No Place Like Home
The future is a different country. Sometimes it’s hard to find home.
A What If Peggy (with the Serum) was in the ice with Steve AU (Steggy Secret Santa gift for @bisexualhayesmorrisons)
Note: This is… slightly more melancholy in tone than I’d really intended, especially at the beginning, but I hope you enjoy it regardless. Also, this is not compliant with Peggy’s backstory in S2.
“I’ve gotta put her in the water,” Steve said, looking at her as she fiddled with the radio, trying to get someone on the line.
She didn’t acknowledge the words. She focused on the panel in front of her, but her shoulders were tense and the red nails of her empty hand bit into her palm. They had both looked at the instruments panel. It didn’t take fluency to know that whatever Schmidt had pressed earlier had locked them on course to New York. There wasn’t any choice, and they both knew it. The plane had to go down, and the only way to accomplish that now was to do it manually.
She looked over at him, her hair mussed and falling in her eyes after the fighting with Schmidt. She watched him with resignation for a moment. She’d always known there was the possibility that they might not live to see the end of the war, but right now it was overwhelming. She sighed and went still, when Steve reached out to take her hand, gently pressing his gloved fingers against her clenched ones, prompting her fingers uncurling to wrap tightly around his. Some of the tension ebbed away from her frame, but there was a fear there that wouldn’t be assuaged with a mere touch.
“If I could just find the bloody frequency-” Peggy grumbled, adjusting the radio panel with her free hand. There was a pop and crackle before static.
“I’m sorry, Peggy.”
She sighed. “I know.”
Ice stretched across the horizon, a white blanket. There was a moment of regret and pain for all the things neither of them would get to see now. All those plans and promises they’d both acknowledged but never quite made were going to end here in the cold. When Steve let go of her hand to take hold of the stick, Peggy laid her hand on top of his and nodded.
Together, they pushed, sending the plane careening down toward the ice below.
“I guess we won’t make that dance after all,” Steve said, looking at her. He laughed, a sad chuckle that sent a lance through her heart. “Probably for the best, I would have hated to step on your toes.”
Peggy was tempted to laugh. Of all the things for him to worry about- even if it was for nothing. “Far worse things have happened to me than you stepping on my toes, Steve.”
He smiled sadly. “We could have had the band play something slow.”
Peggy woke gasping, a sharp prickle running across her skin like needles. It was a feeling of ice in her veins. She had dreamed of the crash before, the feeling of the wind and the cold and the searing pain that followed. It was never the same twice, sometimes she dreamed of other horrors: of the Schmidt’s red skull laughing as the plane went down in flames and the feel of blood pooling at her feet and covering her hands.