It was hardly the first time Peggy set her sights on a course of action that no one else could understand, much less support. She'd done it years ago, forcing her life into an abrupt and unexpected about-face from the path it ought to have taken; the sort that involved a husband selected for no reason other than stability, someone on whose arm she could hang while smiling blandly through a lifetime of parties before producing the obligatory 2.5 children who would be lovely and safe because money had its uses and the Carters had never been without means. She could still remember the look on her father's face when she'd swatted an invitation out of his hand and slapped down a handful of application papers and a plea (demand) for help in securing the position she'd held since.
He hadn't understood. Sometimes, Peggy suspected the way her brain worked wasn't quite typical. Certainly it wasn't how Steve processed things. Like her father, he was very... straight-forward. See a problem. Fix a problem. See an injustice. Stand up to it. It was all very black-and-white, very action-oriented. Peggy saw things in angles and shades of gray, always calculating and slightly manipulative- not in a malicious way, or so she told herself when she inevitably felt guilty or ashamed of something she'd elected to do- and she couldn't help but try to shake out plans that were banking more on odds of success than fairness.
So she'd been high-handed. Peggy couldn't argue that one because it was true. The apologies she'd owe to Bucky would last her the rest of their lives, even if that might not be so very long in the grand scheme of things. She'd pushed and cajoled, and this time it wasn't about standing up straight or smiling for a camera, but rather exposing parts of himself that ought to belong solely to him, to handle in whatever way he saw fit (or to keep them buried deep forever, if that was what he wanted to do). It was something she could've done years ago, exploiting this angle for the sheer public appeal of it.
But. It hadn't been necessary, years ago. It wouldn't have changed any outcome, and they'd all been very, very young then. Peggy hadn't been quite as canny then, hadn't learned how to play the game to the hilt. She knew better now. She'd fewer qualms about ruthlessness, even if it meant hurting the people she loved for even the tiniest chance of helping them in the long run.
Dead was a permanent state of being and it wouldn't matter at all what she did, then. Hurt was temporary. Anger would pass. Those were risks she could take, and she rehearsed how best to say it all while taking the elevator up to Steve's room. She'd rehearsed it to death already, but nerves made her want to do it again, going so far to make notes she'd tucked into a handbag that was promptly dropped as she stepped in the room only to be pressed back to the door by a kiss that was the last thing she'd expected. She'd anticipated shouting, or that quiet, sullen disappointment Steve could radiate when it suited him; all folded arms and big blue eyes, the hard set of a jaw that could look thoroughly foreboding when it set.
Far be it for her to argue this. Hands fluttered, but only a moment. She seized his shoulders, fingers gripping hard, and tried not to think about how kisses like this might be numbered now, on an inevitable countdown to the day he'd walk away from her again, this time never to return.
It didn't take long for her to taste salt, but she couldn't be sure which of them was crying.