A Goodbye

Steve Rogers could not sleep. It came as no surprise really – the dull reverberation of the helicarrier's engine was quite enough to keep him awake, not to mention the odd assortment of beeping and whirring that sounded every so often from the walls around him. He had been living in the 21st century for over two months now, and still he had not grown accustomed to the technological advances that had been made in his absence. Life in the S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters was far from anything he had ever known – odd, scary, and resulting in countless sleepless nights.

Having long since given up on his futile efforts to get some rest, Steve now sat upright in bed, a comic book he had found in his drawer spread out across his lap. Idly flicking the pages, he wasn't really sure what the story was about, and nor did he have any real interest in the plot anyway. His whole life had been more dramatic than any one of these comic book tales, and the plights of the characters just failed to grasp him like they used to when he was a kid.

Sighing, Steve knocked his head back against the headboard, praying that the hours until morning would pass more quickly. There was nothing to do until his companions awoke, only sit alone with his thoughts – something he did far too often anyway. And so, when a knock sounded at his door, he was more than delighted for the interruption.

"Captain Rogers? Are you awake yet, sir?" came the unmistakable voice of Agent Hill, S.H.I.E.L.D's co-director under Nick Fury. At first, Steve was stunned – what could she possibly need from him at this hour of the morning? His mind momentarily toyed with the thought of a secret mission, one that only he would be sent on, and his heart quickened a little at the idea. But Steve was quickly tugged from his thoughts, however, when Agent Hill prompted once more, "Captain Rogers?"

Leaping out of bed, Steve pulled on a pair of loose fitting pants and a shirt, refusing to be so indecent and appear to the woman in anything less. Reaching for the door handle, Steve quickly tapped in the code that would unlock it, and prepared to greet the agent with a friendly smile.

No sooner had he opened the door, did Hill begin to speak, "Sir, Commander Fury would like to see you immediately. What he would like to speak with you about will be of great interest for you."

"O-oh, okay," Steve responded, thrown a little by the sharpness and directness in her voice, "yeah, right away. Shall I..?"

"No need to be in uniform, sir. Just come as you are." Agent Hill took a step back, looking back down at her clipboard without another word. Deciding it was best not to waste any more of her – or Fury's – time, Steve left his room without further delay, allowing Hill to lead him through the metal hallways of the S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters and toward the Commander's office.

"Sorry for awakening you so early, sir." Hill spoke suddenly, catching Steve a little off-guard. Jogging forward to fall into step beside her, he was quick to make a reply, eager not to sound like he did not appreciate her presence.

"No, not at all. I couldn't sleep anyway."

"Perhaps the information Commander Fury has for you will put your mind at rest a little," she smiled, before returning her attention to her clipboard once more. No matter how much Steve questioned her of what she meant, she would not answer further, only continue walking with a knowing smile resting on her lips.

When they finally reached Commander Fury's office, Agent Hill stepped up to the door purposefully, placing the pad of her finger on the sensor and waiting for the machine to accept her identification. When the green light finally showed, she took a step away, back into the sights of the camera positioned above the door.

"Agent Maria Hill, sir, with Captain Steve Rogers, as instructed."

"Come in, agent," Fury's response buzzed over the loud-speaker, making Steve jump slightly. No matter how many times he walked around this ship, the advancement in technology would never cease to surprise him.

Taking a step into the office, Agent Hill nodded quickly to her boss before holding back the door, allowing Steve admittance into the room. Hesitantly, the man followed her inside, his nervousness rising slightly as the door clicked shut behind them. What could he possibly be needed for, at this time and at such importance? His wildest guesses couldn't even deduce it.

"Captain – I'm glad you could make it. Please take a seat."

Nick Fury, director of S.H.I.E.L.D and commander of the Avengers Initiative, looked up to Steve with a quick nod, before looking back to the holographic screen that was being projected into the air above his desk. Glancing back at Agent Hill who still stood at the back of the room, Steve slowly made his way forward, taking a seat in the chair opposite Fury and anxiously waiting for the man to speak again.

"I'm not going to keep you in the dark any longer, Captain," Fury sighed, looking back to Steve and allowing the screen before him to disappear, "after all you've done for S.H.I.E.L.D and for American peace, I do not believe it is right to withhold such information from you any longer."

Before Steve could enquire as to what kind of information Fury meant, the commander had pushed a slip of paper across the desk, motioning for Steve to take it. Cautiously, the soldier let his eyes fall down to the paper, all of a sudden fearing what it might say. A sickening thought jabbed at his gut – could this be his discharge, telling him that his service was over and he was no longer required to fight? He sure hoped not.

His eyes fell upon a tiny envelope, sealed and unopened, the paper growing frail and yellow with age. The corners were slightly crumbled, the paper almost worn through in parts, as if it had been held between two hands and clutched tight. And on the front, the ink faded and just about visible, was his name. The handwriting was elegant and tall, written with a steady hand, and for a small glimmer of a moment, Steve thought he recognized it, as if from a dream that he had long since forgotten.

