Log, Paley Park: Peggy C & Steve R
The night was a moment glinting in a time-trap, teardrop of amber, the setting a blurry slip of an era long gone recreated with present-day details, and it was beautiful. Steve was spellbound by it, completely drawn into the music and the soft yellow of fairylights. He fit right in even, a blend of time periods that had never stood next to one another: '40s hair, blond carefully brushed to the side, longer than men wore it today, the leather jacket cut new, his mittens and the gray wool hat relics. All bound together by the general timelessness of his simple suit, as black and white as the pictures he remembered. He was struck, even as his stomach did gymnastics, by the romance inherent here, in this replacement and repaved lot of the Stork Club. Everyone knew Steve Rogers was a sap, heart worn on paper cuffs in a red Americans liked to think was theirs alone, some symbol, like the rest of humanity didn't share it with them. And it was his sappiness he blamed as he stood there, hat in his hands, confused, and swaying slightly with the familiar music with some brim of tears brightening blue.
It took a moment for the sharp click of heels to reach him, cutting through the slow caress of The Nearness of You, the way static used to break apart on the radio—and it took a moment for the realization that those heels had come to a stop nearby, to join it. But when it turned like a key in a lock in the man's mind, he hurriedly blinked away the wetness, though it was useless. His nose was red and telegraphed to anyone near enough what had just been happening along the mustered line of long, blond lashes.—Not that he even had time to think about that, because it was Peggy.
He couldn't believe it. Peggy was here. 8:02 now and he opened his mouth, speechless.
Red coat, red lips, and she was coming at him full-tilt. Steve came forward to meet her, his hat joining her purse on the eclipsed bricks underfoot, so he could in turn embrace the woman as her arms circled his neck. His happiness came in the unstoppable bubble of a laugh and he lifted her and those heels from the ground, the display open, more so than it ever could have been before. It had been 70 years—70 years!—and not for the first time, it felt like it.
But here they were, her heart close to his as he held her, both of them displaced and come back together like a split seam. Steve pressed his cold nose to her throat, and only once that overwhelming tide of joy receded some, did he finally pull back enough to smile, so stupid and happy, at Peggy. He didn't bother hiding his tears now, the nostalgia from before blown into absolute giddiness—a barren tree having grown nothing less than a golden apple. Peggy was as beautiful as always, beautiful, intelligence behind her dark eyes, and warmth, so much warmth.