waves, like Veronica Lake. Her burgundy dress is perfectly molded to her magnificent figure, and has a very appealing neckline. She even has a tan, as though she’s just come home from a long beach holiday. 

She looks youthful, beautiful, vital. Happy.

“How was the picture?” calls Angie, oblivious.

“Absolute rubbish,” Peggy proclaims.

“It wasn’t that bad,” says her companion, helping her off with her coat. He’s young, good-looking, also tanned, and clearly smitten. “You’re just not very romantic, that’s all.”

“Oh!” She tosses the coat over a chair before turning to smack him on the arm. He chuckles, jokingly fending her off with his crutch.

Steve suddenly regrets not leaving a note.

(TO BE CONTINUED)