Peggy Carter crept down the hallway, treading carefully. She hoped she wouldn't alert anyone to her presence. The last thing she needed right now was someone reporting her to Ms Fry for getting back after curfew.

When she reached the stairs, Peggy carefully lifted one foot, wincing in pain. She made her way slowly up the stairs until she arrived at the second-to-last one, which gave an almighty creak.

Peggy froze. She glanced around, half-expecting Mrs Fry to appear out of the woodwork and throw her out.

Luckily, no-one appeared. No doors opened. She slowly let out a breath and continued on her journey, around the corner and into her room.

Next door, Angela Martinelli was reading a book when she thought she heard Peggy's door open and close. She glanced at the clock across the room. It was nearly midnight. She frowned – surely Peggy knew better than to get home at this hour. Did she want to get caught by Ms Fry?

Angie shrugged, and went back to her book. A few pages later, however, she heard the faint sound of muffled voices coming from Peggy's room. Listening more closely, Angie recognised the voices as being from the 'Captain America' radio show. Now, Angie knew Peggy, and Peggy never put the radio on that late at night. And especially not that program.

By now, Angie was convinced that something was wrong. Pursing her lips, she laid her book down and stood up, heading to the door. She poked her head out into the passage and peered around, making sure nobody was around to see her. When she was sure the coast was clear, Angie slipped out and crept to Peggy's door. She could hear the voices from the radio – they were definitely from the 'Captain America' show. She supposed they must be replaying it for late-night listeners. Although why Peggy would be listening to it, she had no idea.

Angie suddenly realised that she was leaning towards the door, and hastily stood up straight. She raised her hand, and hesitated. What if she was imagining things? What if Peggy had been there all night? What if she had fallen asleep and left the radio on?

Then Angie heard what sounded like a gasp of pain from behind the door. Her resolve strengthened, and she raised a hand and knocked once on the door. "Peggy?" she said, quietly so as not to awake anybody else in the surrounding bedroom.

When there was no response from within, she grew bolder. "Peggy?" she said again, knocking twice.

There was still no reply. An idea struck Angie: what if Peggy couldn't hear her knocking because of the radio? Angie listened for another moment, until she heard Peggy hiss in pain once again. That was when she made the decision.

She took a breath, then turned the handle and opened the door, pushing forward into Peggy's room. "Are you okay? I thought I heard-"

Angie cut herself off at the sight of Peggy. She was standing in the middle of the room, wearing only trousers and underwear, holding her top in her hand. Before Angie could be embarrassed at finding her friend half-dressed, however, she noticed something much more worrying.

Peggy had red marks all over her neck and chest, which were recognisable as finger-marks. It looked as if someone had tried to strangle her. There was also a cut on her left arm, running across the bicep. Eyes travelling down, Angie could see a rip in Peggy's right trouser leg, revealing another painful-looking cut on her thigh.

There was a terrible moment of silence, both women staring at each other, wearing identical expressions of shock and embarrassment. Neither knew quite what to say. Sounds of punching and breaking glass came from the radio, but both ignored it, focusing instead on the other.

Angie was the first to find her voice. "Oh, Peggy," she breathed. "Who did this to you?"

"Nobody," she said quickly. Too quickly, she realised.

"Don't give me that," Angie said firmly. Now the initial shock was wearing off, she was beginning to feel angry, both at whoever had hurt Peggy and at Peggy herself for trying to defend them. "Is this why you were home late?"

Peggy frowned. "How did you know I was home late?"

"I notice things. You're avoiding the question," Angie stated. Seeing that Peggy wasn't going to give her anything willingly, she took a couple of steps further into the room and sat down on a chair. "I'm going to stay here," she told Peggy firmly, "until you tell me what happened to you."

"Angie…"

"Do you want me to get Ms Fry up here?"

The threat of their fearsome landlady shut Peggy up. She considered the situation, automatically glancing around the room to check for escape routes. Her darting eyes eventually looked down, and she realised that she was still holding her shirt. That gave her an idea. "Actually, Angie, do you mind if I…?" She held the shirt up self-consciously to cover her chest.

