Archive of Our Own

A grand pas de deux is a structured pas de deux that typically has five parts, consisting of an entrée (introduction), an adagio, two variations (a solo for each dancer), and a coda (conclusion). It is effectively a suite of dances that share a common theme, often symbolic of a love story or the partnership inherent in love, with the dancers portraying expressions of affectionate feelings and thoughts between romantic partners. It is often considered to be the pièce de résistance and bravura highlight of a ballet and is usually performed by a leading pair of principal dancers – Wikipedia

❅ ❅ ❅

It all starts when Mrs. Edith Anne Phillips, or Madame Edith as she’s known as to her students, beloved dance teacher, goes in for a routine exam only to receive bad news. As such, the Phillips spend Thanksgiving in the hospital. News quickly spread that Madame Edith was unlikely to resume her normal schedule at Tip & Tap Dance Academy for the foreseeable future. And so the town’s annual community production of The Nutcracker hung in the balance, Mrs. Phillips seeing no option but to cancel while she focused on her health.

For the idyllic small town of Brooklyn, where the winter wonderland charm regularly ushered in a whole slew of big city tourists, the idea of not having the yearly tradition of the ballet is unthinkable.

And so for someone like Steve Rogers, born and raised in Brooklyn, and having spent his entire youth under Madame Edith’s warm care and ballet tutelage, there’s nothing for it but to offer his time and experience to ensure the show goes on as scheduled. Sure, finals may be rapidly approaching, just as quickly at the traditional week of Christmas showtimes, but in a close-knit community like Brooklyn, there’s no alternative to making the time.

❅

He’s pretty sure he’s late.

Steve pulled out his phone to check the time for the first time since he met up with his friends, it’s already five minutes to one o’clock. He was late. And still on campus. Even running, with all the benefit of his track and field trained speed, there’s no chance he would be prompt as required of meeting Ms. Fry at the dance studio. He could already picture her disapproving and lethal expression, even from a mile and a half away.

The abundant snowfall didn’t help the matter either.

By the time he swings open the door to Tip & Tap, familiar twinkling bells sounding out his arrival, any part of him that had previously avoided getting covered in snowballs, was now drenched anyway. Ms. Fry sure wouldn’t be pleased with his appearance.

But Steve had no chance to try to improve his appearance because he couldn’t even successfully catch his breath. There, against the barre, was a girl with the most immaculate ballerina bun, with absolute textbook form in her pliés, tendus and rond de jambe. He watched her, completely mesmerized, not even noticing when she had stopped moving until he finally met her eyes in the mirror.

She was glaring at him. She was absolutely gorgeous.

Her black chiffon skirt twirled around her as she turned sharply to look him directly in the eye. Her hands found her hips as she continued to glare, her expression lethal.

“Are you lost?” asked the most musical siren sound he’d ever heard, the British accent further piquing his interest, even if her tone was clipped and accusing.

Finally, it dawned on him that he was staring, completely rude and shameful gawking. His cheeks turned warm and Steve raised a hand as if to make his apology as he flounders his opportunity to offer an explanation when he finds himself tongue tied. She arches her brow at him which only furthered his speechlessness.

“Ah, Steven. You’re late,” came another clipped voice, this one familiar, provoking the usual inward dread that comes naturally to those who have ever been taught by Miriam Fry.

“I apologize Ms. Fry. It was rude of me to keep you waiting.”

Steve had learned over the years that it was far more efficient to grovel when it came to Ms. Fry. He’d seen many a dance student be sent to complete punishing workouts as a result of backtalking or offering feeble excuses instead of simply issuing a heartfelt apology. He may not be a boy anymore, but he thought there would probably always be a small part of him that would fear the wrath of the Fry Master.

She frowned at him, her typical expression of pursed lips and sharp, cutting eyes.

“If,” Ms. Fry said pausing for effect, “we are to pull this off, I will require your timeliness. Not your tardiness.”

He’d gotten off easy. He risked a glance at the girl. She was trying to hide her amusement by biting her lip. He grinned back, a shared camaraderie of dancers in Fry’s keep.

“I assume you’ve met Miss Carter then,” Ms. Fry asked as she reached for a stack of paperwork.

“No, not yet,” he replied, eyes returning to the girl, Miss Carter, and stepped towards her, hand outstretched. “Steve Rogers. It’s nice to meet you Miss Carter.”

Her eyebrow quirked again, but he didn’t think she wanted to kill him anymore.

“Peggy, please,” she replied and took his hand in a firm shake that made him suddenly concerned about the possibility of having clammy palms.

Ms. Fry seemed unenthusiastic at their introductions, harrumphing under her breath.

“Steven here trained with Madame Edith for many years,” said Ms. Fry, and from her was a practically glowing review. “Miss Carter spent her youth with the Royal Ballet in London.”

He looked back at Peggy in renewed awe. But he wasn’t really surprised, not with the exquisiteness of her form. It was of course no surprise that to Ms. Fry this made him the black sheep of the group, something to tolerate for the good of the show.

Steve did however find Peggy’s reaction to Ms. Fry’s introduction, a mixture of shyness and embarrassment, a surprise. A prima ballerina without a massive, self-absorbed and dramatic ego? He supposed the ballet world still had its surprises.

“That was quite a while ago really,” said Peggy.

“At least your parents had the good sense to send you there like a proper, respectable young lady. Though they really ought to have sent you to Paris.” Ms. Fry clucked and turned back to the stack of paperwork.

Peggy caught Steve’s eye and rolled hers dramatically.

He barked out a laugh that immediately put him under Ms. Fry’s wrathful gaze once again. He averted his gaze to the floor, realizing he was still in his winter clothes, belated realizing he must look frightful to the ladies in the ballet studio in Brooklyn College sweats and snow boots. Steve moved back towards the front of the studio, hanging up his coat and tugging off his boots and placing them in one of the cubbies.

When he returned, Ms. Fry had disappeared into the back rooms. Peggy was back to her warmups, though she paused at his returned.

“I, uh… Sorry for being late. Last day of Thanksgiving break and all that. And since it’s back to class tomorrow, and with the six inches of snow, I got caught up with an impromptu game of ultimate snow frisbee with my buddies,” he said and shrugged sheepishly, pretty sure he was making himself look more idiotic. “Kind of a dumb first real snowfall of the year tradition.”

Peggy snorted but didn’t seem put off.

“So you’re also a student at Brooklyn College?”

“Yeah,” he said, excited at the prospect that they had another thing in common. “I’m a Junior. You?”

“I’m a third year as well.”

He grinned. “So you’re the famous favorite student of Mrs. Phillips.”

Her responding chuckle was self-deprecating and beautiful.

“Well, I’m quite sure that’s an exaggeration. Besides, I’m not really sure I can qualify as her student. I stopped full-time ballet a few years ago. I do teach a few classes for Mrs. Phillips though.”

Steve shrugged. “Well from what I’ve heard, she thinks incredibly high of you. And Mrs. Phillips is the absolute best judge of character. Besides, from your form, I’d believe you were still part of the Royal Ballet.”

The smile she gave him, both tentative and appreciative made his heart stutter.

“Well thank you. Mrs. Phillips has been more than kind to me these past few years. She’s an absolute blessing –”

“Right,” interrupted Ms. Fry without preamble. “I have absolutely no idea why anyone could think this could be pulled off in a matter of four weeks. And with no help! I am just one person,” she huffed as Steve and Peggy share a knowing look. “We’ve got our work cut out for us. Thank goodness you’ve been in The Nutcracker before Steven. You will need to pull your weight if we want to avoid a monumental disaster.”

Even Peggy seemed to bristle at Ms. Fry’s tone, but Steve knew well enough that she’s all bark. Usually. And it was true he had been in these community productions enough to really help pull it off. In fact, he knew he had more experience with it than Ms. Fry herself, not that she would admit it, nor would he dare to proclaim it.

“That’s why I’m here Ms. Fry,” he replied amiably. “I really want to make sure this goes well for Madame Edith, a production she’d be proud of. Besides, it’s just not Christmas in Brooklyn without The Nutcracker. I am at your disposal.”

Ms. Fry pursed her lips but he’d said the right thing to calm her nerves.

“Yes, well… We have the young dancers playing Clara and the Nutcracker coming in at three for rehearsal. You two will assist and demonstrate as we run through their repertoire. Until then, we need to make a list if we even dare to make a dent in our preparations.”

More than an hour was spent just putting together the production sequence order and filling out which dance students would be participating in each scene to try to determine if their current list of participants was enough to fulfill a full tradition Nutcracker. Ms. Fry sure didn’t think so.

“Madame Edith and I had already planned for my Ballet Beginners class to participate. We were going to treat this as their winter recital,” said Peggy when Ms. Fry continued to complain about the small talent pool.

She didn’t make a sound but still, Ms. Fry’s lack of enthusiasm came across loud and clear. Peggy frowned, looking frustrated.

“That’s great!” Steve exclaimed, deciding to ignore the icy chill that was Ms. Fry. “That’s an awesome idea. It’s a great way to get more butts in seats too. Parents love seeing their kids in the show. And we could always use more mice and bonbons.”

The grateful smile Peggy gave him was worth any fire he might be put under the Fry Master for speaking out of turn.

The two teens playing the leads, Bradley and Marissa, both students of Mrs. Phillips, were put straight to work by Ms. Fry with running through their individual parts of Act One. It’s then that Peggy finally gets to see Steve in action, first with Ms. Fry asking him to demonstrate a few key points of choreography, and then a little later in the afternoon standing in as the Mouse King. He effortlessly flitted between the roles, clear evidence of his time spent in the community productions. Peggy watched him with interest, more than she probably should have when the point was to train Clara and the Nutcracker Prince, and not Steve. She couldn’t help her attention constantly being turned to Steve and his incredible turnout and lightness of foot.

Ms. Fry may be a well accomplished ballet teacher, but by the end of the rehearsal, it’s clear to Peggy that a whole production is well out of her wheelhouse. Peggy recounted her experience with first rehearsals, and though of course there was a valid point in prioritizing the main roles, she has enough experience to know that kind of approach forbodes a disjointed show.

It was like Steve said. With everything else going on, she wanted Mrs. Phillips to not worry about The Nutcracker. And that wouldn’t happen if they just cobbled together a ballet, slapdash in production. She wanted to make Mrs. Phillips proud, especially after all the kindness and friendship she had given Peggy when she moved here for school knowing no one. Mrs. Phillips instantly welcomed her at Tip & Tap Dance Academy, finding room for her as an instructor so that she could earn some extra cash. Mrs. Phillips deserved to focus on her health and not think about the Nutcracker once.

Ms. Fry sure wasn’t going to make the dream any easier. Especially not when she left without a word once dismissing Bradley and Marissa.

Steve and Peggy were left alone in the quiet studio, both running through some cooldown stretches. Peggy looked out the storefront windows as she stretched. The long winder night had long since started, but the town, already decorated for the coming holidays, was brightly lit. The snowfall hadn’t stopped once, though the delicate flakes still falling seemed at a much slower pace than earlier in the day.

Both changed back into regular clothes, found them in the front pulling on sweaters, scarves and boots. Peggy bit her lip and watched Steve stuff his ballet things into a worn duffle.

“Steve?”

He startled and almost knocked his head against the coat hooks above the bench where his duffle sat.

“I was just thinking… Well you seem to be the most experienced in this, and with Ms. Fry being, well you know.” She bit her lip again, weighing her words, not wishing to offend anyone. “I think we need to have a solid plan about this and Ms. Fry, for all her… determination, seems easily overwhelmed.”

Steve nodded easily in response.

“That’s true. I mean this is always Mrs. Phillips’ doing more than anyone else.”

Peggy nodded back, lips pursed, and a hand at her hip as she thought.

“I suppose I would just like to know more. I know The Nutcracker well enough, but I want to know more about the community production. From a more reliable source. Would you have time to maybe sit down somewhere and tell me more?”

“Sure,” said Steve. “We could go to the coffee shop and you can grill me over some hot chocolate.”

“I could do with some hot chocolate,” she admitted with enthusiasm, liking the idea a lot.

“Let’s go. My treat,” Steve responded smiling.

The Drip was not the closest coffee shop to campus, but it’s late hours still appealed to enough members of Brooklyn College that it was a favorite. It sat within the town square, just around the corner from Tip & Tap, and offered a splendid view of the light-strewn gazebo, and the small ice skating rink that opened the day after Thanksgiving just next to it.

They found an open table near the large storefront windows and Steve let Peggy settle in while he headed to the counter to order their drinks.

She had stopped in here plenty of times for a quick coffee to go, but Peggy hadn’t spent any real time at The Drip. The fireplace had a fire crackling away, stocking and holly decorating the mantle. Two plush-looking armchairs just off of it seemed perfect for sinking into with a good book, ideally not an assigned one for class, and a hot beverage. She spotted several students frantically typing away, but just as many seemed to be distracted by both big mugs impossibly topped with whipped cream as well as taking pictures of the elaborate decorations and twinkle lights.

Steve returned with two of the oversized mugs, both with their own enticing clouds of whipped cream. He also held two wax paper bundles that he set down next.

“I bought the last brownie and lemon bar left. Figured you must be as hungry as I am,” he said. “Go ahead, lady’s choice.”

