5A/N: So I told you that it would be a while before I had anything else Steve&Peggy... but I guess I lied. Oh well! :) That being said, this is actually in a different AU than my other Steve&Peggy piece. While the beginning of the AU is the same (Peggy being found in cryofreeze after The Avengers), this one follows the MCU much more closely, and therefore Horrible Things still happen. Horrible Things like Infinity War and the Snap... But hey! I'm a sucker for angst, so I guess it didn't turn out so bad for me. :]
In this AU Steve and Peggy get married just after Civil War, and Peggy is a little more than eight months pregnant when Infinity War happens. I don't know why my mind came up with this (I was honestly a little concerned for myself), but here it is. Please let me know what you think!
Thanks!
-Mellpen00
(P.S. Before you get to the end and threaten to lynch me, let me say that there is a second part! It's already written, but just needs some polishing, so you can expect it some time next week. :)
Half the Universe (but My Whole World)
Steve couldn't form any words, and the only thought that entered his mind was: we failed. Over and over, like a broken record: we failed. We lost. We weren't enough. I wasn't enough. We failed. Eventually, he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he looked up to see Natasha, bruised and broken as he was, looking at him with the same thought written on her face. He could see a question in her eyes, and as he turned slowly to look at the others around him, he saw it in their eyes as well.
What do we do?
Steve couldn't even begin to answer that question in the long run, but he knew instinctively that, for those left behind, life had to continue, just like it did after every other battle. Natasha, Rhodey, Thor – they had all been in battles, in war, and they all knew the truth like he did. They all knew that you had to shut out the eventual so that you could handle the immediate. But not one of them looked like they had any intention of following through with that truth. They were broken – completely and utterly broken – and they needed somebody to pick up the pieces.
Steve buried his head in his hands, rebelling against the injustice of it. He was broken too! He was in just as much pain as they were! But he was also the commander. Commanders didn't get to be broken. They didn't get people to put them back together. They had to simply gather up all their pieces and hope for the best as they went about repairing everyone else.
It's not fair! he thought, and it never was. He let his shoulders slump and his head hang, allowing himself just this one moment of brokenness before he had to lead again. Uncertainty and despair warred inside him, coiling like snakes in the pit of his stomach. But then, with ease of long practice, Steve Rogers closed himself in, and Captain America lifted his head.
He was almost disgusted by how easy it was, to bottle up his humanity and pull on the mask. But there was a job to be done, and Steve wouldn't have been able to handle it. Bracing his ribs with one arm and ignoring Natasha's proffered hand, Cap got to his feet and began to give orders.
-0o0-0o0-0o0-0o0-0o0-0o0-0o0-
As after every battle, there were bodies to remove from the field: friends and enemies fallen side by side. Even worse than the faces that were recognized, however, were the ones that were missing; the nameless, anonymous piles of dust that littered the bloodstained grass: a testament to their failure, as surreal as it was undeniable.
Time after time Steve had to shut himself down, make his mind go blank, just so he could take care of the task at hand. He saw grown men and women, hardened warriors one and all, kneeling on the turf and wailing like lost children. He saw others gazing over the battlefield with vacant eyes, or wandering around aimlessly.
Finally, it was dark. All the dead and wounded had been taken into the city, and the living were now arriving there as well. The medical staff threw themselves into their tasks, having too few people to do the work, but glad to be overwhelmed because it took their minds from why their numbers were reduced. For once there were enough beds for every injured person, but no one had ever been so horrified to see an empty hospital. Cap's last duty was leaving Natasha with the nurses, and then he turned and walked out of the medical wing, having forgotten about his own injuries. He stepped out into the empty hallway and stopped. Steve Rogers awoke, as if from a trance.
Where am I? Wakanda. That was right.
What just happened? Oh yes, he had failed. Again.
Where is everybody? Bruce, Thor, Rhodey, and Natasha: living, in the med bay. Tony, Clint, and Pepper: unknown. T'Challa, Vision, Wanda, Sam, Bucky:
Dead.
Steve sucked in a breath, not having time to process the information as another terrifying thought intruded on him.
Peggy.
He staggered back a step.
The baby!
Oh, God, please!
He turned around and barreled back into the med bay, searching for the first person who looked like they would know something. He seized a nurse by the arm as she passed. He must have grabbed her harder than he meant to, because she cried out and dropped her chart, and he had just enough presence of mind to loosen his grip.
