Chapter Text
In the skies over the North Atlantic, March, 1945
Beyond the windows the blue sky spread. He was so high up he could see the actual curve of the Earth and the haze just above him. A bit higher Steve Rogers bet they could see the stars. It would all be insane, beautiful, if he weren’t sitting on top of a small stockpile of bombs, and if the coordinates for his hometown were currently plugged into whatever was running the autopilot of this crazy bomber. Never mind the fact that the one man who know how it all worked had been….burned up…disappeared…whatever happened when that crazy cube lit up and opened the heavens just above Steve’s head right there in the cockpit of the ship. Now the madman was gone, and it just left Steve alone, staring at an unresponsive control panel, knowing what he had to do, and hating the fact it all came to this. He had always suspected that one day death would catch up to him, he had just hoped he would have a bit longer. Visions of Peggy sprang to mind, with her fathomless, dark eyes, quietly sparkling in laughter at him from across the war room conference table, tossing her dark hair angrily as she dressed down yet another tight-assed officer, her soft smile she would give as they sat together on the roof of London HQ, the two of them, talking about everything and nothing. He would lose all those little moments in the blink of an eye.
Bucky hadn’t hesitated when picking up that shield to protect him on Zola's train, not even a little, all to save his dumb ass, again. He had died for because of it. Steve could do no less in order to save their home and all the people living there.
With numb fingers he reached for the radio on the console. It still worked, at least, connecting him to Schmidt’s bunker deep in the Austrian Alps. He had no idea who had survived there, but he knew if anyone was waiting impatiently for his call, it would be Peggy. He depressed the button, trying to figure out what he was even supposed to say.
“Come in,” he called. “Come in, this is Captain Rogers. Do you read me?”
It was Jim Morita’s voice that sounded first, professional and relieved all at once. Steve almost hated to disappoint him, but Morita didn’t even get a chance to finish the greeting before another, more frantic voice cut in on the line.
“Steve, is that you? Are you all right?”
He almost smiled. Peggy would of course get a better read on the situation. Inside of his chest, his heart ached. “Peggy, Schmidt’s dead.” At least he assumed he was. Whatever was the case, he wasn’t coming back there.
“What about the plane?” She cut to the chase neatly.
“That’s a little a little tougher to explain,” he sighed, lamely eyeing the controls, knowing that it was hopeless trying.
“Give me your coordinates, I’ll find you a safe landing spot.”
He was going to break her heart and he was so sorry for it. “There’s not going to be a safe landing spot, but I can try to force it down.”
The words slipped out with surprising ease, despite the fact they cost him so much to say. He had wanted see if there was a chance for whatever this was between them to grow. He wanted so much…
Ever determined, he wasn’t shocked when she immediately came up with a solution. “I’ll get Howard on the line. He’ll know what to do.”
This plane had gone from Central Europe to North America in the blink of an eye, and last Steve here, Howard Stark was in New Mexico, working on yet another secret weapon. By the time they got him out of whatever lab or bed he was in, it would be too late. “There’s not enough time. This thing is moving too fast and it’s heading for New York.” Steve paused, trying to figure out how to break this to her, resolve and certainty rising within him as he knew the course he had to take, no matter how much it scared him to do it. “I got to put her in the water.”
His voice cracked ever so slightly at that.
On the other end of the line, he could hear the devastation in Peggy’s voice, and it hurt even worse. “Please don’t do this! We have time, we can work it out!”
What little self control he had nearly slipped there, hearing her beg him not to do this. He stared at the map of North America, lit in green on the small screen Schmidt had installed into the control panel. He watched the small blip that was the bomber inch closer and closer to populated areas, towards his home - to the Barnes family, to his neighborhood, and everyone he knew. He couldn’t fail them in this. He didn’t have a choice.
“Right now, I’m in the middle of nowhere. If I wait any longer, a lot of people are going to die.” Steve swallowed, staring at the cerulean blue sky ahead of him, and the impossibly bright, white clouds, knowing what he had to do. He recalled the words Peggy spoke just days before, ones she used to comfort him in the loss of the one man who maybe could have talked him out of this. “Peggy, this is my choice.”
Carefully, he reached into one of his pockets, the one he kept all of his most precious things, including the battered and beaten pocket compass, the one legacy of his father he had outside of his last name. He opened it up to gaze down at the photo of Peggy pasted inside, gently setting it on the console, her direct, firm gaze meeting his, as if she were standing there, beside him, his singular comfort in the moment. Without another second of hesitation, he forced the controls to point the nose of the bomber forward, sending it hurtling downward. His stomach, rock solid since his transformation, swooped awfully with the sudden dive, reminding him of that horrible drop on the Cyclone on Coney Island. Only this time, he knew he wasn’t going to walk away from it.
If Bucky were alive, he would kill him for this.
“Peggy,” he called, filling her name with so many things - longing, regret, guilt, fear, but most of all, the love he never had the guts to tell her about.
She answered, her voice quavering as she tried to sound brave. “I’m here!”
“I’m going to have to take a raincheck on that dance.”
He heard her soft huff over the microphone. “All right, a week next Saturday, at the Stork Club.”
His heart broke at that, as he came out from under the thick, misty clouds, onto the dark gray waters of the ocean below, and the thick, frozen shelf of ice right in the path of the bomber. Dread cut through him. He wasn’t coming out of this, he knew it, and she knew it, but still she clung on to that thin thread of hope. “You got it.”
“Eight o’clock, on the dot, don’t be late.”
He couldn’t help but smile at this pretty lie, even as he stared at certain death. “You know, I still don’t know how to dance.”
“I’ll show you how,” she insisted, her voice cracking. “Just be there!”
He had very much wanted to learn how to do it with her.
Beyond the open windshield, the field of white ice spread, becoming closer and wider, a blanket of shining white, cut through with palest blue. He tightened his fingers on the controls, wishing he could keep that promise, make that date.
“We’ll have the band play something slow.” The ice was approaching, closer and closer. “I’d hate to step on your toe…”
Metal screamed, as ice sprayed, and he felt himself pitching forward. Darkness and cold swallowed him whole….