Forward to the Past [Steggy] ✔

Chapter Eleven

Peggy's POV

Flashback

January 15th, 1950

My hand rests on the brass handle of the door, tracing it's intricate designs. I push it open, the heavy wood creaking slightly as it opens, adding a bit of character to the old restaurant. I've never been here before.

As I enter, smells of food waft into my nose, and I listen to the clinks of forks and knives against plates. The atmosphere is dim overall, but an orange glow illuminates the whole room, candles lit at every table.

"Table for one, please," I say to the hostess, who nods, smiling, and gathers a menu.

"Make that two." A voice from behind me cuts in, and a man steps to my side. "That is, if the lady allows."

Startled, I turn to face the person next to me, and see the man as a well built, dark haired figure with a clean cut look and a suit and tie on. "Oh!" I exclaim. "Well, I suppose..."

The hostess grabs another menu, then leads us to a small table toward the back, filling our glasses with ice water and then leaving us to wait for our waiter.

"I'm sorry if I caught you off guard there," the stranger apologizes as we get settled. "If you don't want to sit with me, I completely understand."

"Oh, it's alright," I assure him. "I'd enjoy the company."

"I'm Jack," he says, a smile creeping onto his rather handsome face.

"Peggy," I return, smiling back. "Any reason why you're here?" I ask, suddenly getting suspicious.

"Does there have to be a reason?" Jack asks, looking worried. "I was just here to get dinner, and I noticed you."

"Oh," I say, slightly flustered. "Sorry. Occupational hazard." I don't elaborate, knowing that S.H.I.E.L.D. is still an undercover agency, and to my relief, Jack, though he looks curious, doesn't press the issue.

It's quiet for a moment. The moment of silence is filled with the two of us awkwardly waiting for someone to say something.

"I'm sorry, I'm not good with conversations," Jack says, looking embarrassed.

"Don't worry," I laugh. "I know a few people with the same issue." My mind immediately remembers Steve, and the first conversation we'd had. I don't know how that man ever got around without making a fool of himself.

"Good," Jack says, chuckling. "I'm probably one of the most awkward people you'll meet."

"I really doubt that."

I'm thinking of Steve again. I have to stop. It's been five years. For God's sake, Peggy, I tell myself, stop it. He's not coming back. He's dead. So I shove him to the back of my mind.

"Have you been here before?" I ask before Jack can continue the conversation.

"Yes, a few times. Have you?"

"No," I say, peering at the menu. "What would you say is the best thing here?"

"I really like the pasta here. The parmesan linguine is fairly good. Though the size of the plate is fairly large. Even I have to split it with someone else."

"Would you like to split it with me?" I suggest, a smile tugging at my lips.

"Sure," Jack replies, looking gratified.
When the waiter finally drops by and apologizes for the wait (apparently he was busy, even though the restaurant is practically empty), we order the pasta and wait for our food to arrive.

"So...." I ask, trying to strike up conversation, "were you in the war?" I know the topic is a bit precarious, but I'm genuinely curious.

"Yes, I was," Jack replies.

"Where were you stationed?" I ask.

"Italy," he says. "Only for a short time, though. They had me transferred to England a couple months in."

Italy! Where Steve and I had been when we'd rescued his friend, Bucky. "Did you know James Barnes?" I question, knowing that if he did, he'd probably know a couple things about Steve as well. Steve had talked about Barnes like a brother, and I know Barnes felt the same way.

"Bucky? Yeah, I knew him. We got to know each other fairly well. I don't know what happened to him, though," he muses. "I tried to find out, but couldn't find anything."

"He died," I say quietly, trying to rid myself of the images of a grieving Steve from my mind.

Jack's face falls. "Oh. I'm sorry to hear that."

"So was I," I say truthfully. I'd known how much he'd meant to Steve.

"How did you know him?" Jack queries.

"He was a friend of a friend," I say vaguely. "A very good friend. He died too."

"A lot of people died in the war," Jack sighs. "When they said we won, we all knew what a great cost it had come at."

"I know," I say, just as the waiter arrives with a heaping plate of pasta. We eat in silence for most of the hour, and when we've finished, Jack kindly pays for it, sending me a smile.

"I'd like to do this again sometime," he says. "That is, if some lucky man hasn't claimed you already."

"There was a man I called mine, once upon a time," I murmur, my gaze cast downwards. "Not anymore."

"And you're not ready for another one," Jack guesses, and I nod, sighing.

"I don't know if I'll ever be ready."

"Maybe someday," Jack says. "You just let me know when or if you're ready. There's no rush. If you ever want to talk to me, I live on the corner of Roosevelt and Dunkirk."

"Thanks, Jack," I say gratefully. "This was nice. I'll talk to you again, alright?"

"Alright," Jack responds, and I gather my things. Jack walks me to the door, and I wave goodbye as I hail a taxi home.

As I watch him out the window, I have to wonder; could I get past Steve? Could he be the one? Maybe one day. Maybe I'll be ready for someone else. Someone that's perfect. Like Steve was. And Jack seems kind, caring, and appreciative. I could see myself with him.

But only time will tell.