She chooses the brownie and immediately pops a piece into her mouth.

“Thank you Steve. I’m starved.”

The first sip of the hot chocolate was heavenly, somehow not overwhelming sweet, but warm and soothing on a cold evening after an afternoon of ballet. She forgot to pace herself respectfully, but Steve only grinned.

“The hot chocolate here is to die for,” he said. “And the almond and chocolate croissants. If you’re ever here in the morning. I highly recommend.”

“I was just thinking I should come here more often, even to study.”

He nodded. “It’s a little inconvenient between classes. The café next to the Main Library is way easier.”

“Yes, that is my usual go to,” she agreed, taking another long sip of her hot chocolate. “You’re an incredible dancer,” she finally told him, the words having been on the tip of her tongue since she first saw him move in the studio several hours ago.

He blushed and for some reason, Peggy found herself turning warm at the sight of it.

“Well thanks,” he replied with a self-deprecating chuckle. “I’m sure not nearly as trained or as talented as you.”

She made a show of waving her hand. It’s something she’s been learning to deal with over the past few years, people’s assumption that because she was in the Royal Ballet, there must be some sort of superiority she feels over dancers anywhere else.

“How long have you been dancing?”

He made a soft noise as he pondered her question. “My whole life practically. I think at first, Ma stuck me in toddler tap dance just for some added childcare. She and Mrs. Phillips are old friends so she’d let me hang around longer than the class while my mom worked or ran errands. My dad died when I was three, so it was tough for her for a while being a single mom.”

“I’m so sorry,” she blurted out.

“Thanks.” He shook his head with a soft smile and shrug. “But I liked it, dance. I was a tiny kid for a long time, so I kind of missed out on most team sports. And I would sit in on so many ballet classes that I just started doing what the older kids were doing. And Mrs. Phillips apparently saw something in me and suggested I continue for real. And I did.”

Peggy smiled, trying to picture a tiny version of the guy sitting across from her in ballet slippers and tights.

“Yes, I’ve noticed Mrs. Phillips is talented that way. Always can spot the special ones.”

He laughed. “And for getting you to stick with something. And I did. Regular and rigorous ballet lessons until I graduated high school. Tap, jazz, swing, what have you when I had time. I loved it. Still do, even if it’s less of a focus now.”

She nodded, understanding that completely.

“What about you? The Royal Ballet?”

“It’s not quite the way Ms. Fry makes it out to be.”

“You definitely don’t need to explain that to me,” he said with a grin.

Peggy snorted, glad to know they are on the same page about Miriam Fry.

“I did join the programs there are a child. And I was enrolled in the full time Ballet School proper for about four years. But I was lucky in a lot of ways. The year I was old enough to enroll was the year that coincided with a year I was really focused on ballet dreams. That and my parents had the time and means to make sure I would fill a coveted open slot.” She shrugged. “I’m more than sure that if I hadn’t been there already as a child, I wouldn’t have made it into the school.”

“Well it sounds all grand and epic to me,” he replied, sounding genuinely interested. It was strange to discuss it with someone who could genuinely understand and also wanted to hear more.

“Well I won’t lie. It is. Quite posh and proper. The costumes were exquisite. But it was also grueling. And those sorts of institutions are still full of outdated mindsets. Between puberty and the pressure of perfection, ridiculous dieting standards, and being told I was becoming too heavy to be lifted by partners… I had been wanting to quit. And then my dad got transferred to New York City when I was fourteen. It was a blessing, though my parents were ready to keep me in London with extended family to continue.”

“But you still love it,” he said confidently.

“I do,” she said. “I really do. But I think that if I hadn’t left that rigid world when I knew it wasn’t feeling right for me, I would have come to resent it. I did do some classes and summer programs at Joffrey in the city. It was still that pressured structure, but I definitely felt I had my own choice about it. I could opt in as much as I wanted. And I could still have interests outside of ballet.”

“Well Joffrey sure isn’t anything to sneeze about,” he said cheerfully. “I’m glad you found a way to keep it in your life. Even after having negative experiences. Sounds like you still are.”

She smiled back. “I like teaching. A lot more than I would have thought when I just needed a part time job to help pay for expenses.”

“You said you teach the Ballet Beginners class?”

“Yes. The five- to eight-year-olds are my group. They’re a very sweet bunch. But I help Mrs. Phillips with any of her advanced classes or lessons as she needs. I’m always happy to help. And I teach the Ballet Barre fitness class on Saturday mornings. You can imagine how Ms. Fry feels about that.”

Steve burst out into laughter. “Let me guess? ‘How dare you teach such cheapness when you are a proper lady?’”

Peggy broke into giggles at his impression, and for a moment, they just laugh together, unable to tamp down the good humor for a good minute.

“Spot on,” Peggy finally replied once she had her giggling under control.

“I can’t believe we haven’t crossed paths until now, between ballet and school. How have you not been involved in The Nutcracker until now?”

“I just transferred to Brooklyn College last year. I was only teaching a tiny bit last year. Maybe Mrs. Phillips could tell I was a little overwhelmed with the changes my first semester and didn’t ask me to help. I went home for a visit straight after finals last year.”

“Oh, well that makes sense. I thought we would have at least crossed paths in the Freshman housing since we’re both Juniors. What made you want to transfer to our neck of the woods?”

“A conference here actually. We lived in New York City until I graduated from high school. And I was still trying to sort out what I was doing, so I really only applied to schools in the city. But then my parents had moved to Connecticut. My brother was there too, he was at Law School at Yale at the time. And I grew a little sick of the city, especially without family there. I had no ballet to speak of either at that point. I suppose I was a bit adrift. That first semester though, I signed up just on a whim. I had never heard of Brooklyn College until then. The moment the bus stopped right in the Quad, it felt different.

“It’s one of the prettiest campuses. And best kept secrets of New York,” said Steve. “But I’m sure I’m biased having lived here my whole life.”

“Perhaps, but you’re right about that. I loved the environment. Very academic, but also very open. There were speakers I really enjoyed. And the historic walking tour. Then they showed us the town square.. It felt like I could make a home here for a few years. By the end of the weekend, I had already felt more of a place than I did back at school.”

“Well,” Steve started, tone and expression very serious, “this is very late, but on behalf of the very real town Welcoming Committee, welcome to Brooklyn Peggy Carter. We’re so happy to have you.”

Once again, Peggy dissolved into giggles, these softer. He was sweet and kind, different to the types of boys she’d known from school. The boys at ballet school mostly had too much ego, vanity or were so crushed by pressure it was hard to make friends. The same was true and worse for most of the girls. But here, in picture-perfect Brooklyn, there was a boy who liked dance and was easy to talk to.

And cute. Even if she had first thought him to be some dumb jock who was lost when he walked in and stared at her. But his muscular build, once he’d switched out of the sweatpants, was still slim – just like a dancer.

“So. Brooklyn’s annual production of The Nutcracker.”

“Oh yeah! Mrs. Phillips started it like twenty years ago, back when she first took over the dance studio. It’s always three shows the weekend before Christmas. It’s a pretty typical production, though depending on how many dancers are available, the scenes and casting gets tweaked as you can imagine. Most of the dancers come from Tip & Tap, but Mrs. Phillips always opens auditions to kids from neighboring towns even if they don’t take lessons with her. College students are welcome too, as well as adults to fill out roles.”

“Like the parents and party guests?”

“Exactly. Or any sequence that may need some more bodies on stage. While I think that the show always is extremely polished under Mrs. Phillips’ deft hand, the whole point of the having the ballet is just to have fun and bring some festivity to the town,” he said. “And anyway, a lot of the dancers on the roster Ms. Fry had are Tip & Tap students. So most of them have been in at least a production or two so they know the drill.”

Peggy nodded. “That helps. Knowing we’re not completely starting from scratch here. I’m guessing you’ve been in this plenty of times. You seemed to know both the Nutcracker and Mouse King parts readily.”

“Had my first stage role as a mouse when I was four or five. And then every year since I’ve played one role or another. Last year I reprised the Mouse King role for one night when the boy playing him got the flu.”

“Surely you’ve been the Nutcracker Prince.”

He grinned with pride. “Starring as the Nutcracker my senior year of high school was one of my proudest moments.”

She could picture it, Steve just a few younger, shining in the role, standing out in the red soldier uniform.

“What about costumes? And sets?”

“Costumes we have. We’ve accumulated a lot over the years. I’m sure you can imagine. Same with sets. But this is a fully town sanctioned event. So there will be a budget for incidentals, like replacement costumes or if any of the staging needs to be remade. And lots of townspeople volunteer their help. Like I said, it’s really a town event.”

“So a venue is worked out too I imagine?”

“Yes, the Howlitz Theatre here in the town square is reserved for The Nutcracker. Actually now that you mention it, we should be able to use it for rehearsals too.”

“Oh! That would be much better I think.”

Steve nodded. “Way better than keeping on rehearsing just Clara and the Nutcracker or trying to cram everyone into the studio. I’ll go check in and see if we can use it immediately.”

She continued to ask Steve questions, taking notes furiously, until she realizes Steve’s stopped talking and he’s staring at her again.

“I apologize,” said Peggy, setting down her pen, “I just think we need to have a solid plan about this. Hence the detailed notes.”

“No don’t be sorry! I feel much better about this knowing you’re here and want to take it seriously. If we put our heads together, and keep Ms. Fry sane, I think we can make this as good as if Mrs. Phillips directed it.”

“She deserves it.”

“I totally agree,” replied Steve.

Before long, they’ve finished a second hot chocolate each, discussed The Nutcracker endlessly, and moved back into the topic of school when Peggy suddenly realizes it’s been hours since they first walked in. Both realizing the time when they have class early the next morning, they quickly pack up and head out.

“Well then,” Steve said, his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets as they both linger at near the front door both poised to head in opposite directions, “I guess I’ll see you at rehearsal tomorrow?”

“I’ll be there.”

“See you tomorrow then Peggy.”

“See you tomorrow Steve.”

❅

Another rehearsal passed without further incident, though not without its own developments.

It began innocently enough, as these things do, with a simple request at demonstrating the meeting between Clara and the Prince upon the dancefloor once the Mouse King has been defeated.

Steve began in repose on the floor, as Peggy played Clara, checking the Nutcracker Prince and thinking him mortally wounded. Steve as the Prince began to rise as the harp lilts in, a softer shift in the music.

Then something else shifted in the room.

Suddenly, the moment their bodies lined up and their hands touched, the dance begun in earnest, something sparked within them both, as powerful as an electrical shock. Neither Peggy nor Steve could move for a moment, making the sudden change in the air even more confusing.

It was an admittedly, awkward false start as they missed their cue. Ms. Fry called for attention, the new command breaking them out of reverie. Briefly they broke apart only to reset again. That electric feeling came again, though this time they were both prepared for it.

It started with the first touch of hands, the feeling growing as supportive hands met waists and curled around limbs. Then, after a few moments settling into it, Steve and Peggy fell into sync, moving in perfect mirror of the other.

Quickly, as they moved through familiar motions, something else came out, an ease, fluid and graceful, dancers moving in such synchronicity as if their heartbeats were tuned precisely to the other’s.

It was joyous, and damn fun.

Dancing with a partner had never felt like this to either of them. For Steve, who mostly held memories of his counterparts either resenting him for being too short, too skinny, or even at times to good, he’d never found the ease in partnering, no matter how wonderful it looked as part of the audience. And Peggy, who’d grown up partnering with boys since childhood, overwhelmingly, she was reminded of having to deal with strange hands, aggressively firm or otherwise roving over her body, without so much as a warning.

But there inside the comfort of the ballet studio of Tip & Tap, together, with the music swelling, their eyes met easily, and it was as if something fell into place. A connection formed, as if an invisible rope had tied them together.

It felt like floating on a cloud. Peggy hadn’t felt this exhilarated dancing in ages, perhaps not since her last leading role at the Royal Ballet nearly six years ago.

And when Ms. Fry abruptly stopped the music to explain some part of their demonstration to Marissa and Bradley, a strange cold feeling engulfed them both. They stepped away from each other, as if finally awoken from a dream.

Peggy found herself feeling breathless, hardly able to concentrate on Ms. Fry’s words. She looked to her partner and found Steve’s intense blue eyes staring back at her, his lips just slightly parted, looking more than a little wild.

Something big had shifted. And there was no chance of holding in the intense warmth spreading through her limbs. Nor did she want it to.

She had never been so glad to have Ms. Fry, not when the evening was a blur and yet she had the longing to stay in the studio with Steve for much longer. She could dance all night.

The cold winter air was a welcome reprieve when they finally called it a night. Though she and Steve hadn’t talked about what had happened, they both lingered near the front door, taking their time putting on outerwear before finally wishing each other a good night.

Peggy was at her front door when she finally realized that she had been humming and smiling all the way home.

The dreamy bubble dissipates too quickly.

Steve had delivered on his promise about checking with the Howlitz Theatre, and he managed to gain access to it as a rehearsal space that same week. The owner of course had known Steve since infancy and easily worked out an availability schedule and handed Steve an extra key to lock up after having given Ms. Fry her own. It all promised for continued headway.

Until disaster stuck again.

Peggy had been a good mood all day, feeling ahead of her revising in preparation for finals. She’d been more than ready for an afternoon reprieve of ballet.

