The Right Partner | Steve Rogers

His Worst Nightmare

This was wrong.

So, very wrong.

Wanda Maximoff sent Steve into a dream of some kind. That witch.

He walked down the steps of the Stork Club, taking in everything wrong with all that was happening around him. Dozens upon dozens of people were laughing, dancing, socializing; just having the time of their lives, but it was the fine details that rattled Steve's stomach. What should have been an enjoyable evening out was anything but.

The sound of bombs exploding and gunfire was prominent throughout the entire building. Flashing lights blinded him as he looked around, noticing blood flowing from bullet wounds in the men's chests while they laughed to their heart's content. Could they not feel it?

This was all so wrong.

Steve needed to get out of this mind trap.

"Are you ready for our dance?" Steve spun around to see Peggy Carter standing in front of him.

"Peg?" he asked.

"The war is over, Steve. We can go home. Imagine it."

Peggy smiled brightly at him. The smile, that once upon a time, turned his insides to rubber and caused his palms to sweat uncontrollably. Not anymore. Peggy was his past. It took Steve a long time, but he'd moved on.

Another bright flash illuminated the room, the Stork Club was not empty, leaving him alone with a single door to his right. Another one of Maximoff's tricks, no doubt. His curiosity got the best of him as his legs led him right through the door.

Steve was no longer in the post war-1940s. With one step inside, he was invaded with the smell of salt water. Before him was a set of double doors leading outside to a balcony where she was waiting for him, watching the ocean waves roll in and out on the beach below them.

"You're late," she kept her back to him, leaning against the railing. The sea breeze blowing the bottom of her white dress around her bare feet. "I thought you were going to miss the fireworks. It's not every day someone turns 100-years-old."

"I would never miss the fireworks," the words came out of his mouth automatically, wrapping his arms around her bloated stomach. "How are you feeling?"

"Well, your son is being a nuisance like usual, treating my bladder like a punching bag, and your daughter really wants some jelly beans," she ran her hands over his arms. "A lot of jelly beans. Like, twelve bags of jelly beans."

"When the fireworks are over I'll go get you your twelve bags," Steve closed his eyes, his chin resting on her shoulder.

This was what he wanted.

This was his forever.

"You're a Saint."

"No, just your husband."

"Same thing," she giggled, eyes lighting up as the first batch of fireworks shot up into the sky. "I've always loved fireworks. These ones seem extra patriotic, no?"

"It is the Fourth of July," he spun her around. "I love you."

"I love you too, Steve," she beamed, rising up onto her toes for a kiss.

Three loud bangs echoed through the air. The couple's eyes grew wide at the flow of stickiness coating their hands. Glancing down, red mixed with white.

"Mady," his eyes found hers as she slumped forward into his arms. "Mady!"

"S-Steve," she crocked, cupping his cheeks, looking at something over his shoulder. "Behind you." He craned his neck to see the barrel of a gun pointed at the both of them, right behind, the face of his best friend, his brother, Bucky Barnes.