"Go ahead," Angie said flatly. "I won't look." Sure enough, she turned away so she was facing the wall.

Peggy slowly pulled her shirt back on, wincing in pain and trying not to cry out. She considered making a break for the door, still open a crack from when Angie had come in. Surely Angie wouldn't hear her footsteps over the cheesy voices from the radio.

No sooner had she thought that, however, than Angie reached forwards and turned off the radio, leaving the room in silence.

Peggy sighed inwardly. No point in stalling any longer. "I'm done," she said.

Angie turned back around to face Peggy. "What happened to you, English?" she asked, her voice surprisingly soft. "Why aren't you telling me?"

Peggy remembered the events leading up to her coming home like this, battered and bruised. She remembered being trapped, outnumbered three men against one woman in a dark warehouse. She recalled how they had circles her, laughing before they got down to the business of finishing her off. Peggy remembered being scared, truly scared. Not of dying, but rather of not being able to finish everything she had started. She had been scared of not showing the world that she could do anything a man could, if not more. Moreover, she had been scared of those closest to her losing her; including the woman who now sat before her, arms firmly folded.

With a sigh, Peggy sat down on her bed. This time, a hiss of pain left her lips as she stretched her thigh, and she glanced up guiltily to watch Angie's mouth form into a firm line of disapproval.

"I can't tell you, Angie," she said. "I'm sorry."

Angie's lips pulled even tighter. "Can't tell me?" She shook her head. "Not good enough, Peggy. Someone's hurt you, and you're going to tell me who."

"Or what?" Peggy asked.

That made Angie pause. What would she do if Peggy didn't tell her? She had no idea.

"Please, English," she said finally. "I'm worried about you."

"Well, you don't need to be," Peggy told her. "I can take care of myself."

Angie resisted the urge to scoff. "Sure, you can take care of yourself," she said. "That's why you're sitting there now, looking like someone tried to kill you."

Three people, Peggy thought but did not say.

"Was it a man?" Angie asked. "Did you met someone? A man? Did they do this to you? Have they done it before?" She stopped and gasped, an idea occurring to her. "Was it Mr Fancy from the automat? That colleague of yours?"

Despite herself, Peggy had to admire Angie's insistence. Perhaps the S.S.R. should hire her for their interrogations. "No, I haven't met a man," she said wearily. "I don't know who did this."

"Did you get jumped on the street?"

"What? No!"

"Then who?" Angie insisted. "Why don't you report them to the police?"

Because the S.S.R. will have them in custody by now, providing they found the clues I left for them, Peggy thought, but also did not say.

Angie continued. "Because let me tell you now, you don't need to stay with nobody that treats you like that." She nodded to the bloody arm of Peggy's shirt. "You deserve much better than that, trust me."

Peggy was flattered, but she didn't know how to respond. Instead, she rubbed her eyes with one hand and said, "Look, Angie, it's very late. I'm tired. Can we please do this tomorrow? Or later today, as the case may be," she added, looking at the clock, which now read after midnight.

Angie's face softened. "Okay," she said, "but you're not getting off so easy next time, English. You hear?"

If this was easy, Peggy was tempted to ask what hard would be. Instead, she smiled softly, and nodded. "I hear."

"Right. Good." Angie stood up and began to walk to the door, before she stopped. "Are you gonna be all right tonight?"

"Yes, Angie," Peggy said softly. "I'll see you in the morning."

She nodded. "Good night, English." And with that she was gone, back to her own room to puzzle over the conversation she had just had.

Peggy sighed. She slowly stood up and pulled off her shirt once again, wincing as she did so.

She walked over to the mirror and inspected the marks on her chest. Nothing some make-up couldn't hide. Next she moved on to the cut on her arm, before looking at the one on her leg. She could get those covered up quickly, but it would be a bugger trying to get the bloodstains out. If she patched herself up quickly, she thought, then hopefully she would have enough time to get a halfway-decent sleep before getting up early to avoid Angie at breakfast.