"It's never been opened. She gave it to me with the trust that I would give it to you when it was safe for you to receive it."

"She?" Steve breathed, his hands reaching out to take the envelope between his fingers. He didn't open it – just sat, holding it as if the words would sink into him without him having to read them. If the sender of this letter really was who he thought it was, then he didn't think he could cope with reading her goodbyes.

"Would you like a moment, or should I continue?" Fury asked quietly, but Steve shook his head firmly, biting back the tears that threatened to spill over.

"No. Please, continue."

Fury took a deep breath, shooting a warning glance over to Agent Hill before going on with his story. Steve Rogers could handle a lot, he knew that, but something about the dismay which now burned in the man's eyes told Fury that he should probably handle this news sensitively.

"In 1961, a British officer by the name of Peggy Carter contacted me regarding the whereabouts of fallen soldier, who had crash-landed into the ice of Antarctica, and who she believed to have survived. A super-soldier, whose advancements she believed could have led to his survival. Alongside Howard Stark, she had managed to locate the exact crash-site of the plane, and had calculated, knowing the position of the cockpit and the speed at which the place was flying, how the technologically advanced human may have been able to survive.

"At that time, I was only a Senior Agent in S.H.I.E.L.D, and so had trouble trying to convince the current director at the time that Carter's story could be true. Having Stark on our side certainly helped us to prove our theory, but in the end, any hope of a recovery mission was ruled out. The director wanted nothing to do with it, and the cost of the expedition and the technology we would need to bring the super-soldier back was far too much for us to pay ourselves."

Pausing, Nick Fury looked across to Steve, whose eyes were still fixed on the neatly written name that marked the front on the envelope. He was quite sure he could see tears brimming there, too, but he did not mention it.

"In 1980, when I became the director of S.H.I.E.L.D, Peggy Carter finally contacted me again, asking once more whether the expedition could be carried out. Even after all those years, she had never forgotten about the super-solider, and her hopes of saving him had never dwindled. As Howard Stark's last act as CEO of his company before handing it to his son, Tony, he offered the technology that would successfully recover the super-soldier - a massive breakthrough at the time. As for Peggy – she paid for the entire thing. Her honorable discharge from the British Armed Forces had left her with a lot of money, all of which she gave to successfully get you out of the ice."

By this point, Steve Rogers was visibly trembling in his seat, still holding the envelope between his shaking fingers. For such a large, muscular man, he looked so very small, his wide shoulders drooping as he hunched over in his chair, desperately trying to keep himself together. For the first time since before he'd taken the super-soldier serum, Steve was showing who he really was beneath – a scared, heart-broken little boy who was so terribly lost in a world he knew nothing about.

"Steve..." Fury reached across the desk to place his hand on Steve's shoulder, but the younger man shrugged it off, his eyes snapping up from the envelope as if he had been pulled from a trance.

"That's not all. Tell me the rest."

Sighing, Fury retracted his hand and continued, "It took almost thirty years for the expedition to get underway, and another few years to bring you back. About four years before you woke up... Peggy Carter passed away. She lived just long enough to see you returning to health, and before her death, she gave me that envelope. The original letter was written just after you had been presumed dead in 1943, but she held onto it in the hope that one day, you might return. Then in 2008, while you still sleeping, she added a little more to the letter, before giving it to me."

"D-do you know what it says?" Steve's voice broke with the strain of trying to hold back his tears.

"No, nobody does. You're the only one that was meant to read those words, and I've made sure to keep it that way. Now the Avengers Initiative is over...I thought it was the right time to give it to you. To give you some closure."

Nodding his head, Steve bit his lip, turning the envelope over in his hands. It was frail with age, but he was careful not to tear the paper, holding it as carefully as he possibly could in his strong hands. Choking a little as he saw where Peggy had re-opened the letter to add a final message, Steve hunched over tighter, closing his eyes as he tried desperately to remember his lover's face.

"We'll leave you alone, Captain," Fury said at last, standing from behind his desk and heading to the door, "I'm sorry for your loss."

And then, Steve was alone. Finally allowing the emotion to spill from his body, a tortured sob broke free from his aching chest, tumbling out into the silence of the office. Peggy, his Peggy. Since he had been brought back, Steve's mind had been too occupied with adapting to this world, and then the Avengers Initiative, to spare a thought for the woman he had loved all those years ago. In a way, he had thought she'd still be alive – the seventy years that had passed felt like moments to him, and the idea of her being gone just didn't cross his mind. Only now had the truth hit him, as he held her note of goodbye in his hands.

"Peggy..." the name escaped his lips before he could hold it back. It felt like a million years since he had spoken that name, and even longer since he had seen her face; trying to picture it was like trying to remember a dream – clouded, faint. It took a few moments for Steve to regain his composure, but when he was once again calm, he slowly pushed his thumbnail below the flap of the envelope, and tore it open.