She called out her cheerful hello only to notice that Marissa stood in the aisle looking absolutely frantic. Peggy looked between the tense faces in the auditorium until she found Steve. He had already turned and was walking up the aisle to meet her, a loud sigh escaping his lips.

“What’s the matter?”

Steve scratched a finger between his brows.

“Bradley’s out. He cut school yesterday with his buddies to go snowboarding. And in addition to the ass kicking punishment I’m sure his parents have for him, he’s got three fractures in his leg.”

Her mouth opens and closes but nothing comes out. Peggy rubs a hand across her forehead.

“Bloody hell,” she muttered only for Steve to hear. “What did Ms. Fry say?”

“Before or after the shrieking? She stormed out. Said she needed coffee but I have a suspicion something else is going into that travel mug of hers.”

Peggy bit her lip. No wonder the auditorium felt so tense. She cleared her throat.

“Well then we carry on. The show must go on.” Steve squared his shoulders and nodded confidently back at her. “Marissa, darling, go finish getting changed. We’ll get this sorted.” She marched down to the front row to set down her backpack. “Everyone else, please begin your warmups, and we’ll get started in a moment.”

She made a point to stay calm, unwinding her scarf slowly, as dancers scurried to fill her orders. There was no point in sending them in further into disarray. They just needed to make a new plan. Steve joined her, his clipboard handy.

“Did Bradley have an understudy?” she asked quietly.

He shook his head. “Not really. Boys in shorter supply and all that.”

“Right,” she said, sizing up the auditorium, her gaze shifting to one group of older teens performing their stretches.

One of the boys, stood a bit apart from the group, as she’d noticed he’d done the last few rehearsals. The light-haired boy stood out to her in the last rehearsal. Though he seemed not to have many friends, it wasn’t out of unfriendliness. Steve had mentioned that he was one of dancers that didn’t live in Brooklyn, so he didn’t have regular lessons at Tip & Tap. But none of that mattered to Peggy. He was serious about rehearsals, and always watched and listened carefully.

“Clint then. He deserves the promotion,” she said decidedly.

Steve seemed both surprised and pleased with her declaration.

“Ms. Fry might not like it. She was adamant he play the Mouse King.”

“Well Ms. Fry isn’t here. Do you disagree?”

Steve grinned. “Not at all. I think Barton’s a great dancer. And he works harder than any of the guys. He deserves a shot at the lead role.”

“Then it’s settled. We will recast the Mouse King later. Let’s just get this rehearsal moving along.” She called Clint’s name and waved him over. “Congratulations Clint, you’re our new Nutcracker Prince.”

The teen smiled in confusion.

“Really? Are you sure Miss Carter? Isn’t there someone else who deserves it more?”

She shook her head. “Call me Peggy. I’m really not that much older than you. Definitely not old enough to be called Missus anything. And you do deserve it. You’re going to be great. Steve and I will help you prep with Marissa once we’ve gone through the day’s agenda with the group.”

He brightened and lifted a hand in salute. “You got it Director!”

Steve snorted looking amused at Clint’s response. Peggy was just pleased that Steve seemed to be pleased. This was all easier knowing they were on the same page.

Most of the tension was gone when Ms. Fry deigned to return with a coffee cup from The Drip. She must have sensed something in the no-nonsense look in Peggy’s eyes because though Ms. Fry had a distasteful grimace, she didn’t comment while Clint rehearsed the Nutcracker’s parts.

They worked the youngest kids through the their parts in Act One, focusing on the opening Christmas party scene and the battle between mice and soldiers, in order to dismiss them the earliest to their parents. Then, per Steve’s schedule, they keep the oldest students to rehearse the close of Act One, the Waltz of the Snowflakes, one of Peggy’s favorite pieces of music she had ever danced to. Her time as Snowflake at the Royal Ballet productions was a fond memory, including the incredible ice blue costumes, long full tulle skirts and glittering crowns. The scene sure had the power to make once feel like an ice princess.

Running it through with the ballerinas felt just as it had. Magical and ethereal.

Until of course, Ms. Fry’s nerves had the best of her once again.

“Stop!” she exclaimed early during what was to be a first full run though. “Ladies, this posture is preposterous. Such movement is far too sloppy, a disgrace to be called the Waltz of the Snowflakes.”

Peggy could feel the upset in the group she was leading, a few girls shrinking into themselves, and one of them, the lead in this scene crossed her arms and tapped her foot.

“Wallowing Snowflakes would be more apt with this group,” Ms. Fry continued.

Peggy bit her tongue, willing herself not to lose her temper and further upset the group.

“Who cares? This is dumb anyway,” Peggy overheard the redheaded ballerina, the one leading the group, mutter to herself. When Peggy turned to look at her more carefully, she was rolling her eyes and frowning but when she noticed that Peggy had been looking directly at her, she blushed and hung her head.

The reaction confused Peggy, though she would have to ponder that situation later as Ms. Fry seemed unwilling to give up her tirade.

“Thank you, Ms. Fry,” Peggy cut in dryly, knowing enough was enough. “Perhaps you could wait with your constructive commentary until we’ve completed a full run through. I would prefer the girls had a better handle on the timing of the music before we nitpick.” She then turned her back on Ms. Fry and focusing fully on her Snowflakes. “Now ladies, Ms. Fry is right about one thing. Before opening night we will want to make sure all out choreography is sharp and synchronized. Now yes the Snowflakes are meant to be elegant, but there’s some subtext in the music that maybe they’re a little dangerous. That’s the dynamic that makes this such fun to dance, looking effortlessly soft while knowing you have all this power from your legs to achieve it. But we have plenty of time to achieve that. I know you will all shine. For now, I want to focus on having you experience the full grueling tempo of the piece.”

Peggy was glad to see her change in tactics captured the Snowflakes’ attention again. Even the disdainful redhead’s expression softened and already reset herself to first position to begin again.

“From the top then,” Peggy called.

Peggy found herself relieved when everyone but Steve was gone at the end of rehearsal. While he double checked the stage for any detritus, she took a long drink from her water bottle.

“All clear,” he called, putting his clipboard into his own backpack. “And now finally we can get some peace.”

“Speak for yourself, I need caffeine immediately. I have a final paper to finish up after this. But instead, my head is full of Snowflakes and Sweets.”

He gestured over his shoulder. “Come on, we’ll go get some coffee and debrief to clear your head so you can finish your paper.”

Peggy welcomed the smell of roasted coffee beans at the entered The Drip and ordered the largest possible coffee available. She took her tip to sip and enjoy the hot beverage while Steve pulled the clipboard back out for review.

“Hey,” Peggy said after Steve had given her the positive rundown of Clint’s progress, “I was wondering about the ballerina with the attitude.”

“Natasha?” He snorted. “She’s a difficult one. Good kid overall. But I heard she’s been going through some sort of ‘ballet is for geeks and losers’ phase.”

“She’s made that abundantly clear,” said Peggy. “What I don’t understand is that she clearly loves ballet. She’s incredibly talented. Leading role kind of talented. And when she’s dancing it’s like she forgets she has to pretend to hate it.”

“She’s a teenager,” Steve replied with a shrug. “She was always the best of her cohort. But all I know from Ms. Fry is that she didn’t even bother to audition for a role this year and that the only reason she was doing The Nutcracker at all this year was because it was part of the ballet lessons were parents were making her continue.”

Peggy frowned. “I can understand that, especially the parental pressure. But it’s still odd to me. She clearly has no trouble having her own mind about it. In my experience, dancers who have outgrown the ballet stop putting the effort in so that quitting is seems the obvious exit. That’s not Natasha. When she’s dancing, even if you look at the Snowflake rehearsal, there’s focus and energy.”

Steve hummed. “That’s true. Who knows? I’m sure being in high school doesn’t help. I know from experience kids can be jerks when you’re not really interested in being a football captain or whatever is considered cool.”

“It’s just a bit of a shame, I suppose. There’s something special in the way she moves.” Peggy took another long drink of coffee then waved away any further analysis of Natasha. “Before we go through the list, there’s something else I was thinking about.”

“Shoot.”

“We need some help. Between the two of us having to divide up our time to multiple groups at one time, and Ms. Fry, who believe me I know we need her choreographic expertise, I really think we need some extra eyes dedicated to look at the stage as a whole. Otherwise this will never come together.”

“Not when Ms. Fry nitpicks before you get a chance to start,” said Steve. “What did you have in mind?”

“I have a friend who’s a theatre major. I was thinking we could ask her to be our stage manager. Angie doesn’t know ballet, but there’s nothing she hasn’t done for the Theatre Department. She’s been in everything Brooklyn College had put on in the last three years, including acting but also production side. And she had absolutely the opposite attitude of Ms. Fry, which to be frank I think we could use right now for morale.”

“If you think she’d be up for it, ask her. Like you said, we could use all the help we can get.” He added Angie’s name to the clipboard. “Well the good news, is Clint is jumping into the role with enthusiasm. And the replacement Mouse King is sorted. All big parts are accounted for so that’s a relief.”

“Indeed. Shall we run through the schedule for next rehearsal?”

They ran through the cast list and start planning rehearsals for Act Two. Peggy started to feel better as Steve talked, the schedule he’d come up with incredibly organized and meant to keep the large amount of dancers productive. He was easy to work with, better than any group project partner she’d ever had.

“Will you be okay getting back to campus?” Steve asked when Peggy told him she was setting up shop at the coffeeshop to work on her paper until they closed.

“Yes but thank you.”

“Alright. Knock that paper’s socks off.”

She chuckled. “I will do that. Thanks Steve.”

❅

The next rehearsal passed without incident and even without many badly timed Ms. Fry comments. Even Natasha seemed more interested, Steve finding her almost glued to Peggy’s side during practice of the Waltz of the Snowflakes, the teen watching Peggy with laser-focus, even asking her advice about technique.

All was getting along.

Which of course, should have tipped them off that disaster would strike. Again.

Steve headed to the theater straight after his last class, working out what he was going to do for his studio art’s final project as he walked. He was lost in his planning that he didn’t notice Peggy standing outside until he was ten feet away. She was holding two paper coffee cups in hand. He eyed her wearily.

“What now?”

She held out one of the cups. “Hot chocolate first. Trust me, you’re going to need it.”

He does as he’s told.

“Marissa is in the hospital. Apparently, she has an extremely bad case of mono, and they want to keep her for monitoring. As if that wasn’t bad enough, her mother has grounded her until the end of the year because she’s convinced Marissa’s been sneaking out with boys. Hence the mono.”

Steve guffawed. “You’ve got to be kidding me. So first, we lose our Nutcracker. Now Clara.”

“Some people would call this a sign.”

“Luckily for us, we just see it as a challenge huh?”

Peggy looked at him, seeing resolve in his eyes. If Steve was still willing to make it work, then so would she.

“Right.”

“Right. So we need a new Clara. Looks like Natasha didn’t need to blow off the audition after all.”

“Do you think she’ll be up for it?”

“I do. Like you said, she still likes to dance, you can see it. Maybe there’s some teen angst we have to get through, but I know she can do it.”

They get her attention before she can so much as set her bag down. The teen was wearing her hoodie still up even indoors, black leather jacket and a frown, looking the farthest thing from a ballerina who would be enthusiastic with a surprise promotion. The contrast made Peggy’s lip quirk in amusement, her own teen rebellion a familiar memory.

“Hey kid,” said Steve as Natasha stood before them, her arms crossed and expression unreadable.

“Hey fossil,” she quipped back.

Steve rolled his eyes. “I’m only five years older than you Nat.”

Natasha shrugged. “How’s the midlife crisis going.”

“You know, better than your teen angst. Gotta admit though, the random back and hip pain sucks. Back in my day, I had to walk on barefoot in the ice to get to ballet practice.”

Steve’s response breaks the girl’s rigid expression and she snorted.

“Right. Well Natasha,” said Peggy, “good news, you’ve just been promoted. We’d like you to take over the lead role of Clara.”

“Because Marissa is in the hospital for sucking face?”

“Because Marissa will no longer be able to be part of the production, yes.” Peggy looked to Steve and rolled her eyes, as if to commiserate about said teen angst.

“Both Peggy and I think you’re the best person for the role,” Steve jumped in.

A moment of silence passed, and no reaction from Natasha.

“Natasha, neither of us want to force this on you,” Peggy told her. “If you don’t want to play Clara, that’s fine, just please tell us now. As Steve said, we both truly believe you’d be perfect, but I don’t need a ballerina who doesn’t want to be here. Not when this is supposed to be a fun celebration, especially since Madame Edith can’t be here to join us. We’d love to have you, and I’m happy to help with anything that might be holding you back. But I also don’t want you to feel pressured. Believe it or not there’s more to life than ballet, no matter what Ms. Fry says.”

Steve watched as the two ladies eyed each other, neither breaking the stare. After a moment, it seemed as though Peggy passed some sort of test.

“I can do it,” Natasha said simply, then announced she would go get changed.

Despite the nonplussed reaction of their new Clara, when Steve called Clint over to introduce the new partners to each other, Natasha averted her eyes uncharacteristically to the floor.

“I know it’s a lot of changes in a short span, but we’ll make this work,” Steve said to the pair of them.

