Re: Fenway Park, an hour or two into the fighting—Peggy/Captain America
[Steve grins at the words 'American icon,' he grins at the image of Peggy Carter there, bullets flying, her hair at once wild and tame, tucked back and playing across her face, rifle at her side, all while she's in a skirt and blouse, lips curling upward in unimaginable red. Staunch, stubborn, solid, and as spic-and-span as the moment allowed for, she was unapologetically herself, always. That is far more admirable than most give her credit for. To be oneself, unadulterated and proud, in a world that always sought to undermine, to niggle into the psyche with images of self-doubt, with values stretched this way and that—she is a paragon.] American icons are the only ones who can talk like that, I think. No one else would be so falsely prideful. [He grins again.
Here, now, on the green grass cut into cement with the stadium roaring behind them, Steve can only look at her, overwhelmed not for the first time, that they are together again. And when she leans in, her body fitting against his, in spite of the gun fire around them, he is only there with her. It sounds horribly cheesy, but it's true. Steve kisses Peggy, bringing his own free hand up to touch her chin, and just then, just for a second, everything slows down.
It's quiet and Steve can hear his own breathing. And when he pulls back and the world slots back into place and pace, his smile moves slowly across his face, blush trailing not far behind. His fingers drag on her skin before dropping away. Finally, when he's able, he just says:] I admire you.