She felt bad for lying to her best friend, but what else could she do? She couldn't very well tell Angie about working for the S.S.R., and somehow she doubted that Angie would believe her if she said she had taken out three strong men and walked away. Well, hobbled away.

The next morning, Angie was disappointed, but not especially surprised to find that Peggy had already left for work. As she buttered her toast, she resolved to corner Peggy as soon as she saw her during the day, be it at lunchtime or in the evening.

Angie was restless at work. She hovered around the counter all morning, casting occasional furtive glances towards the door. She was hoping to see the familiar figure of her friend strolling in from the street, ready to sit down with a cup of coffee and tell her about her day. But Peggy did not come. Once again, Angie was disappointed, but not especially surprised.

Whoever had hurt Peggy, she must be real scared of them, Angie decided as she poured coffee into an annoying regular's cup. And Peggy wasn't usually scared of anyone, which made Angie even more nervous.

"Hey! Watch it!" Angie was jerked out of her train of thought by the annoying regular's yell. She looked down to see that her hand had accidentally moved, and she was now pouring coffee into his lap instead of the cup.

"Oh my gosh," she said, hurriedly righting the pot, "I'm so sorry." She kept saying this, and similar apologies, while she mopped up the mess with paper napkins.

"I should think so, too," the annoying regular said, watching her work disapprovingly. As she stood up and turned to go, she heard him mutter, "Stupid bitch."

Nostrils flaring, Angie hurried towards the back room before she could start cursing out a customer. As she neared the door, however, she saw a man watching the events unfolding with interest. Angie frowned, recognising him as the man she had seen talking to Peggy, whom Peggy had claimed was a colleague. He was sitting in the same spot as usual, facing away from the front of the automat. As Angie watched, he turned back around to face the back room again. He sat very upright, she noticed, back ramrod-straight. Normally, of course, he would be back-to-back with Peggy, although this time she was not here.

Angie passed the man – Peggy hadn't mentioned his name – as he picked up his cup with his left hand. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a light glint on his hand, reflecting the lights in the automat.

She hurried to the back room to put away the cleaning supplies, then headed back out again. She picked up a coffee pot from the counter before heading towards the man. "Would you like a refill, sir?"

"Please," he nodded, looking up at her. This surprised Angie: most men, even the regulars, barely glanced at her face. She was sure that if asked to pick her out of a line-up, some of them would only recognise her by her chest.

She finished pouring the drink, and he looked at her again. "Thank you." His voice was British, like Peggy's. Now that was interesting, Angie thought, although she was not sure why. Her eyes followed his left hand as he reached forwards to pick up his cup. Sure enough, there was a wedding ring on his finger.

Angie mumbled a "You're welcome" before hurriedly retreating to behind the counter. In her head, she tried to sort out the facts: Peggy had been in the automat, talking to a married man, but she did not want to be seen to be talking to him. Or perhaps he did not want to be seen talking to her. Either way, they definitely knew each other, and did not want other people to know that they knew each other. And if that wasn't suspicious, Peggy had returned home late last night, beaten and bruised, refusing to say who had done it to her. When Angie had asked her if it was the British man, Peggy had definitely avoided the question.

By now, Angie was certain that Mr Fancy was linked in some way. She just had to prove it.

For the next few minutes, Angie hovered around the kitchen, making sure she was close to the serving-hatch. She watched as the man finished his meal and stood up, heading outside.

Angie grabbed another waitress. "Doreen, can you cover for me?" she asked apologetically. "I just got a message from my brother. Family troubles."

Doreen looked sympathetic. "Course I will, darling. You go and do what you need to, yeah?"

"Thanks Doreen, you're a doll." Angie gave her a hug, then rushed off to grab her jacket. She slipped it on and stepped out the door in time to see the man driving off in a fancy car.

Angie looked around and hailed a taxi. "Can you follow that car?" she asked the driver, scrambling inside. She closed the door, and they were off, following Peggy's fancy British man through the streets of New York.