“Sure thing Captain,” said Clint easily with a nod, having given Steve the nickname since taking over the role of the Nutcracker. “Wouldn’t want life to be too boring huh? Besides Natasha’s a really good dancer.”

Natasha continued to stare down at her ballet slippers.

Peggy let them be, leaving them to warm up together. The teens would need to feel out the new partnership themselves.

“Don’t tell her I said so, but I think you’re way better than Marissa,” Clint told Natasha. “You’re going to be a great Clara. And hey I’m just super glad I get to still be in the battle scene. Even if I have switched my loyalties.” He thrust out the prop sword and swung it in the air several times in demonstration.

Natasha smiled but said nothing. It wasn’t until they’d finish rehearsing the post battle dance in full that she said anything to him.

“I like your hearing aids,” she blurted out. “They’re purple.”

Clint grinned. “Thanks. I told my mom I wanted a statement piece since I was getting stared at anyways. We had to special order them. They’re Prince purple. Cool huh? Just like the musician?”

She returned his smile just as Ms. Fry called for their attention again, and the music for the Waltz of the Snowflakes began to play and they headed for their new position.

Angie was easy to convince, with the opportunity to add another stage manager credit to your resume before the end of the year, and even more so because she had been dying to see Peggy fully in her element.

The all-black clothing, full turtleneck and beret cliché, that she was prone to wearing when in her “stage zone” was a sharp contrast to her bubbly disposition.

She eagerly met Steve, sized him up with an enthusiastic smile and waggled her eyebrows at Peggy so many times in front of him, Peggy was sure she was going to fall from embarrassment.

But it was Angie meeting Ms. Fry that concerned Peggy most of all.

“Hiya!” Angie took Ms. Fry’s in a vigorous handshake. “Angie Martinelli, pleasure to meet you.”

Ms. Fry raised her brow at Peggy. “Ms. Miriam Fry. What are you doing here?”

“Oh! Pegs her thought I could lend a theatre hand. Costumes, lighting, diva attitude deflation, fight choreography, you name it I’ve handled it,” she said cheerfully without missing a beat. “I’ll admit, while dance is awesome I know not a lick about ballet. I’ll leave that expertise in your hands. Besides, I thought I could just sit and observe for a rehearsal or two while we figure out how best to use my talents.”

Ms. Fry arched her brow at Peggy who responded with a shrug and a smile.

Angie Martinelli, theatre kid extraordinaire, did not disappoint. To work she went immediately, keeping Ms. Fry occupied with so many minute questions, the woman delighted in being able to show off her expertise to answer all of them. It allowed Steve and Peggy to focus on their dancers, able to stage the entirety of Land of Sweets scenes with minimal interruption. The show prep continued on.

Steve met Peggy in the town square an hour before the next rehearsal. Angie had made her own requests and observations after her first day. It included a request for putting down blocking marks on the stage to help the dancers with their spacing.

They started with the hardware store, looking for several different colors of tape to use to fulfill Angie’s directions. When they had finally located what they needed, Steve stopped to grab some foam boards he would use to make additional props. With both of their hands full, and both laughing at something Ms. Fry had said the other day, the missed the loaded shopping cart at the end of the aisle and ran smack into the customer handling it.

“Professor Phillips!”

“Mr. Phillips!”

Both Steve and Peggy looked from the man they just almost crashed into, to each other in surprise at their unison form of greeting.

Chester Phillips eyed them both wearily.

“Oh no. How did the universe conspire to put you two together? As if there weren’t enough headaches in the world to begin with.”

Peggy found herself a bit surprised at the comment, if not Professor Phillips’ dry tone. That she had grown very familiar with over the past year. Steve however, just as he had not been fazed by Ms. Fry, seemed to be similarly unconcerned at Phillips’ exhausted expression.

“Steve Rogers, you are trouble and a half. Maybe you should think about not getting Carter here caught up with any of your shenanigans.”

Steve snorted in response, unconcerned at the reproach.

“We’re both helping Ms. Fry with The Nutcracker,” he explained.

“Oh.” Mr. Phillips’ whole demeanor changed in a split second, though he recovered quickly, picking up a piece of lumber that resting in his cart that he suddenly found the need to inspect. “Right. That. Well we all know Ms. Fry needs more help than she can handle.”

Both of them laugh at Phillips’ comment, who’s mouth cracked in an almost smile. The three of them walked to the registers together.

“You know,” Phillips said, “Edith would really appreciate if you two came to visit her for lunch one of these days.”

“Oh.” For some reason this startled Peggy who looked to Steve for help. “Well we wouldn’t want to disturb her.”

“Definitely not,” Steve added quickly. “Or have her think we need to bug her about the show.”

Mr. Phillips shook his head. “Nonsense. She could use some more visitors. She’s not getting out of the house much right now and the girls are all back at school right now. The house is too quiet for Edie, and I’m sure she’d love to talk about ballet or anything else so long as it’s not with her gruff husband. Besides, I’m too damn busy trying to fix the house and grade papers before Christmas. How about tomorrow? Noon.”

They bought thought about protesting some more, insisting there was no need to disturb Mrs. Phillips, but there was no room for discussion in Philips’ request.

“Of course. We’ll be there tomorrow at noon,” Steve answered instead.

“Don’t be late,” Phillips called back as he walked his cart to his car.

Steve and Peggy glanced at each other uncertainly and started walking towards the theater.

“Does it feel to you that we shouldn’t be bothering her?” Peggy asked.

Steve shrugged. “Yeah. But Phillips wouldn’t insist on anything that his wife wouldn’t like. Have you talked to her recently?”

Peggy shook her head. “Not since she told me she was going to have to pull back her hours at Tip & Tap for the foreseeable future. And that Ms. Fry would need help. You?”

“Not in a few weeks. Ma went to see her in the hospital. She’s a doctor at the clinic in town, so she thought she would lend some help to Mrs. Phillips about any medical jargon. That’s how I found out about Mrs. Phillips wanting to cancel The Nutcracker.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to see her.”

Steve nodded in agreement. “No I know. It just feels like an intrusion or something.”

“Exactly. But I suppose I wouldn’t want visitors to not come if I was stuck at home.”

“Right. I’m sure visitors would cheer her up. We don’t even have to talk about The Nutcracker.”

“Right! No need to stress Mrs. Phillips out,” said Peggy.

The plan set, tape for Angie acquired, they felt in much better control of the day again. Which of course meant another curveball would be thrown.

“I’ve made up my mind about the second act,” Ms. Fry said unprompted as they both came towards her front row seat, just the three of them in the auditorium. “We will be doing the traditional grand pas de deux as originally intended. Miss Carter will be playing the role of the Sugarplum Fairy and Steven you will be playing her Cavalier.”

Though both Peggy and Steve had been more than enjoying their moments dancing together in demonstrations, the sudden change was a shock.

“But we don’t usually keep the Cavalier role in the community show,” Steve pointed out with a frown. “We don’t even always have the Sugar Plum Fairy dance in that role. Usually it’s just whoever plays Clara and the Nutcracker Prince.”

“Well perhaps there isn’t usually enough talent to support the grand pas de deux,” Ms. Fry retorted sharply, clearly conveying how much she enjoyed her decisions being questioned. “This year we do. You and Miss Carter can do it justice with some hard work. It’s a breathtaking piece, why should we not embrace it?”

Steve and Peggy started at each other. Neither anticipated a large dancing role. Filling in a small part here and there, sure. Standing in with the youngest dancers so they would feel at ease, of course. But to dance, truly dance, to the most dramatic piece in the entire ballet? With each other no less. And just a few short weeks to achieve it?

That strange feeling, the sort of thrill before the top of a hill on a rollercoaster, that threatened to become nausea quick, filled them.

“Is there a problem?” Ms. Fry asked in exasperation at the awkward silence that grew. Steve and Peggy both stared off in different directions.

“No of course not,” Peggy replied quickly.

Ms. Fry’s shrewd gaze studied Steve.

“No,” he responded hastily.

They are left in charge of running Natasha and Clint through their rehearsal when Ms. Fry flies out of the auditorium muttering about the ‘difficulty dealing with the talent’ then something about costumes.

Ms. Fry, Steve and Peggy retreated to Tip & Tap at the end of rehearsal so that she could personally convey exactly the choreography she wanted for the grand pas de deux. It was strange, standing in the ballet studio, in full dance gear, Ms. Fry barking out movements to perform. It was déjà vu, and yet not. They were students again, principals working with their director. And with each passing moment, it felt more than a begrudging thing to do to fill Ms. Fry’s latest whimsy. In the back of his head, somewhere behind the annoyance and shyness, Steve could feel the satisfaction of officially being Peggy’s dance partner.

Later, quietly packing up, Steve watched Peggy slip off her ballet slippers. He was sure he could watch her do anything, a sense of grace emanating from her at all times. The bright lights in the studio made the inside feel particularly warm, a quiet coziness of being the only two left inside. Almost a shared secret, juicy and exciting.

Maybe Ms. Fry did have some great ideas. Once in a blue moon.

❅

“Edie sweetheart, found some visitors asking for you on the porch,” Mr. Phillips called out as he let them in, promptly as planned.

Peggy still found it amusing that the man who everyone assumes to be a miserable old coot at school, had the loveliest, warmest love for his family. It was heartwarming. She’d witnessed the softer side of Professor Phillips on a few occasions, but she was sure Steve had an even better picture of the husband and wife than she did.

“I’ll be fixing that porch door if anyone needs anything.” Though his tone was just as calm and soft as the words directed at his wife, there was a sharp look paired with it that he gave the two of them.

The message to not stress his wife was easily understood.

Edith Anne Phillips, though a petite woman, was known to be as lively as one could expect from an ex-performer and resident dancer extraordinaire. But neither Steve nor Peggy had seen her so subdued before.

Still, she smiled from her spot on the couch when Mr. Phillips led them in. The internal worry was mirrored on Steve’s expression, Peggy had noticed, but she watched him put on a big genuine smile and stuck out the tin he held in his hands.

“Hello Mrs. Phillips,” he said cheerfully. “Ma baked your favorites. Told me I wasn’t allowed to sneak a single bite this time.”

Though weak, her laugh and smile was genuine.

“Oh it’s so good to see you both. My darling Steve and dear Peggy,” Mrs. Phillips said, making Peggy blush to hear a term of such endearment. “And armed with Sarah’s famous cookies? What’s a girl done to deserve such a treat? We’ll need tea to go with the cookies.”

They watched her start to move from her blanketed spot and turn to each other.

“I’m more than happy to make the tea. I am after all the tea expert in the room,” Peggy said.

Mrs. Phillips’ eye twinkled with amusement. “We’ll leave it to your expert non-American hands Peggy. Tea and sugar are in the last cabinet on the right.”

Peggy listened to Steve and Mrs. Phillips chat easily about his mother as she waited for the kettle to boil, and setting out a little serving dish for mugs, milk and sugar. She wondered what sort of stories Mrs. Phillips would have about a young Steve, about the toddler she would babysit as she taught various classes. She’d be lying if she wasn’t terribly curious about the year Steve played the titular Nutcracker Prince, and how he got on with the dancer who played Clara. Maybe sometime in the future, she’d have an opening to ask.

She returned to the living room with the tray of tea in time to hear Steve ask after the three Phillips daughters, all three scattered at different schools across the East Coast, the youngest the closest at Columbia University. And despite their attempts to keep the conversation off ballet, Mrs. Phillips wasn’t interested in ignoring it.

“I hear word around town is that two of my favorite students are helping ensure The Nutcracker goes off without a hitch,” said Mrs. Phillips.

Steve and Peggy looked to each other, their agreement to not bring it up themselves lest it stress Mrs. Phillips for any reason failed.

“It’s alright darlings,” she continued, reading their reactions. “It eases me to know that Ms. Fry isn’t trying to accomplish it alone. I was sure we’d just have to skip it this year.”

“We can’t just skip it, it’s tradition Mrs. Phillips,” said Steve. “What kind of Brooklyn kid would I be if I wasn’t helping?”

Mrs. Phillips reached out to pat his hand. “Well it makes me happier than I can describe to hear that you both offered your help. I really appreciate it.”

“We don’t want you to have to think about it at all,” Peggy finally admitted. “It may not be a perfect show, but there will be a Nutcracker before Christmas.”

“I’m not worried at all. I couldn’t imagine to better dancers to be ensuring it comes together. I know it will be wonderful.” Mrs. Phillips’ easy smile was worth any and all stress that came with wrangling a gaggle of dancers combined with Ms. Fry. “Oh, I only wish I had been able to have you both as my students at the same time. There’s just such a spirit about the both of you. I can just picture how you two would look as dance partners. There’s so much I could dream up for my two favorite to perform together.” She clicked her tongue. “Such is life. Now tell me about school. Are you keeping up with finals?”

When they’d noticed Mrs. Phillips’ energy fading, they headed out. They said goodbye to Mr. Phillips who was still working out on the porch and walked halfway down the block before Peggy had stopped in her tracks. The same thing was on both their minds. The grand pas de deux.

“No getting out of it now?”

Steve shook his head in reply. “Do you think we can pull it off?”

“Do you?”

After a moment of uncertainty, he perked up and straightened his shoulders. “Well I know that I can pull it off. But I’d need someone good as a partner. Maybe someone who was in the Royal Ballet and still teaches. Know anyone like that?”