The letter, tucked away inside the envelope for all those years, did not look aged at all, and the ink was still as clear and visible as if it the words had been written only days ago. Lines and lines of looping, swirling handwriting blurred before his tear-filled eyes - the same writing that had spelled his name, so neatly, on the front of his records back in 1943. But this time, the words were for him alone and, taking a deep breath, Steve began to read.

'My Dearest Steve,
If you were here right now, I would probably start by slapping you across the face for going down with that plane. It is your selfless pride that I have to thank for all the days I have spent mourning your death, and though I respect your nobility and loyalty to your country, I would rather you live a coward than have died a hero. I can't imagine spending the rest of my life away from you.

News has spread fast of your death, as much as we tried to keep it a secret. 'The Great Super-Soldier, Captain America – Killed in Action'. I must admit, even when you were gone for days on end on one of your reckless missions, I never expected to see that headline. I always knew you'd come back – well, I'd always thought you'd come back. The whole of America mourns our fallen hero, but no one more than myself.

Every night, I have found myself sitting alone at the bar at The Stork Club, and when the clock strikes eight, do you know what I do? I turn towards the door, just waiting for you to walk on in. I can picture it exactly; you're wearing that huge, goofy grin on your face, and the dinner suit you have on is in absolute disarray, probably in your haste to get there on time. It's one of Stark's, too, so it's a little too small for you as well. You'd spot me immediately, knocking something over as you raise your hand to wave, before blushing deep red and apologizing to all those sat nearby. And then, when you've finally made your way to me, we'd leave our drinks deserted on the bar, and we'd dance.

I know - it's so foolish of me to expect such a thing to happen, when I know it is impossible. But something just keeps taking me back there, no matter how firmly I try to remind myself that you are gone – a tragic kind of hope that keeps my heart going during this dark time. So I will hold onto his letter, every night at eight in The Stork Club, in the hope that you'll one day walk in, like nothing had happened.

One more word before I end this letter; I never really got a chance in our short time together to tell you how I truly felt, and I think, unless I get a chance to tell you in person, writing it here will have to suffice. I love you, Steve Rogers, and it's as simple as that. With every fibre of my being, I love you, and losing you was by far the toughest thing I will ever have to face. Many would say I loved you for your body, and your fame, but they have me wrong. I loved you before all of that Captain America business – back when you were just Private Rogers, from Brooklyn. Scrawny, yes, but with such a big heart. It started off as admiration in your determination and selflessness, but it was not long before I found myself completely and utterly in love. And right now, I find myself missing you so, so much.

We'll never forget what you did for us, Steve, and I'll certainly never forget what you meant to me. You memory will live forever, in America's heart, and in mine.

See you at eight o'clock on the dot. Don't you dare be late.

Peggy Carter'

His eyes trailing over the last few words, Steve Rogers sat back in his chair, allowing the letter to fall down into his lap. He'd been crying the entire time, and the tears which had traced rosy lines down his cheeks now fell freely from his chin, soaking into the paper that was still clutched in his one hand. How he'd rather have heard Peggy's goodbye in her own voice, whispered quietly in his ear – not written down on some small scrap of paper. But at least it was a goodbye. Some didn't even get that chance.

Turning the letter over gently in his hands, Steve's eyes fell on Peggy's second message, written in the same elegant handwriting as the first. There were only a few words this time, but Steve started reading without hesitation, desperate for more words from his beloved. The last he would ever receive.

'I knew we'd find you. Ever since Stark told me of how you could have survived, I knew. Yes, it took longer than expected, but at last, you're back. Home. Ready to start a new life. Unfortunately, it is a life you must lead without me – my time is almost up, and I'll have gone by the time you wake. But at least I lived long enough to see your face again. So very, very beautiful. Goodbye, my love.'

That was all. Reading over the last three words one more time, Steve flew into a frantic denial, turning the letter over and over in his hands in a search for any little message that he might have missed. Nothing. He didn't know what he expected to see – a tiny note telling him that, really, she was still alive, and there was some way in which he could see her again? Like in those comics he had been reading only minutes ago, in his bedroom? No...his life was far more dramatic than any comic book tale, and far more real, too. Peggy was gone, and that was the bitter truth.  

Folding up the letter with shaking fingers, Steve Rogers clutched it tightly to his chest, allowing the sobs that had been building up in his chest to burst out, hollow and desolate in the silence of the office. He wanted to scream; let all the composure he usually held slip, and allow the anguish, which had been blooming in his chest for more than seventy years, explode from him and into the air before him. But the heartbreak dug too deep, and all Steve could do was cry, the tears that fell from his closed eyes pooling on the desk beneath his head.

Steve would remain there for a few hours after that, cradling the precious letter in his hands, and nursing his broken heart as best he could. Having listened to the sobbing coming from within his office for as long as he could bare, Nick Fury left with a sigh, making for the control room to start the day's work. Nothing could be done to soothe Captain Rogers now – perhaps one day soon, a trip to the cemetery in which Peggy Carter was buried would help him put the matter behind him. But for now...let him mourn. He'd been waiting far too long, and been through far too much, to not be given that.