Disclaimer – Characters belong to Marvel/Disney.
Author's Notes – Inspired by a line from Season 1 of Agent Carter. With thanks to my friend, Cindy Ryan.
Returning the Favor – Agent Peggy Carter starts to see her life flash before her eyes. Or is it a muzzle flash?
It was not how she saw herself going out. Perhaps it was youth and exuberance that made her think she'd be able to withstand the war – on the front – at all. Her superiors had praised her knowledge and skills, though, and had advanced her along, letting her lead missions, craft strategy. It was an otherwise unprecedented position for someone like her, and she relished it in addition to excelling at it.
Until, of course, the Nazis had gotten the drop on her. Maybe she'd been reckless, but she'd been determined to courier this particular piece of critical information herself back to Colonel Phillips. Out of uniform, she looked like a peasant, a young, country girl who was supposed to be walking along the road, who wouldn't be suspicious to passing German grunts.
Maybe she hadn't been demure enough, keeping her head down, her shoulders stooped. Maybe they'd seen her before somewhere along the way, as she'd been in a few skirmishes already with Captain America and his Howling Commandos. While chivalrous Steve Rogers occasionally tried to slide her to the back of the action, she would never stand for it, generally being front and center, her aim true, and her resolve unshakable.
Although, it wasn't the trees trembling in the distance, caught in a chilly fall breeze. No, she realized that was her own bones rattling beneath her muscles, causing her vision to sway a bit. She was alone, surrounded by a dozen Nazi soldiers, maybe more. She wasn't sure if anyone knew where she was, and with that frightening revelation, she doubted there would be an orchestrated rescue mission.
She watched, with a detached coolness, as some of the soldiers went through everything in her bag, trying to find where she'd hidden the encoded missive. Little did they know it was still on her person, sewn into the lining of her dress.
While they spoke German far too quickly for her to be able to translate it all, she could pick out bits and pieces, enough to know that her time was limited.
And while she'd always done her best, to hold onto hope, she could feel her faith start to waver.
This was where she would die. An encampment off the road, surrounded by the enemy, without a friendly face in sight. While she could've easily stayed at Bletchley, worked from the safety of home, but that wasn't her destiny. Her path had taken her into the very heart of danger, and she'd shown no fear under the stress of war, in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds.
At least she would die knowing that she did everything she could, as long as she could.
And that meant trying to figure out how to destroy the coded missive in her dress without the soldiers seeing her remove it.
Considering one kept lecherously looking at her, however, she wasn't entirely sure it was possible.
When she saw her handbag thrown across the ground, empty and torn apart at the seams, she could feel the energy shift. They weren't occasionally chuckling, saying something about the little girl with the solid right hook anymore. They were angry. They were done.
Before she could even register what had happened, she felt something rough around her neck, and she was jerked backward, the heels of her shoes dragging in the dirt. Margaret – Peggy – Carter would not give them the satisfaction of begging for her life. In war, sometimes, people were lost. Battles weren't always won, but she wouldn't go down without a fight.
Tugging at the rope, she struggled to loosen the noose, but couldn't, not when one of the enemy soldiers tossed the length over a sturdy tree branch and started to tug.
They hadn't even bothered to try to interrogate her further, and she wondered, as her vision started to dim at the edges, if they'd decided she wasn't even with the Allies. Her feet suddenly left the ground, and one of her shoes fell. She fought to breathe, but the rope was unyielding.
For England, she'd die. For King and Country. For what was right.
The radio message had come in right as he'd started his shift at watch, and it had taken him all night to track her down, to pick up the trail she'd left. He realized, though, that when she'd left it – broken limbs, fibers from a ribbon he assumed had held her hair back – that the hope of someone locating it was slim. After all, he and his team had shifted directions only the day before – they'd gotten word that their prey had changed course, and they were going after Schmidt and Zola, the true heads of Hydra. If they hadn't, James Buchanan – Bucky – Barnes was sure they'd have been too far away for him to even consider peeling off to look for her.
Phillips had sounded worried, though. Whatever it was Peggy was carrying, it was important. It was necessary.
But what wasn't necessary was distracting Steve Rogers, the one and only Captain America. Especially when, if it was possible to accomplish both – to get Peggy back to safety and to capture Schmidt and Zola – well, that was something worth trying.