Peggy broke out into appreciative laughter. He was good at that, lightening the mood, making difficult work fun.

They nodded at each other, a silent agreement made. They would work at it, hard. After all, they must do right by Mrs. Phillips.

They meet when they can, as their schedules grow tighter with finals looming. Sometimes they find a half hour before rehearsal. Sometimes for grueling hours with Ms. Fry after rehearsal. Even on days off of ballet entirely. Steve goes to Tip & Tap just to have room to train. Peggy clears her living room for space to work her pirouettes in between studying. She’d never felt so engulfed in preparations for a dance role. Nor did it feel like work. She dreamed of it at night, Steve standing beside her, twirling endlessly.

Days pass in a flash, and they’ve made it all the way through the two act ballet several times now. Natasha and Clint had found their way, faster than even Steve expected, and it was starting to feel like none of the early disasters mattered.

“You know,” Angie said at the end of one rehearsal, “I’ve pretty much seen every part of the ballet at this point. With one big exception. Steve and Peggy’s dance.”

“Ah yes, the grand pas de deux,” said Ms. Fry. “It’s a most remarkable piece for a good set of dancers.”

“Why aren’t we rehearsing it more?”

Peggy rolled her eyes, knowing Angie’s interest in the grand pas de deux had more to do with her personal curiosity then for the good of the shwo. “We are.”

“We’ve been practicing on off hours so that we don’t waste anyone’s time at rehearsal,” said Steve. “Especially when we’re trying to get the youngest kiddos out early, and keep everyone else productive.”

“That’s very considerate,” Angie said, her eyes twinkling with mischief, just as Peggy expected. “But it’s just the four of us now. And I can spare another half hour. And as your stage manager, I really need to see all the pieces in context to really develop the picture in my head.”

“Miss Martinelli makes an excellent point. And you two need all the practice you can get. You’ll be in front of an audience sooner or later.”

“Yes alright,” Peggy sighed. “It’s still in early staged Angie.”

“True,” Ms. Fry agreed. “It doesn’t have the finesse I had hoped it would already.”

When Peggy muttered under her breath about her own hopes, Steve had snickered in agreement. Though it was just Angie, Peggy felt a tiny prick of pressure in dancing for her friend. She and Steve were working hard, but she had to admit Ms. Fry was correct. They had a lot of preparations to make.

She exhaled and met Steve’s eye across the stage. They’d get there.

The music reverberating differently in the theatre. It held the promise that performing for a full audience held. They slipped into their roles and let the adrenaline carry them along en pointe.

When the music ended, the silence was overwhelming. Peggy disengaged from her final position with Steve and they both looked to the front row, eager for some sort of response, even if it was negative. Anything to end the agonizing wait.

Most of Angie’s face was covered by her clipboard, her eyes comically large. She finally dropped the clipboard to the seat next to hers and jumped up, her mouth wordlessly wide open in glee. She turned to Ms. Fry who nodded knowingly.

“Holy shit! This is incredible. The drama! The passion! I don’t know nothing, except that this is fantastic!” Angie turned back to Ms. Fry. “Centerpiece of the show, you said?” Steve and Peggy hadn’t heard that description before. “I can most definitely see that now.”

Ms. Fry hummed. “Well not just yet it isn’t.”

“I did say this was in early stages,” Peggy protested.

Angie cocked her head as she processed.

“No, I see Ms. Fry’s point. Don’t get me wrong the raw talent alone could jump start a stopped heart. But this is why I wanted to see it! I’m going to find a way to make this even more dramatic. We are going to harness this chemistry and make it explode! Then, it will connect even more viscerally with the audience.”

Ms. Fry made a noise of approval.

“From the top then, all the way through the variations this time,” Ms. Fry called out.

Her feet are aching when Ms. Fry finally dismissed them for the evening.

“Pies and fries, English? I could use a late-night pick-me-up.” Angie said as they filed out of the auditorium. “You in Steve?”

“Pies and fries?”

Angie nodded excitedly. “It’s an old floormates tradition. We lived next door to each other last year, and anytime we were up working on a project late, we’d take a sanity break and hit the diner for a slice of pie and a big ol’ basket of fries. Best comfort food, especially if you add a milkshake in the mix for dipping.”

Steve looked to Peggy for permission who smiled easily.

“Hal’s does have the best fries in the county,” said Steve.

The twenty-four hour diner, serving both hungry college students and cross-country truck drivers alike, was another Brooklyn institution. A jukebox sat in the corner, and the smell of burgers and soft-serve ice cream sundaes was always abundant.

“You almost done with finals Steve?” asked Angie as they settled in a booth.

“No more tests, just two projects to turn in, one studio art piece and one paper. What about you?”

“One exam, one more paper and one performance monologue. But that one’s in the bag. Poor English here has the most exams. That’s what you get for being a double major.”

“I’ll manage,” Peggy said. “Less than a week left.”

“Thank god for that. I’m so done with this semester,” said Angie. “Man Pegs, if I had legs like yours I would have totally become a ballerina.”

The two’s dynamic made Steve grin.

“You realize that ballet is really how I got those legs,” Peggy retorted.

“Oh yeah. Maybe that will remind me to come to your Barre class more regularly.”

Peggy laughed. “Colleen said she’s given up on asking you to join.”

“That’s fair. But if there’s any day I should be allowed to sleep in, it’s definitely Saturdays.” Angie shrugged. “So have you don’t the Nutcracker before Steve?”

“Oh only like fifteen times,” he replied.

“Oh right. I forget English said you grew up with it. So you’ve done the grand pas de deux then?”

“Only sort of. The year I played the Nutcracker Prince we didn’t have enough dancers for a Cavalier. We did have a Sugar Plum Fairy, but she didn’t dance the pas de deux. The ballerina who played Clara and I did a simpler version of it instead.

“That makes sense. But at least you’re pretty familiar with the music then. Did you play the Sugar Plum Fairy in London Peggy?”

She shook her head. “No. The traditional Sugar Plum Fairy and her Cavalier grand pas de deux is practically a Royal Ballet requirement. And it’s reserved for the highest ranking ballerina and danseur in the company. But I’ve done it in rehearsals and smaller class productions several times. Much different stakes, but it’s definitely a highlight for a ballerina. I did play Clara two years in a row.”

“No wonder Natasha follows you like a puppy,” Angie noted.

“That’s exactly what I told her,” Steve quipped.

Angie grinned appreciatively at Steve.

“They always say a good production will create a fan out of a skeptic. That’s definitely how I feel about ballet now. This is going to be so be so good for broadening my directorial gaze.”

“We’re glad to have your help,” Steve said genuinely making Angie beam with pride.

Once the basket of fries had been decimated, and the milkshakes drunk, Steve looked at his phone and noticing the time called it a night if he hoped to be on time to class in the morning. They said their goodbyes outside, Steve heading into town while the girls headed back towards campus.

“You know,” Angie said as they watched Steve walk across the town square, “he’s got a really cute butt.”

“Angie!”

“What? I have eyes. And so do you.”

“That’s rude of you.”

“Yeah well, some of us aren’t sophisticated Royal Ballerinas.” She winked. “Besides, I know you know he’s got a cute everything. And the chemistry you two have on stage!”

“Alright! That’s enough thank you!”

“Oh wow English are you blushing?” Angie squealed. “It’s so cute!”

Peggy rolled her eyes. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say everything in this town was conspiring to throw the two of us together.”

“And what’s so bad about that? He’s so sweet and the two of you melt the dancefloor. Come on Peggy, you know you like him.”

“Yes, well… I still fail to see how that’s anyone’s business.”

Angie snorted. “Careful there English, otherwise you’re going to find yourself under a lot of mistletoe.”

❅

Professor Phillips’ office sat on the third floor of Brandt Hall on the east side of the quad. She’d spent a considerable amount of time in the building this semester, usually under the guise of office hours.

“Well if it isn’t my favorite disruptive student,” Phillips said, hardly looking up from the papers on his desk. “What are we arguing about today?”

“I believe our discussions are far more tolerable than the awkward silences that occur in class when I don’t have an opinion.”

“You have a lot of those.”

She smiled. Though he talked gruff, he was the most interesting and interactive history professor she’d ever had. He always let students make their full point, even if he did require of them actual evidentiary support to back up their claims and opinions. A constant exercise in critical thinking and understanding why one thinks what they think, he called it.

“I’m just here to drop off my term paper,” Peggy said, holding out her painstakingly crafted final. “And perhaps to ask for a favor.”

“Well you don’t need the extra credit. And I already promised you I’d write you any letters of recommendations you need. So whose case are you really pleading?”

“My own. It’s for The Nutcracker.” His expression softened. “I heard you’re the man to see for set building expertise. I promise it’s just one request.”

He nodded far more quickly than she had anticipated. “Okay. Tell me what you need and when you need it by.”

“Really? You’re not going to make me plead my case any further than that?”

He chuckled. “Couple more days and I’ll be on break too. Let’s chalk it up to a festive mood. I was right though. Rogers sent you here. You’re pleading his case.”

She rolled her eyes. “I volunteered to deal with our set issue. He’s working out the trouble we’re having with the flyers and programs.”

Professor Phillips hummed knowingly. “That’s very good, put the right man on the job. Might as well put that graphic design degree he’s getting to good use. And seeing as he’s worked at the Print Shop in some shape or another since he was sixteen.”

He painted a different picture of Steve then the last time they discussed him, even if she knew better than most that Phillips’ words never meant so much as the way he says them.

“I thought you said he was trouble,” says Peggy.

“You have no idea the grief an asthmatic skinny eleven-year-old kid could cause. Never knew how to run away from a fight, not even if he was outnumbered three to one.”

Peggy frowned. “Why?”

Phillips shrugs. “Started because he was a little different than other boys. Then it was because he had to stand up for everyone. So he became an easy target. Brooklyn may have it’s share of small-town charm, maybe a lot more than most places, but you’ll find bullies anywhere.”

Peggy’s frown deepened, bitter words on the tip of her tongue.

“Easy Carter. He turned out okay. Even managed to be more… efficient, at standing up for others. Once someone showed him how to throw a punch.”

The twinkle in his eye told her exactly who showed a young Steve Rogers how to hold his own.

“He’s a good kid. Edie would kill me if I let anything happen to him. Though she had no idea the tall order she had placed of me.” He leaned back in his year. “Look, you and Rogers have made my wife very happy. Not having the guilt of cancelling the show really helps right now. So whatever I can do to make the ship continue to sail, I will do.”

He set aside her paper and instead of the usual debate about history, they continued for the next twenty minutes about Pine Forest and Kingdoms of Sweets, decidedly the most absurd conversation they ever had in his office.

When Angie appeared at the next rehearsal, her smile was wide as she greeted everyone cheerfully but there were bags under her eyes, and the coffee cup in her hand was particularly large.

“Long night cramming?” Steve asked.

“Oh no! I mean I was up extremely late, but all in the name of Nutcracker research! I just couldn’t stop thinking about ballet after seeing you and English dance. It’s fascinating. And how all these different area specific Nutcracker adaptation traditions have emerged around the world. I have so many thoughts!”

“So you’re right on schedule then,” Peggy chimed in, as she ushers her Ballet Beginners
to the stage. “Bad timing of me to get your interest piqued right during finals.”

Angie waved her hand. “This stuff is way more fun then the dry old white playwrights we’re studying in class.” She held up a finger. “Actually, I have a question. I know it’s a ballet, but are you using a script of any kind?”

“We have a scene list,” said Steve.

“But nothing more narratively binding? I was thinking about how weird it is not to carry around a heavily annotated script.”

“Some of the great composers worked with librettists especially in the nineteenth century,” came Ms. Fry’s voice as she sat down next to Angie. “A libretto would then serve as a way for cosmopolitan citizens of Europe to indulge in a ballet they had already seen or perhaps had not yet had the pleasure of viewing.”

“Then ladies and gentlemen, in lieu of a script supervisor, I, Angela Martinelli, will become our nineteenth century librettist.”

Peggy raised her brow at her friend’s theatrics, which Steve returned with a smirk.

“I saw that Margaret Elizabeth Carter. Bite your tongue because you’ll see just how valuable I can be.”

“I already know your value, darling.”

Angie preened under the compliment. “Still. I know disaster has struck this production time and time again. However!” She paused for what they all supposed to be added dramatic effect. “Just because we have to shape this ballet around our means and resources, does not mean we can’t shape a strong narrative to make this a quality experience for the audience.”

“Miss Martinelli makes another excellent point.”

“Aw thanks Miriam!”

Steve and Peggy simultaneously suck in a breath, both expecting a Ms. Fry tirade on the devolving casual manners of modern youth. Luckily, they’re saved by the timely shriek of a restless five-year-old.

“Alright my darlings, ready for our party scene?” Peggy called out, rushing to the stage.

Her students cheer in response, the tiny dancers having their instructor wrapped around their fingers. She’s good with them, easily handling the frustrated tantrums, and finding a new way to keep them focused and energized. No wonder Mrs. Phillips called her a favorite.

He came early the next day, having planned with Peggy to squeeze in some time rehearsing the pas de deux before their meeting with Ms. Fry.

