The old man stood in the doorway, watching silently.
His eyes followed Peggy as she twirled gracefully in the arms of the young man before her.
When the dance ended, the two lingered in each other's gaze, their eyes glimmering softly in the dim room.
They moved closer—drawn to each other—until the air between them seemed to burn.
He recognized the man instantly. He also recognized the woman. Peggy Carter—young, vibrant, and very much alive. But that wasn't right.
Wasn't Peggy supposed to be resting in her hospital bed, her voice frail as she recounted her memories to Steve Rogers? Where was the elderly Peggy he knew?
Could it be… that this man had somehow made her young again?
The amber glow of the streetlight outside spilled in through the window, cutting through the space between Peggy and the younger Steve, illuminating the old man's stunned face.
He had the same piercing blue eyes as Steve Rogers. The same sharp features.
Only his hunched frame, weathered skin, and decades of age marked the difference.
His heart pounded.
Almost without thinking, he stepped forward. His shoe tapped the floor with a soft, sharp pat.
The quiet of the room shattered. The two figures turned at once, startled.
"Who… are you?" Steve's voice was cautious, his eyes narrowing in confusion at the familiar face.
"Steve!" Peggy gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. She instinctively stepped back, slipping from Steve's arms, tugging at the loose folds of her hospital gown as if to compose herself.
"What is it, Peggy?" Steve's tone sharpened with concern. He turned to look at her, but her gaze was fixed on the old man, her expression tense and unreadable.
"Wait… he's also called Steve?" Steve looked from her to the stranger, finally taking in the uncanny resemblance.
It clicked.
"Are you… Peggy's husband?" The Younger Steve's jaw tightened. He took a subtle step back from Peggy, guilt prickling at his chest. Had Peggy replaced him with someone who simply looked like him?
The thought stung. Bad enough to be a stand-in—but to realize he might be intruding on her real life? That was worse.
He clenched his fists. He'd acted on impulse, letting his heart override his head the moment he saw Peggy again. But in doing so, he might have walked into someone else's world… and disrupted it.
He braced himself for anger from the old man.
Instead, the aged Steve slowly shook his head. "Let's talk—somewhere private. Peggy… Steve." His voice was heavy with years, carrying an unspoken weight.
An hour later – Brooklyn, high-end apartment.
Malrick poured himself a glass of cola, suppressing a smirk.
From the sleek sound system, a gentle love ballad floated through the air. The tune was haunting and bittersweet, telling the story of longing left unfulfilled.
"Oh, Steve's face just now…" Malrick chuckled to himself. "Looked like his heart was about to break. Tonight's story belongs entirely to Captain America."
He leaned back into the sofa, eyes drifting past the skyline beyond the window.
Sherry sat nearby, frowning over a training assignment Natasha had given her. She scratched at her head, clearly not following a word her brother had just said.
Thirty minutes later – a retro coffee shop in Brooklyn.
In the deepest corner, at a round table, three figures sat: two men and a woman—one old, two young.
Steve sat across from the old man, with Peggy between them.
"You're saying… you're me from the future?" Steve asked, incredulous.
If it weren't for the old man's steady, earnest expression—and Peggy's equally serious look—he would have dismissed it as some strange joke.
"You traveled back in time," Steve repeated, "to keep your promise to Peggy, to spend the rest of your life with her."
The old man gave a slow nod.
Steve leaned back, letting out a breath. Everything strange suddenly made sense: why Peggy had been so composed when they reunited, why she had reacted so strongly during her episodes of memory loss. She'd already lived decades with a Steve Rogers—just not this one.
It was strange… but comforting. No harm had come to Peggy's life. And in a way, it was all still him. The idea that one day he might go back to be with her was… tempting.
"So, in the future, I can do the same?" Steve asked eagerly. "How did you pull it off?"
But the older man's gaze dimmed. "The truth is… I may not be your future self at all. I might be Steve Rogers from… another universe."
Steve blinked. "Another… universe?"
Peggy glanced at the old man sharply. "Steve, are you sure you want to tell him?"
"I think the Avengers here need to know," the old man said firmly. "The danger they face could be very different from mine."
"You know about this too?" Steve looked at Peggy, feeling suddenly out of the loop.
"Call Tony," the old man said. "I'll explain to you both."
Ten minutes later, a flash of gold and crimson streaked down from the sky, landing outside the shop.
Tony Stark stepped forward as the armor peeled away in a cascade of panels, retreating neatly into the arc reactor in his chest.
"Carter! Steve!" he called, already grinning. "What's this, a reunion? Let me guess—you're finally cashing in that promised dance, and you want me here as the witness?"
Sliding into the seat between Peggy and the old man, Tony leaned an elbow on the table. "She still looks incredible, by the way. Don't thank me all at once."
His gaze flicked to the old man. "And you must be her… ex-husband? Sorry, pal. I get it. Feelings can be messy."
He patted the old man's shoulder with mock sympathy.
The aged Steve studied him for a long moment, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Still the same, Tony. Though you're a bit more reckless than you were before… that war."
Tony's brows drew together. "That war? Wait… do we know each other?"