"Have you seen my wife?" he asked, eyes burning with intensity. The nurse looked frightened, but merely shook her head, so he released her and moved on to the next person. He scoured the room, asking everyone he saw, but learning nothing. More than once he would repeat his question to a man and receive a look that asked: "have you seen mine?"
Around and around he went, refusing to acknowledge the dread growing in his chest. Finally, a doctor whom he recognized – though whose name he couldn't remember – took the time and actually spoke to him.
"You are Captain Rogers of SHIELD, yes?"
Steve nodded.
"And your wife is the English woman, also of SHIELD?"
A spark of hope flared in Steve's chest. "Ye- yes!" he choked out. "Have you seen her?"
The man's expression was unreadable. "Come," he said, turning in a different direction, "This way."
They passed into an unfamiliar part of the medical wing, the doctor-without-a-name striding purposefully down the hall and Steve following anxiously behind him. There were so many questions swirling in Steve's head, but he didn't dare ask any of them.
Finally, the doctor stopped outside what looked like a private room and turned to face the captain head-on. Though his manner was firm, his eyes were soft.
"Captain Rogers," he began wearily, "too many times today have I given this news. I stopped trying to soften the blow many hours ago, so I will not do it now. Your wife is dead."
All the hope that had been bubbling up inside of Steve vanished, choked out by those four words. He made no answer, only stood there, dumbstruck, as the doctor stared at the floor.
Peggy was gone. He had really and truly failed then. Bucky, Sam, T'Challa, Shuri, Wanda – Peggy. What else was there?
Moments passed, and his chest constricted. He took a small shuddering breath, and the doctor continued,
"I am truly sorry for your loss, and believe me, I know something of it as well, but your situation is not as bleak as some others'." There was the briefest of pauses, and the man met Steve's eyes. "The child survived."
The child… Peggy's child. His child!
Images flashed briefly in his mind of Peggy in every stage as her belly grew and the promise of the baby drew nearer. And now it was here; delivered early in the midst of it's mother's ashes. It was too much. Too much for him to think about and to process. His mind went numb for a moment as the doctor opened the door to the room and guided him in. His eyes landed on a nurse in the corner, sitting in a pristine white uniform by a delicate white crib. He heard the click of the door behind him, closing as the doctor retreated back into the hall, and his mind woke up.
He didn't dare look into the tiny bed, so he locked eyes with the nurse. She returned his stare without expression, but it was no use. His gaze was drawn to the crib with the inevitability of gravity. At first he saw nothing, just a wad of soft blankets in between the bars. Then something moved, and she couldn't be unseen.
He saw the baby, and his body was paralyzed again. She was so small, so defenseless. He already had so many people depending on him – he had already let so many people down – he was cracking under the weight. How could he take even one more?
The nurse moved forward and took the child in her arms, bringing it toward Steve. She began to offer the baby to him, and he started back, putting up his hands in protest.
"No, I can't!" he wanted to shout, to scream, but it came out in a hoarse whisper, terrified and small. The nurse paused and bored her eyes into him, giving him no other option.
"You must."
Unable to disobey, Steve allowed the little bundle to be placed in his arms, and just like that, the world melted away.
She was his opposite in every possible way. All of her tiny person could have fit completely in his massive paws, her pearly skin looking like rose-petals next to his dark and dirty hands. She was soft, he was hardened. She was clean, he was covered in the stench of battle. Her white blanket was set against his black uniform, and all he could see was the innocence that he had fought so hard for, and failed so miserably to protect.
One of the baby's tiny fists rested next to her cheek, and Steve lifted a finger to stroke it. It was impossibly soft. She shifted in her sleep and yawned, opening her hand as she did and curling it around the thing that had roused her. Somehow, it was this simple gesture that broke through to him. The despair that had been roiling in the pit of his stomach rose up his throat and burst out of him in a silent, agonized sob. Tears began to mist in his eyes as he held his daughter closer to him, not caring that the grime of his uniform rubbed off on her clean blanket, only needing her to be near. Needing to know that she was there, even if her mother wasn't. Even if half the universe wasn't.
He sank down in the chair by the crib and curled around his child, forming his body into a shield to protect her: the only thing that he had left. He had lost so much. So many things had been taken from him. His chest began to heave and his breath began to come in gasps. The mist in his eyes overflowed, and the sob was no longer silent. It had found its voice, and it would speak to what words could not.