“Oh good, Steven you’re here,” Ms. Fry said the moment he stepped into Tip & Tap. “The costumes we sent out for cleaning are ready to be picked up. We’ll need to pick them up promptly so we can take inventory of anything we still need. Can I trust you to bring them here?”

He nodded rethinking the afternoon schedule, trying to remember the bus schedule to the neighboring town where they send the costumes for cleaning and mending each year.

“I might have to do two trips on the bus to pick them all up.”

“Pick what up?” comes the breathless voice of Peggy. “Sorry I’m late, had to run an errand.”

“Costumes from the cleaner in Ridgewood,” Steve replied. “It’ll take me some time to go get them all. Should we reschedule our team meeting?”

“Ridgewood isn’t that far. I’ll drive. Do we need to leave now?”

“You have a car?”

Peggy nodded. “I walked here today but it’s no trouble to go back and get it.”

“Perfect. That gives Steven and I time to review the rest of the week’s rehearsal schedule,” Ms. Fry cut in. “And when you two return from Ridgewood, we’ll take costume inventory and practice your variations.”

Steve sighed, the day becoming a lot busier than anticipated.

Peggy had the radio set to the Christmas station, the music playing low as they just start to pass the Brooklyn city limits. There was something intimate about sitting together in her silver Prius, a car she explained she hadn’t asked for, but her parents insisted on her having as a means of visiting them in Connecticut more often. The car was clean and neat as a pin, no wrappers or coffee cups strewn about. But dangling from the rearview mirror was a classic pair of fuzzy white dice.

“Gift from my older brother. His cheesy way of wishing me good luck at Brooklyn College,” she had explained when he ran his finger over them. She then pointed to the violently pink stuffed flamingo on her dashboard. It wore a matching pink tutu, glittering gold ballet slippers and a crown. “That’s Bernard. My friend Jarvis and his girlfriend gave him to me when we were moving to the States. They’re a bit older than me, but they were the kindest friends I ever had at ballet school.”

He liked learning these new tidbits about her, like how she was a lawful driver in every aspect apart from a propensity for speeding on the freeway.

“So I learned something new,” he told her. “About Natasha. Apparently, she had an audition for a summer term at Julliard. It was her first audition so of course she was nervous and it didn’t go well. Apparently it got to her more than anyone excepted. She’d been telling everyone that she doesn’t want to go to ballet school anymore.”

Peggy made a sound of understanding. “That makes a lot more sense now. It’s easy for the pressure and rejection to make a blow at your self-esteem. Poor girl. But it’s one audition. That’s no reason to give up. I wish she wasn’t so hard on herself.”

Steve agreed, wondering if there was some way they could make The Nutcracker a more positive experience for her.

Four hands made the costume pick up speedy. They have the car loaded with hangers and boxes full of costumes in no time, the sun just starting to set as they headed back to Brooklyn. He watched the campus bell tower come into view, still pondering Natasha’s predicament.

“I still have a few contacts at Joffrey. I could ask about any upcoming auditions or summer programs,” Peggy said, as if reading his mind. “She’s about to perform as Clara. It may be a small production but that’s not nothing.

“That’s it Peggy!” Steve said. “She’s already kicking ass at rehearsal. What if we tape her performance? She might need an audition tape at some point right? And if nothing else, maybe it would give her an outside perspective that she’s more than capable.”

Peggy agreed enthusiastically. “One less thing for her to worry about. That way, if she comes to the decision she wants to apply again, she’ll have a submission ready to go. How do we do the actual video without her knowing though?”

“Leave that to me. My buddy is a film major. We’ll say we’ve been asked to film Opening Night for the town archive. She won’t suspect a thing.”

They shared a knowing grin.

❅

“Hey English, why isn’t Dottie playing a bigger role in this?” Angie asked one evening when they were down to a skeleton crew as they rehearse Natasha and Clint’s first act pas de deux.

Peggy sighed. “All a part of Ms. Fry’s vision. That and the excuse of having already cast all the major lead roles.”

“But she’s so good.”

“You mean scary,” Natasha piped in.

“Dottie can be a bit intense,” Peggy confirmed.

“No, scary. Trust me, you’re not the one who grew up in ballet lessons with her. She called me her arch-nemesis rival when we were seven.”

Steve, Peggy and Angie all laugh at the anecdote.

“Yeah, actually I do remember her being a scary little kid,” Steve said agreeing with Natasha.

“See? As if she couldn’t be any more terrifying, she figure skates now. Like anyone should trust her with sharp blades strapped to her feet.” Natasha rolled her eyes. “That’s why Madame Fry hasn’t given her any real roles, you know. She took offense that Dottie does more gymnastics and skating these days than ballet.”

“Heaven forbid there was more to life than ballet,” Peggy muttered to herself.

Angie tapped the cap of her pen to her lip several times, a sure sign that the gears in her head were whirring.

“There’s gotta be something…”

“We can have her reconsider the Sugar Plum Fairy role,” Peggy told her friend. “It would have to be reworked but that’s a role for Dottie.”

“Nope. That won’t fit Dottie. Besides it has to be you and Steve. It fits the vision” She tapped the pen to her forehead as if that explains perfectly why the roles have to stay as they were cast. “I’m gonna come up with something better for Dottie.”

Steve turned to Peggy with a shrug, and both of them miss the wink Angie gave to Natasha who was now smirking.

He had it under control, but if he admitted it, he wished Peggy were at rehearsal. Steve had broken up the group and put a few of the older kids under Angie’s direction, but still, it was a lot of dancers to focus on at one time. And today, Ms. Fry and Steve were trying to clean up Clint’s solos.

“Where’s Peggy?” Natasha asked.

“She has a final exam,” Steve said, not taking his eyes off of Clint’s form. He’d been struggling with keeping his fouettés smooth and powerful.

“But is she going to be here?”

He shrugged. “I told her not to rush through the test just because we have some nagging teenagers to deal with.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Whatever you say old man.”

“She’ll be back tomorrow,” Steve promised, knowing that Natasha asking was a big deal even if she said everything with outward sarcasm.

He had more than noticed that Natasha had been glued to Peggy’s side during rehearsals, evidently deciding to become her shadow.

“So you’ll be back to your regular heart-eyes softy self tomorrow?” Natasha asked. “I mean you so obviously have the hots for Peggy.” When Steve ignored her, and instead reminded Clint to straighten his back, Natasha tilted her head and decided to continue. “So are you guys dating?”

Steve narrowed his eyes at her in a way Natasha expected an annoying older brother might do.

“No. Now how about you stop being nosy about people’s personal lives and get into position.”

Natasha shrugged but gave him a smile. “She’d say yes if you’d ask her.”

The town square was deserted at the early hour. Steve couldn’t stop yawning, but one look at Peggy through the front windows of Tip & Tap, already stretching at the barre, and he couldn’t care less how early he had to wake up.

The bell on the door made Peggy turn toward him.

“Good morning,” Steve called out, holding up two travel mugs. “I brought coffee since the café doesn’t open for another hour.”

“Bless you,” she said appreciatively, quickly gulping down the coffee.

Steve took the opportunity to look at her. He’d never seen her dressed quite this way. She still wore her ballet shoes, but instead of the usual black leotard, tights and tulle skirt, Peggy wore what he assumed was her standard fitness instructor outfit. He wasn’t sure why the tight black leggings with mesh cut outs and the strappy sports top fascinated him. It wasn’t all that different really. Not when Peggy Carter was beautiful whatever she wore.

When they have the pas de deux music queued up, the dreamy quality of the intro feeding into the early morning air, Steve feels relieved at the weight of Peggy’s hand in his. It had been days since they’d rehearsed together. And this was the first time in a long time they danced alone, no Ms. Fry, no Angie. Just the two of them, stepping together, while the world was asleep.

They run through it on loop, giggling at minor missteps due to still stiff muscles, and loud yawns that reminded them how ridiculous of an idea it was to practice so early. But it was the best rehearsal they ever had. By their final run through, the giddiness had melded with the seriousness the piece required. They flew, Steve’s arms never feeling more solid then when they did their lifts.

In the final pose, Steve’s front pressed to her back, his arm firm around her waist, the music fading away but the sound of her breathing loud in his ears, he finds himself shifting even closer. Peggy turned in his arms, her hands resting on his shoulders, eyes meeting his as they both attempted to catch their breaths. His head tilted down, and Peggy’s grip tightened.

The twinkling sound of the bell on the studio’s door broke them out of their reverie. A gaggle of college students walk in, chatting and giggling happily despite the cold morning. It was a quarter to eight. Their time together passed in a blur.

“Peggy!” one of them called out. “Molly slipped on the ice getting her coffee. This poor stranger was in the right place at the right time and stopped her from falling. He got a shot of Peppermint Mocha to his coat though.”

“And I said the only thing that would make it better would be for the Drip to hang some mistletoe at the entrance,” another girl of the group said with a giggle.

“If I hadn’t spilled coffee on him, I would have said something! He was so cute,” the girl he suspected was Molly says. “Such a missed opportunity.”

“Maybe you’ll run into him again!”

Peggy broke away from Steve. “Well don’t hold your breath for her, Colleen. I’m sure Molly’s traumatized him enough.”

The girls, Molly included giggle.

“This is Steve. We were just rehearsing for the Nutcracker,” she explained, when the girls stared expectantly. This is Colleen, Molly and Gloria.”

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi Steve!” he was returned in chorus.

He cleared his throat and pointed towards the changing room. “I’ll just do a quick cool down and head out.”

“Good rehearsal Steve,” she said before he could move far. He nodded in response, unable to respond properly. “I’ll see you later?”

“Definitely.”

While more people filtered into the dance studio, Steve finished his stretches and cool down in the changing room. He took his time, needing longer than usual to slow his heart down. Loud pop music was blasting by the time he was changed, Peggy standing in the front already leading a group of twenty or so in warm-ups. To no one’s surprise, she was as good at this as she was with the little kids. He couldn’t help but stop to watch for a bit.

He tip toed at the far back, walking slowly as he was still absorbed watching Peggy perking the group up. On his way towards the door, he overheard her friends talking.

“That’s the guy that Angie told us about,” Colleen said.

“He’s as cute as she described. And they were here together on a Saturday morning! She’s going to freak when we give her the new details!” Molly said in what was definitely not a whisper.

He flushed, feeling shy and awkward, suddenly wanting to rush out of there. But he looked back to Peggy for one more look. She met his gaze and though she continues her warmup instructions, she gave him a full smile. His chest felt as warm as his cheeks when finally stepped outside.

There’s no time to tell Ms. Fry the good news about their morning rehearsal because she and Angie were having a loud disagreement.

“So what are you suggesting Miss Martinelli? That we allow our young ladies to wear pantaloons and play Clara’s godfather?! For a minor role that might be excusable perhaps but for a major role? That would be unseemly!”

“Well needs must,” Angie replied easily. “It’s a great role. It would be a shame for a ballerina not to have the opportunity to have it just because she’s not a man. William Shakespeare, a genius in his own right sure, limited his works by not including women actors in his stage productions. Why should we, more than five centuries later, succumb to the same limitations? It’s the twenty-first century, I think letting a girl wear pants onstage won’t cause the ballet gods to smite us. Besides, wouldn’t the costume involve tights no matter who plays the role?”

“Ms. Fry looked close to an aneurysm. But Angie didn’t seem fazed by the violent frowning. She simply pulled out the libretto she had crafted and thumbed through the pages.

What Peggy loved about Angie was she more than did her homework, and dramatic or not, she was often times very right.

“Besides, we don’t have to just make someone fit the role to fill it. I had some ideas about adapting the Herr Drosselmeyer role. Why should it be a male role anyway? I propose we update the role to Clara’s wealthy and doting Aunt. She would be the utterly fabulous family matriarch that always shows up to Christmas with the best gifts and the most interesting stories. And if there’s some subtext of her having some witchy tendencies, that fits the enchanting themes of The Nutcracker perfectly.”

Angie didn’t stop for a breath of commentary, just continued with her enthusiastic proposal.

“Thank about it! It would make way more sense narratively. Who else but a cool Aunt would think to bring her niece a magical Nutcracker that was actually a gorgeous, enchanter Prince? And much more relevant to a modern viewer this way I think.”

If Ms. Fry had a rebuttal, she didn’t air it, as her dour frown turned into a thoughtful quirk of her lip.

“Well who are we to cast in this updated role anyhow?” Ms. Fry asked, exasperation in her voice, though it felt a bit put on.

Steve and Peggy knew exactly who Angie has in mind, the idea becoming more and more brilliant as it unfolded.

“Dottie, of course. She’s the only one intense enough to pull of that kind of drama.”

When Dottie gets presented with the added role, the girl’s smile gets almost scarily wide. She worked with Angie and Ms. Fry for the rest of rehearsal giving the fabulous Aunt personal a hundred and twenty percent. The energy between Dottie and Natasha on stage made for great entertainment.

But Angie’s revelations weren’t over. She called Steve and Peggy over before the end of rehearsal.

“Ms. Fry and I were discussing the second act,” she told them. “I know English doesn’t want to hear it, the whole show is special blah blah blah, but your pas de deux really is something. And we want to heighten that as much as possible. Which means reworking some of the narrative context.”

“To affect the choreography?” Steve asked wearily, not thrilled with more changes and so little time to go.

