Steve carefully wraps his arms around her and helps her to her feet. She weighs nothing in his arms, it twists something in his gut and his brows knit together. He fears she is too frail for him to hold with his clumsy hands.
"I’m old, not made of spun glass, Captain," Peggy says, lips quirking, faded brown eyes twinking with amusement.
"Yes, ma’am," Steve replies, tightening his arm around her. There’s a shadow of a smile on his lips as he holds her to his chest, breathes in the scent of her. Roses, and face powder, and Earl Grey tea. He tries not to think about the other smells in the room, medicine and bleach. "Better?"
"Yes, I think this will do," she nods firmly.
"Good," Steve says and if his voice cracks a little Peggy never says.
The song ends and a new one begins, soft and lilting. She hums softly along with the music as they sway back and forth. For a few moments he closes his eyes and imagines a lifetime ago when he was stupid, she was young and Bucky hadn’t fallen. When the world was a different place, filled with different people. Now the world was filled with ghosts and remnants of hope. Hope that Steve still carried in his heart.
"You were right."
"When was that?"
"When you said you didn’t know how to bloody dance," Peggy says taking her hand from his to pat his shoulder.
Steve’s eyes prick with tears, and he chuckles softly into the soft curls of her grey hair. “Captain America always tells the truth,” he says ruefully.
"Now that I don’t believe for a moment, soldier," Peggy says. She reaches up to cup his cheek, brown eyes sparking.
They dance until Peggy coughs hard, and Steve helps her back onto the bed. He fusses with the blankets and pouring her a glass of water. The radio is still playing as she falls asleep with a smile curving her mouth.