"Peggy."

"Steve? Is it really you?"

Unlike he, who had been trapped in ice for seventy years, Peggy Carter had aged. She sat in a wheel chair with a pale pink blanket covering her legs. White hair fell softly to her shoulders and her face was lined with wrinkles. Her eyes were shadowed with a weariness that hit him all the way to his very core. What hit him the most was the surprise, the shock, and the love that graced her face as she looked at him with hope. She was just as beautiful as he remembered to be, if not more so.

He licked his lips, a smile on his face as he came to his knees before her. "It's really me," Steve said as he took Peggy's hands into his. He watched her face; he watched as she closed her eyes and a tear slid down her cheek.

"Oh, Steve," she breathed, her hands tight in his. Her expression quickly became hard, the same hard one he remembered from when they worked together during the war. "You're late."