“I don’t think it will affect choreography much, because my idea was borne out of watching specifically you two dance. But it will definitely change the staging.”

Peggy put her hands on her hip, not looking thrilled either. “Well go on. Tell us the backstory for the changes. I know you have one.”

Angie perked up, thumbing through her libretto once again.

“I am so glad you asked Peggy. In my extensive research, I’ve gone through practically ever iteration of narrative storyline for the grand pas de deux. Like how in some productions, there’s a subtext of moving on from a first love when the pas de deux is performed by the Sugar Plum Fairy and the Nutcracker Prince. Obviously we’re not going with that approach, and it wouldn’t work here anyway. But it did get me thinking about the Sugar Plum Fairy as a character. This Prince disappears on her, and she has to take over the Land of Sweets for who knows how long. Then one day he shows up again with some strange girl and the whole kingdom just puts on a big show for them no questions asked? And the Sugar Plum Fairy is chopped liver? I don’t think so. The Sugar Plum Fairy is a Queen and we should treat her as such.”

Peggy bit her lip in amusement.

“Which brings us to Steve. The Sugar Plum Fairy’s Cavalier. Her knight in shining armor. Who says the Sugar Plum Fairy was just waiting around for some stray prince to return? The Queen had work to do ruling a kingdom, and her knight stayed true by her side. And obviously he thinks she’s amazing, he wants to show her off. Isn’t that really the subtext of the pas de deux in the end? Don’t get me wrong Steve, you have moments to shine –”

“But it’s about showcasing Peggy—er, the Sugar Plum Fairy I mean,” Steve interjected, turning red.

“Exactly. See! We’re all on the same page, now there’s just narrative context to support it. I mean this music asks it of us! The way it starts like a lullaby, the most pleasant start to a romantic overture. It deserves the attention called to it.”

“And Ms. Fry was in favor of the changes?” Peggy asked.

“I believe she called my analysis impeccable and quite astute, thank you very much. That Baryshnikov himself would approve.” Angie looked from Steve to Peggy. “Do you hate it?”

“No Ang. I love the way your brain works. You do remember I asked for your help for a reason right? I’m just not sure any of us here have thought about the Nutcracker as much as you have in the past few weeks. Go on, what’s your staging vision?”

“Well, it starts with having all of the dancers onstage as an audience. The subjects of the Land of Sweets thrilled to have the privilege of watching their Queen dance for them. You two in your own little bubble centerstage, in perfect view for Steve to show off his Queen.”

“It’s definitely bold,” Steve replied.

“And because we want to heighten the tension, to build a real genuine and spontaneous emotional response to finally seeing you and Steve dance together, I don’t want anyone to see you do a full rehearsal.”

“I think you may have overstated our abilities Angie,” said Peggy.

Angie scoffed. “Oh don’t even with the modesty, English. You two have magic onstage. I wouldn’t have thought of it if I didn’t already see it onstage.”

“I think you’re going to win a Tony before your thirty,” Steve told her.

Angie’s emotions bubbled over and she launched herself at Steve, wrapping him in a tight hug. He looked over Angie’s shoulder to Peggy for help.

❅

“Special delivery,” came a woman’s voice from the back of the auditorium as she made her way towards them. Steve’s face lit up and he headed over. “One, repaired Mouse King costume.”

“Thanks Ma, you’re the best.”

Sarah Rogers laughed. “Remind me how the costume got in such disrepair?”

“Botched battle sequence rehearsal. The practice sword apparently has a sharper wooden hilt then expected.”

“Sounds like the boys were a little overenthusiastic with the fight scene. Sounds familiar,” Steve’s mom responded

“Angie our stage manager might have egged them along a bit. She wanted it to look more realistic for the audience.”

Sarah Rogers looked from her son to the full auditorium, the stage full of dancers in what looked to be the Waltz of the Flowers costumes. The familiar sights and sounds of the Nutcracker filled her with joy, just as it had every year.

“Seems like the show is in good hands,” Sarah told her son.

“It’s been a lot of work,” he admits. “But it’s going to be great.” He turned at the sight of a young woman and called her over. “Peggy, this is my mom. Mom, this is Peggy.”

Sarah Rogers heard Peggy Carter’s name a lot in the past few weeks, mostly from Steve, but also from Edith Phillips and others around town. She watched her son’s face light up at her mere presence.

“It’s nice to finally meet you Peggy. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Lovely to meet you to Mrs. Rogers.”

“Oh please, call me Sarah. It’s so nice of you two to put this much work in. I know it means a great deal to Mrs. Phillips. I can’t imagine a year without the Nutcrcacker and tailoring Steve’s mouse or solider costume. He was always too small for his costumes. Until high school. Then his shoulders were too broad for the Nutcracker coat.”

Both women laughed while Steve stood looking a little pink but pleased.

“He’s just lucky I’m as good stitching up fabric as I am with wounds.”

“I think it started the other way around Ma,” he said cheekily. “Mom’s the Head Physician at the health clinic. But the sewing came before stitches. Except for when she and my dad were honeymooning in the Caribbean. Dad cut his forehead on coral while snorkeling and didn’t want to ruin their trip with a hospital. So Ma pulled out her sewing kit and stitched him up so that they could enjoy their last day on the island. When they finally got back to New York the doctor complimented the stitches.”

Sarah smiled. “It’s a nice memory.”

“It’s one of my favorite stories,” said Steve. “Thanks again Ma, we really appreciate it. We really wanted to do a full dress rehearsal today.”

“Anything for the team. Costumes are all sorted then?”

“All but mine and Peggy’s.”

“For the grand pas de deux,” Peggy explained. “Though I’ll probably just reuse an old performance tulle skirt.”

Sarah Rogers may not have seen Peggy dance before, nor does she exactly know what she’s in store for on Opening Night for the grand pas de deux, but Sarah had been friends with Edith Anne Phillips for long enough to know that just reusing an old costume for a major role wasn’t going to pass muster. Not for the Sugar Plum Fairy.

“I’m sure you’ll find something special,” Sarah said just as her phone beeped. “Well that’s back to the clinic with me. I’ll leave you two to it. Call if you have any other costume emergencies, Steve.”

“Okay. Thanks again Ma.”

“Of course sweetheart. I’m sure we’ll meet again soon Peggy. Opening Night isn’t far away.”

Opening Night really wasn’t far away. Two days before Opening Night, and Peggy hardly knows how they made it that far. Two days before Opening Night, and dare she think it, but they were ready. They’d done nothing but full run through rehearsals, top to bottom, with the exception of the grand pas de deux. Angie still had them stage all the other dancers onstage as they would do in the show, and Ms. Fry would play the music, but Steve and Peggy would only warm up, not dance the final choreography. The suspense was building about the secretive scene within the cast alone.

In the end, they decided there was no harm in practicing the variations, their solo pieces within the grand pas de deux to the group.

And while Peggy stood at the edge of the dancefloor, looking fondly on at Steve in action, leaping and twisting gracefully.

“Hey Carter,” came Natasha’s voice from next to her, who was meant to be sitting next to Clint, “are you and Steve gonna make out before Opening Night?”

“You know some would consider it disturbing how much you’re focusing on the two of us.”

“I’m low on entertainment these days. Plus you’re not the one who sees all the looks he gives you when you’re not watching. So many hearteyes.”

“Mind your own business,” Peggy told her without any real bite.

Natasha snickered.

Once the full rehearsal is over, and they move back to practicing problem areas, Angie crossed the stage where they were rehearsing the Snowflakes.

“English, you’re needed backstage,” she called.

Peggy looked for Steve before heading off, but couldn’t find him anywhere. Instead, she found him backstage with Ms. Fry and his mother.

“What’s going on? Tell me there’s not more bad news.”

“I have no idea,” Steve said looking as lost as she did.

Ms. Fry cleared her throat. “There’s no other calamity.”

“Ma?”

Sarah Rogers smiled while Angie pulled two garment bags off the rack.

“It’s time for your costume fitting!” Angie said, thrusting one of the bags into Steve’s hands, and the other in Peggy’s.

“But my Sugar Plum dress is at home,” Peggy said while Steve already started unzipping his. The inside contents was gorgeous, even from the three inch view.

“When you mentioned reusing a costume, I decided to discuss it with Ms. Fry,” Sarah admitted. “She and Angie told me more about the grand pas de deux, and I know you’re keeping it a secret for Mrs. Phillips, but I know she wouldn’t approve of anything less than the right costume for such a big role.”

“But—”

“Miss Carter, we have a budget. And Mrs. Rogers here has always offered her time and energy for costume customization,” Ms. Fry said. “You don’t expect a centerpiece without some lavishness, do you?”

Angie winked.

The dress was resplendent, prettier than any costume she was given at the Royal Ballet. A full white and pink tutu with silver beading and lacy detailing. It glittered under the lights. She knew exactly the kind of effect it would have under the stage lighting.

“You’re our Queen, Peggy,” Angie said. “And your Cavalier has to match you perfectly.”

Peggy felt a thickness in her throat, emotions flying through her. It wasn’t about the luxurious costume, not really. But the care. The interest. This town coming together to make a simple community show as special as possible. And perhaps, some of it had to do with feeling like she was worth some of that special attention. Steve met her gaze, and she knew, that for the first night, they really a tiny bit like the royalty they were portraying.

It’s a miracle that after the incredibly shaky start, Opening Night arrived without further insult or injury. Tickets sold well, programs were folded and placed in the baskets for ushers to pass out. All dancers were present and on time for their call time.

Angie was well within her element, wearing her headset, clipboard at the ready, flitting between sound and lighting for final checks.

“Can you believe it’s only been four weeks?” Steve asked, half an hour before curtain call.

Peggy, who’d just finished fixing six ballerina buns, set down her brush and settled into the chair for a brief moment of relaxation.

“Four weeks? It’s definitely been months. No?”

He laughed. “I’m not sure how we pulled it off.”

“With great teamwork,” she told him earnestly.

“With great teamwork,” he echoed. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

She barked out a laugh. “And I wouldn’t have done it without you.”

He smiled knowingly. “Yes you would have. You would have made it too. Though, you would have had a lot less fun.”

Peggy bit her lip, leaning closer to Steve, their eyes meeting.

“Miss Peggy! I have to potty!” one of her five-year-old’s shouted breaking them apart. The little girl precariously bouncing her knees in full costume was enough to grab Peggy’s attention.

“Ladies and gentlemen, now is the time to use the bathroom!” she yelled out as she escorted the little girl by the hand to the nearest restroom.

Five minutes before the start of the show, Steve gathered everyone in a circle backstage for a group pep talk. Though she knew he thought she was more of the leading force on the team, Steve was the one who made everyone feel at ease. Including then, just before curtain, tiny hearts racing with nerves. He had them giggling and putting their hands in for a group chant.

Before long, the overture music sounded.

“Places everyone!” Angie called out.

Her heart raced as it always did at the start of a program. But this time, backstage, there’s no chance to dwell on it. She watched the curtain open on Natasha, dancing around the Christmas tree. And so began The Nutcracker.

There was no chance to see Steve, not while he was manning the other end of the stage, helping dancers from his side enter the stage at the right moment. Briefly they grinned at each other across the way, but the focus was on the stage.

Dottie was a pure delight, bringing added charm and fun to the party scene, her outrageous wealthy Aunt costume twirling around her as she presented gifts to the children.

It wasn’t until the battle scene was under way, all the little ones already out on stage in their soldier and mice costumes, that Steve was at her side. They laughed together enjoying the fun the fun the little ones had surrounding Natasha and swinging foam swords. And seeing the joy in Natasha for the added choreography of throwing one of the foam swords at the Mouse King herself to distract him from trying to fight her Prince.

Steve cheered when Clint, absolutely nailed his fouetté turns, sharp and clean lines.

And when Clint and Natasha meet together on stage, it’s a joy to watch, knowing just how much work those two put into the roles they hadn’t even originated. Peggy leaned closer to Steve so she could whisper.

“They look good out there don’t they?”

“Better than Bradley and Marissa ever would,” Steve replied, making them both giggle a little.

She watched the emotion Natasha brought to the performance, shifting from worried gazes on the Nutcracker Prince, to elation as they turned together in unison.

“Now anyone dare tell me that Natasha thinks ballet is stupid,” she whispered to Steve.

He nodded, and for a brief moment, they looked away from the stage and to each other, their heads dangerously close.

The audience roared at the final lift, Natasha looking angelic floating above Clint’s head, delicate fake snow starting to drop.

“You think Nat realizes that Clint has a big crush on her?”

Peggy snorted, fairly certain that if Natasha was still in denial about ballet, she would be in denial about a guy in the ballet liking her a whole lot.

The Snowflakes then began their grand jetés to appear onstage, Dottie in a different look and outfit leading the group. Brooklyn may be a small town, but there was nothing small about the talent developed under Mrs. Phillips’ care. And with Ms. Fry’s choreography tied to Angie’s narrative rework, the Snowflakes’ ethereal dance is like none Peggy’s seen.

If she grabbed Steve’s hand, it was only because she didn’t know how else to deal with the chills she felt at the performance.

Intermission passes in a dizzying array of water breaks, costume changes, including Peggy’s first for her introduction scene. Before she knows it, she’s racing backstage to change into second costume for the pas de deux.