He stilled when he saw the group of a dozen Nazi soldiers down the hill. A few stood still, others chattered, searching a bag, and two stood on either side of a woman he recognized.
If it hadn't been for Peggy, Bucky didn't know what would've happened to him. The experimentation that had been done on him at Zola's hands had been intense, painful. It wasn't something he liked to think about. In fact, he did his damndest not to on most days. But ever since returning to camp, there'd been a nagging sensation in the pit of his stomach that he owed her. She'd been the one to tell chorus-girl Steve that he'd been playing for the 107th. She'd been the one to help orchestrate the rescue operation, contacting Howard Stark for a flight, getting gear for Steve. Steve had done the heavy lifting, sure, but it wouldn't have been possible without Peggy.
He quietly got into position, stretched out on the ground, his rifle at the ready.
Joining the Army hadn't been his goal, or his dream, or even a distant wish. He hadn't volunteered like so many others had been driven to do. He'd been drafted. The government had decided his service was necessary, and he went, but he hadn't been thrilled about it.
He'd done well at training, quickly becoming the best shot with any weapon, but he truly shined at the sniper rifle. He liked seeing the big picture – it helped him make the difficult decisions of who to shoot first.
Before he could fully analyze the situation, though, it changed drastically. One of the men behind Peggy put a noose around her neck, and another yanked the rope, which was already over a low but sturdy bough.
Without hesitation, he fired his first shot, fraying the rope, watching as Peggy, just a foot or so off the ground, crashed suddenly to the grass. He'd thought about taking out the soldier holding the rope, but he – and she – couldn't afford for one of the others to take up that position, trying to lynch her again. He fired precisely, in rapid succession, taking out the threats one by one.
He saw Peggy crawl toward a fallen Nazi, stealing his side arm, and taking out her fair share.
She was soon in the center of the little encampment, surrounded by dead soldiers. After taking a half second to catch her breath, she collected her lost shoe, and sprinted up the hill, toward the treeline, toward him. "Steve?" she asked, sure that it had been Captain Rogers and his Howling Commandos to come to help her.
Bucky had gotten to his feet and shouldered his bag and rifle by the time she reached him. "Not quite."
"Sergeant Barnes," she said, breathless and wide-eyed, especially as she realized he was alone.
"Agent Carter," he returned. "Steve's not far." He glanced skyward for a moment, taking in the position of the early morning sun. "In fact, I bet they're just now breaking up camp. Though, it sounded like Colonel Phillips needed you back ASAP."
"Thank you, very much, for..." She drifted off, gesturing, and for a moment the gravity of the situation hit her. She'd nearly died. She'd help to kill at least three Nazis, while he'd taken out the other nine.
"Just returning the favor," he told her.
She blinked, trying to clear her thoughts from the immediate carnage she'd just left. But she certainly didn't remember any favors owed. "I didn't realize you were in my debt."
He started to guide her back the way he'd come, toward her rendezvous point. "I certainly haven't forgotten about Austria," he told her.
"That... But, that was all Steve," she said with a frown, falling in step beside him.
He shook his head. "Not the way Steve tells it."
They both fell quiet for a moment, and he pulled his bag around to the front, rifling through one of the pockets before offering her some rations. "Not much, but I'm not sure when you ate last."
She smiled, accepting the packet. "Neither am I," she admitted.
He let her eat, his thoughts still swirling through his brain. He normally didn't have any difficulty talking with women, although maybe what he'd told Steve back at the bar in London was true. Maybe he and Steve were changing places. "You're good for him, you know," he said finally. When she looked at him quizzically, he shrugged a shoulder. "Steve's always been a fighter. Even before, when he was..." He held his hand up, about where Steve's height used to be.
Her expression softened. "I saw that, at Camp Lehigh."
"Just... It's easy to see why he likes you."
She looked at him, as he continued to hike through the wooded forest. "I think, perhaps, we got off on the wrong foot in London, Sergeant."
"You know, if you're gonna be my best friend's girl, I wish you'd call me Bucky instead."
She stopped, holding her hand out to him. "Very pleased to meet you, Bucky. I'm Peggy."
He took her hand, giving her a small, genuine smile. "Peggy," he returned.
End.