Forward to the Past [Steggy] ✔

Chapter Thirteen

Peggy's POV

Present Time

I head down the street at a brisk pace, my hands shoved into the pockets of the coat Natasha had let me borrow. Despite it being so close to spring, snow still swirls around the streets, dusting the sidewalks and making everything look like it's coated in powdered sugar.

The twenty first century is strange. Everything is so advanced. Almost nothing is intuitive, and the few things I've noticed that are familiar aren't used much anymore. Old technology is used and then discarded to make room for the new.

I'm not sure where I'm going right now. Nobody even knows I'm out of the compound; I'd left just a half hour ago and no one was scheduled to be with me for another few hours yet. Everyone seems to be so busy.

On the streets, cars hurtle by, their slipstreams tossing my hair around and trying to pull my coat away from my chest. Despite it being snowy and slippery, the cars don't seem to have any regard for safety.

As I approach a tall building to my right, something that sounds like a gunshot pierces the air, and I jump, startled, as a long haired figure rushes out of an alley from which the sound emanated. I fight the urge to chase after the figure and instead sprint towards the alley, trying not to skid on the ice.

At first glance, there's nothing in the alley but a few pieces of trash, but as I continue in, something that looks like a mound of clothes appears from the shadows. My stomach twists as I realize it's not clothes, but a person. Upon further inspection of the crumpled figure, my heart freezes in my chest. There below me, pale faced and unconscious, is Steve.

Letting out a muffled shriek, I drop to my knees, pressing a finger to Steve's neck. His pulse is very weak. He's pale, and his lips are slowly turning blue. Whether that's because of blood loss or the cold, I don't know. Neither one can be good.

My hands fumble for the phone in my pocket, and I can only hope I remember how to use it. With shaking fingers, I call Tony, who answers right away.

"What's up? Need help figuring out the TV again?" He jokes, his tone light.

"No, Tony," I say shakily, my free hand caressing Steve's cold cheek.

"What's wrong?" Tony says urgently, sensing the anxiety in my voice.

"I left the compound," I explain hurriedly. "I know I wasn't supposed to, but...." my voice trails off for a moment, and there's nothing but tense silence on the other end of the phone. "You're going to want to get here as soon as you can."

"Are you alright? Where are you?" Tony sounds frantic.

"I'm fine," I assure him in a shaky voice. "And as for where I am..." my eyes find the street signs, reading them quickly. "I'm at the corner of Roosevelt and- and Dunkirk." My voice falters as I recite the streets.

"I'll be there in a few minutes," Tony says quickly, and the line goes dead. I shove the phone back into my pocket and turn my attention to Steve, whose breathing is shallow and fast. Blood still seeps through a gunshot wound in his chest, and I realize that if it weren't for the serum, he'd be dead already. Laying a hand on his chest, I notice that the bullet came very close to hitting his heart and killing him instantly. That was obviously the intent of the murderer. Instead of killing him, it looks like the bullet narrowly missed his lungs and heart, which is insanely lucky. There's almost no chance he would've otherwise lived.

I focus on stopping the bleeding, as there's really nothing else I can do while I wait for Tony to show up. Tearing a strip of fabric from my jacket (sorry, Nat), I hold it onto Steve's chest, my hands shaking as the blood seeps through the material and wets my hands, the warm liquid making my fingers slippery.

It's only been a few minutes before Tony runs into the alley, his eyes wide. He reaches me, his eyes darkening when he sees Steve.

"What happened?"

"I- I don't know," I choke out, feeling Steve's breath grow shallower and shallower. "I heard a gunshot and then someone ran out of the alley-"

"What did they look like?" Tony asks urgently.

"I didn't get a very good look, but she had long, dark hair."

Tony swears under his breath. "That sounds like Sasha," he mutters.

I send a glare at Steve, knowing he doesn't know. What an idiot. He runs off with someone who's either Hydra or some murderer out to get him.

"Help me lift him," Tony says, and I slide my arms under Steve's shoulders while Tony grabs his legs. Even lifting together, it's difficult to get him up. He's heavy.

As we lift, Steve moans, and I wince at his pain.

"I parked close to the alley entrance so nobody will see," Tony grunts. "An injured Captain America isn't really the best image to be presenting to New York."

Together, Tony and I manage to haul Steve into Tony's car. Tony insists on putting down a blanket in the back so Steve's blood doesn't get on the car (seriously, Tony?) and I insist on sitting in the back with him.

As we drive, Tony trying to go faster than law allows despite the crowded streets, I monitor Steve, watching as the warmer air brings a meager amount of color back into his almost white face. With still trembling hands, I reach out and brush my fingers across his cheek, and his eyes flutter suddenly. They open briefly, his azure eyes locking onto mine weakly.

"Peggy," he mumbles in a barely audible voice. "I'm sorry."

Tears well up in my eyes, and I blink them back, trying and and failing to smile. "Don't try to talk," I whisper, and Steve's eyes flutter shut again.

I bite my lip to prevent tears from spilling over, reaching over and holding Steve's hand. I don't think I can handle seeing Steve in this kind of pain. And just those two words he'd said... "I'm sorry." Those words broke my heart.

I'm still very much in love with Steve Rogers.