She’s grateful that the Waltz of the Flowers is a long as it is, giving her enough time for a quick change and a breather before the grand pas de deux gets under way.

Putting the costume on for the second time, the regal dress feels even more significant then before, paired with the crown on her head. Peggy splays her fingers across the pink and white tulle skirt. It was made fit for a Queen. Her heart pounds in a way she didn’t ever remember having felt before a performance.

The sound of melodic, smooth and still legato strings tells her there’s still time for what she needs to do.

Peggy turned away from her stage right entrance spot, and headed deeper backstage. Steve must have had the same idea because she found him heading towards her.

Steve Rogers, in full Cavalier dress, was a sight to behold.

His blond hair was swept just slightly back by his own crown, costume as regal as hers, did exactly what Angie said it was to do, match her perfectly. Sarah Roger’s handiwork made it fit him like a glove. She was sure they would emit an almost otherworldly glow once hit by stage lighting, all a part of Angie’s vision no doubt.

Steve outstretched his arm towards her. Peggy took it, taking pleasure in the warmth of his palm against hers.

Just the two of them. Together. A private bubble.

There were nerves yes, but seeing Steve, the thrill returned, that giddy feeling of being asked to dance with someone you like a lot.

“We got this,” he whispered, “my Queen.”

Peggy slipped both her arms around his neck and pulled him close. He pressed his forehead to hers, and his hands to the small of her back. She could feel his breath on her face, and his heartbeat, racing just as hers did.

“Thank you,” she whispered in return, not having the words at present to explain any better than that. “Just… thank you.”

He pulled away just enough for them to be able to look each other in the eye. Her breath caught at his gaze, his smile.

Just in time for the violins to swell, the tempo rising, strings in frantic staccato.

“Forty-five seconds! Rogers, Carter! Places, places!” Angie shouted.

Steve winked before rushing off to Stage Left.

Peggy, back at her entrance spot, took a long steadying breath.

Just before the lights cut out, dancers scurrying into their spots on stage, Peggy looked out across the way and once she’d caught Steve’s eye, she winked back.

After a brief break for silence and applause, the lullaby began. Immediately they succumb to the dream themselves. She was only vaguely aware of the tiny little appreciative sighs and gasps, no doubt the proper response to the glittering costumes. But all she can focus on is Steve. That moment, there together.

She followed his smile and his gaze.

The came together to center stage before drifting back off in opposite circular tours of the stage, before coming back together, the reunion all the more sweeter.

They both rose together in relevé, Steve’s extending and flowing into a bow before he held out his arm. There was no faking the look in his eyes.

Though they’ve practiced for countless hours at this point, as they shift from a promenade Peggy felt that thrill flicker through her body when Steve’s hands at her sides guided her through the first pirouettes.

She’s hardly aware of anything, her body moving automatically, tuned to respond exactly as required by Steve. And at the end of the near six-minute dance, Steve holding her tight to him, the audience, both onstage and off, roaring in her ears, all she can feel is Steve’s breath at her ear and his hand in hers.

Somehow, they captured and relived a fairytale dream.

All Peggy knows was that eventually, they’re piled backstage again, Angie having grabbed both Steve and Peggy into a hug. The spontaneous tears that burst out of her are the purest expression of the elation she feels.

She gripped Steve’s hand in hers, but when Natasha bounds backstage, she squeezed it, a promise for later. There was still work to do after all.

Peggy headed to Natasha for the purpose of telling her exactly how great she was, only to find Natasha’s eyes watery before the girl ran at Peggy surprising her with a hug. Steve then gathered everyone around to give each and every dancer a compliment and high-five.

Backstage became a chaotic mixture of youngsters running out to meet parents without taking off their costumes first, teens gathered in smaller groups gushing and gossiping with the after-show adrenaline high and mighty, Angie flitting between the groups calling out praise along with reminders about tomorrow’s call times.

It was exactly then that Professor Phillips escorted his wife backstage.

Dottie, Natasha and the rest rush their teacher, who had nothing but endless praise for her students. There’s joy and laughter as they hear Madame Edith gush about the show, filling everyone with pride from the smallest dancer to Ms. Fry herself.

After the rest had been attended to, Mrs. Phillips strong-armed Steve and Peggy into her own hug. While Steve pulled over a chair for her to rest on, Professor Phillips caught Peggy’s eye, and his upturned lip and the twinkle in his eye told her everything. They’d actually done it, they made Madame Edith proud.

Later, backstage much emptier, though Steve’ mom added to the group of well-wishers, Mrs. Phillips pulled Peggy a good length away from the group.

“You know Peggy, my marvelous, brilliant girl,” Mrs. Phillips said as she tucked a loose curl back into Peggy’s bun, “you’ve made your mark. Though in all honestly, it’s a bit untraditional for the Sugar Plum Fairy and her Cavalier to steal the show with the most romantic chemistry in the whole production. That’s typically reserved for the titular character and Clara.”

Peggy Carter blushed brighter pink than if her own mother caught her snogging a boy in bright daylight.

“And,” Mrs. Phillips continued, “I would delight it seeing it over and over again.” She looked over her shoulder back to Steve, then turned back to give Peggy a wink.

They found themselves continuing their pre-performance tradition the second night. While Natasha joined the flowers in their waltz, once dressed in the matching silvery outfits, they met backstage, in the same spot, though this time with a minute more to spare.

Foreheads and hands met, and they found themselves in embrace, as the music carried on in three-quarter time. Their bodies swayed to the beat, a private waltz, a moment alone. The nerves of opening night were long gone, but the thrill was ever present, beating as pronouncedly as the violins.

When the music crescendoed, they slipped away from each other, with the promise that in under a minute they’d be back in each other’s care, to a place where time made fools of all – racing on uncontrollably, and yet prolonged enough to ensure the onstage bubble.

The whole world’s a stage and for that moment, there twirling and spinning, the stage became a whole world apart.

She was no longer at the Royal Ballet, but Peggy knew she’d finally had her definitive moment, the one that made all the physical stress and pressure worth the while – the right mindset; the exact delicate balance of poise, focus and passion; and then, there unexpectedly, the right partner.

Closing night, the day before Christmas Eve, was a surreal and bittersweet experience. Peggy had prepared for it all morning, reminding herself to be present as this was the last time she’d dance this grand pas de deux with Steve.

She let herself slip into the dream, not hearing the audience reaction at all this time. She wanted to memorize the moment for ever. To remember what it felt like to have Steve look at her like she was the center of the world.

This time, at the end of the show, all the dancers returned to the stage for their bows, Sarah Rogers and Chester Phillips rushed up with flower bouquets, first for Clint and Natasha, who Peggy noticed had been holding hands. Flowers were passed out for every single dancer, Angie and Ms. Fry. Then, Angie grabbed Steve’s hand who grabbed Peggy’s hand.

They stood center stage, their students surrounding them, gesturing in unison, a standing ovation from the audience. Steve swept Peggy in his arms, and they performed one final set of partnered pirouettes. Then, Sarah handed them bouquets.

Peggy felt her eyes water and not a moment later, Steve squeezed her hand in his. Not caring that they had an audience, she hugged him, trying to get her breathing under control.

Before Natasha ran off with her parents, Steve and Peggy pulled her to the side backstage, handing her a little red box. Inside was a flash drive and a glossy four by six photo.

“Merry Christmas Nat,” Steve said at her confused expression.

“Ballet doesn’t have to be your whole world. But if you love it like we think you do, you should fight to keep it in your life,” said Peggy.

The four of them were the last ones left: Ms. Fry, Angie, Steve and Peggy. After changing out of costumes, and clearing the stage and auditorium of fallen programs and fake snow, they lingered backstage.

Angie held up a finger and ran to the dressing tables. She pulled out a sleeve of paper cups and a bottle of wine.

Steve and Peggy, both still just under the legal drinking age, looked pointedly at Ms. Fry who was still in the room.

“Oh relax,” Angie said waving a hand, “Miriam is a total pussycat. She’s not going to care. Besides it’s tradition. A job well done deserves a toast.”

Without further preamble, she popped the cork.

It was the strangest toast, Ms. Fry sniffing deeply into the paper cup and complimenting Angie on her choice of vintage.

“A toast,” Angie started, “to Miriam Fry for dancing us to the finish line. And to Steve and Peggy, for being the best muse a girl could have.”

Peggy raised her cup. “And to Angie Martinelli, without whom none of us would be sane.”

“And whose brilliant mind produced a one-in-a-lifetime Brooklyn Community production.” Steve said with a grin.

Then Angie burst into tears.

Steve sat next to the Christmas tree, the sounds of Christmas music still playing in the house even though it’s late. His mom was in the kitchen making a new batch of hot chocolate before their next round of last-minute gift wrapping.

But Steve couldn’t focus on much, his thoughts far off. His gaze kept flickering back towards one particular gift under the tree, a neatly wrapped box of red and gold foil paper, a matching bow on top that took several attempts and two different video tutorials to get right.

His finger ran back and forth along the tag.

At the sound of his mother setting down the mugs, he abruptly pulled his hand back. Sarah Rogers looked at her son knowingly.

“Steve, is there some place you need to be?”

His hand found the wrapping paper again, heart thumping loudly.

“It’s late…”

His mom reached under the Christmas tree, then sets the present in Steve’s hands. “You haven’t missed her yet. Go.”

Steve raced for his coat, gloves and scarf. When his boots were pulled on and the front door halfway open, he realized he’d forgotten something important.

“Don’t forget Peggy’s present honey,” his mom said holding out the box. “Wish her a Merry Christmas again for me.”

He decided to jog, not needing the noise of his overthinking brain to threaten to turn him around and head back home and forget the whole thing.

When he’d stopped at her door, the doorbell rung, the wait agonizing, Steve, after all of two seconds decides he’d made a mistake. After all she was probably asleep, or even if she was not, she probably thought him annoying, and the gift was cheesy and ridiculous, and –

“Steve.”

It had been less than two hours since he had seen her last, her makeup still in place, brown hair loose and fanning around her face, wearing a white cable knit sweater with tiny red and green reindeer stitched in a neat now.

She was perfect.

“Hi.”

She grinned, even if he just said the stupidest thing. “Hi.”

“I just… There was so much going on, and you’ll be heading home for Christmas early tomorrow, and it didn’t feel right, the rushed goodnight.” He gulped and dropped his eyes to his shoes on the welcome mat.

Peggy’s hand found his, a soft smile playing on her lips.

Steve cleared his throat. “And I didn’t wish you a Merry Christmas Eve Eve.”

She laughed, her fingers linking between his. “Would you like to come in?”

“I would like that.”

Peggy took his coat, and ushered him into her living room. He didn’t even have time to take in her place because he was anxious to give her the gift.

“On behalf of the town of Brooklyn’s Welcome Committee, I would like to present you, Peggy Carter, with a token of our happiness to have you as a neighbor.” He pressed the gift into her arms. “Merry Christmas.”

Her fingers touched the ribbon and then the glossy paper. She seemed lost for words.

“Go on. Open it.”

He bit his lip impatiently as she took her time unwrapping the paper carefully, and setting the ribbon to the side. He watched her take each item out one at a time, starting with the coffee mug from the Drip that she had admired on several hot chocolate trips. Then came giggles at the classic blue and red Brooklyn College pendant, and soft oohs at bookmarks from the used bookstore that depict the owner’s sleepy cats, a ten-dollar store credit to go with them. A small tin of homemade cookies came next, courtesy of Sarah Rogers. Then came two Christmas tree ornaments: a snow globe depicting the Brooklyn town square in perfect miniature and a quintessential red Nutcracker. Her eyes met his as she held the latter to her heart. He knew exactly how she feels.

“What’s this?” she asked at the rolled paper tied with simple red string.

He shrugged unhelpfully, even though it’s the gift that made him feel the most anxious. She gasped when it was unrolled, and he couldn’t help but study her expression as she studied it.

It was a print, one-of-a-kind just for her, of an illustration he had worked on possibly more diligently than one of his final projects. It showed Tip & Tap, and two versions of Peggy: the ballerina full with bun, pointe shoes and tutu; and the instructor, hair down, leggings and sports top.

                                                       "Come feel just like Royalty dancing with Miss Carter."

“You made this?” He thought it might be awe in her voice, though he could be wrong. “You made this!” Her voice broke, her eyes shiny.

His throat felt thick. “Yeah.”

Peggy looked away, then sets the print and then the box away. He wasn’t sure if he’d upset her somehow. That would be the worst thing he could do, to make Peggy feel anything less than happy.

But then, hands touched his cheeks, and Peggy was inches from him, lips a hair away from his. He thought he might be dreaming. After all, the last three nights had felt like he’d been swept away in a dream.

Her kiss was soft and warm, just the way he dreamed it might be. She didn’t stop. So neither does he. Steve cupped the back of neck, trying to make sense of his luck.

When they broke away some time later for air, her smile was radiant.

“Thank you Steve.”

He kissed her back in response, his heart singing when her fingers twined in his hair to keep him in place.

Later, sitting side by side on her couch, mugs of tea in one hand, but their free hands laced atop her knee, having kissed a lot more, and made plans for Peggy to come back early so they could have a proper date on Boxing Day, she burst into laughter.

“Angie will be so mad there was no mistletoe involved.”

He snorted. “So will Natasha.”