Space•:

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§The Space Stone§
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The last time I was in this building, I saw something that I never thought I'd see again except in my dreams. But then, just as my world was spinning along, the image of her still stopped me in my tracks, and suddenly, nothing else mattered.

The last time I saw her, she had lived her life. She was all skin and wrinkles, and yet as I sat in that hospital room with her, she still couldn't have been more captivating. That time, the picture next to her was one of her husband and her family. When she died two years later, I lost a piece of myself that still belonged to her despite the fact that the chance was gone forever.

It was the same piece of myself that I saw standing in a picture frame on her desk 25 years after she lost me. In the picture, I had yet to become the government's greatest achievement, and was still just a bright-eyed recruit who wanted to do his part, seeming how he never got the chance to before. And God, I remember how my hands used to sweat and how my words used to stumble when I was around her. I felt so out of her league, so much like a fool, but when I made her laugh for the very first time, I realized she might've thought more of me than just Dr.Erksine's skinny experiment.

I pressed the button on the matte metal elevator, and saw the dim down arrow appear. As I stared at the doors, I saw three people huddled around a picture on the wall in the corner of my vision. They were talking in hushed voices, pointing at it in awe as they did so. When they dispersed, I angled my head towards it, and saw it was a silver framed photograph of the day of my experiment in New York. Me, Peggy, and Erksine were all looking equally anxious as we posed for a picture before the experiment, and under the caption it read, "November, 1943. Steven Rogers awaits his groundbreaking transformation alongside Abraham Erksine and Margaret Carter." My eyes looked over the black and white photo to Peggy in her uniform, with her hair in tightly woven curls and her gaze strong with confidence.

I found myself remembering how many times that I just wanted to tell her how unbelievably beautiful she was. When we were on the plane to rescue the 107th; when she came to see Bucky and I at the Stork Club. But I knew that if I did, she'd be reminded that that's all she would ever be in a man's world: something for them to gawk at. So I stayed silent, and tried to treat her as I would've liked to be treated: as a soldier. And it worked for a while, until it got harder for my eyes to tear away, and I caught her starting to look back at me.

She knotted her eyebrows together as she chewed on the bottom of her lip. Her cherry red fingernails clicked against the typewriter at a rushed speed, and the empty office remained lit by one sole lamp casting a golden glow across the room. The bland yellow walls failed to show the passing of time, and she began to feel her shoulders aching. She failed to notice someone appearing in the doorframe across the room.

"I brought you a coffee Peg, but um, the Colonel's machine looks like it's from the last world war."

"It probably is," she answered sarcastically, eyes down at her work as she finished a sentence. When she did, she looked up to see the Captain lingering in the doorway, clad in his uniform from the waist down paired with a white t-shirt and swinging dog tags. He looked just as tired as she felt, with his blonde hair disheveled and his large hands holding two SSR mugs with steam washing over the sides.

She forgot how to breathe.

"I hope I'm.. not intruding," he said, hesitating as he saw her reaction.

She finally unfroze and regained control of her body, stumbling for words. "Oh no, no. Please, Steve, come in."

His boots echoed against the hollow floor as he walked into her vast office, curious as he looked at the photos hanging up on the walls. "You're not smiling in any of these," he observed sadly.

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