It was a long while until they arrived at their destination. Angie saw the car pull off into a driveway, and asked the cab driver to stop. She paid him, tutting at the price he asked, and hopped out. She watched as the taxi turned around and drove back towards town.

Angie set off down the driveway, which turned out to be longer than she expected. She caught her heel in between two stones and cursed, hobbling slightly for the rest of the way.

Eventually, Angie came across a house. The fancy car sat outside, telling her that she was in the right place. She strode up to the door as best as she could with a sore ankle, and began to hammer on the glass.

A moment later, she heard footsteps inside, then the door opened. The man looked out, his polite expression changing into one of surprise when he saw who was on the doorstep. "Can I help you?"

Angie straightened up, staring him right in the face. "I'm Angie Martinelli. I'm a friend of Peggy Carter," she said.

In an instant, the man's demeanour changed. He began to crouch slightly, glancing around behind him into the house beyond. "Miss Carter?" he asked quietly. "How did you-"

A female voice spoke from behind him, somewhere within the house. "Who is it, Edwin?"

"Er, one of Mr Stark's…lady friends, dear," he called back. "I'll sort it."

Angie raised an eyebrow. "One of what?"

"I think," he told her, "that we need to talk."

"Oh, I think we do," she agreed. "How about we go inside?"

"No! No, I do not think that would be the best idea," he said nervously, glancing back inside. "How about we go for a walk?"

She shrugged. "Suits me fine."

A minute later, they were walking side by side through an immaculately-kept garden. Angie was staying on the other side of the path from Edwin, still wary of him.

"So," he began with a nervous chuckle, "you are a friend of Miss Carter?"

"Miss Carter? That's what you call her?" she asked. "Classy."

"You followed me here from the automat, correct?" he inquired. "Might I venture to ask why?"

"Why were you there in the first place?" Angie countered. "Seems like a long way to go just for lunch. And if you can afford this place," she gestured to the flowers surrounding them, "surely you can go to a nicer place than the L&L Automat."

"I cannot afford this," he hastily said. "I am merely the butler, Edwin Jarvis. And I was going to meet Miss Carter, although she did not arrive. Do you have any idea why that might be?"

"I got an idea," she said. "Tell me, Edwin Jarvis, did you meet with Peggy last night?"

"La- last night?" The pitch of his voice went higher, close to cracking. "Why do you ask?"

Angie stopped walking, turning to face the butler. "I asked first," she told him firmly.

Jarvis also stopped, standing still. "I was," he admitted. "I met her at approximately eight o'clock, and dropped her back at her residence before midnight. Why do you ask?"

I knew it! Angie thought. "Because Peggy's my friend," she told Jarvis, looking him in the eye, "and I'm worried about her. She came back last night looking as if somebody tried to kill her. Now, do you know anything about that?"

Edwin Jarvis did indeed know something. For a moment, he remembered watching Peggy limp out of the darkened warehouse, covered in blood, only some of which was hers. He remembered seeing her limping towards the car, holding the latest weapon from Mr Stark's collection. She had waved off any assistance, telling him to drive. She looked haunted, he remembered. He hadn't liked to ask what had happened in the warehouse, although he had of course been curious.

But he said none of this. Instead, he looked Angie in the eye, and said, "I do not."

"I don't believe you," Angie told him flatly. She took a step towards him, staring him down despite being much shorter than him. "I believe that you had something to do with it. I don't know what, but something. And here's the thing," she took another step closer, "if you hurt Peggy again, you will be sorry."

"I assure you, Miss Martinelli –"

She cut him off. "I don't want to hear it. Just know that if Peggy ever – ever – comes back home like that again, I will be holding you personally responsible."

Jarvis drew himself up to his full height. "And how do you propose to do that?"

Angie looked away from his face, very deliberately moving her gaze down to his left hand. "You're married, aren't you, Mr Jarvis?" She indicated the wedding ring. "Wouldn't it be a shame if Mrs Jarvis heard about you meeting with Peggy at night like that? Or about how you sit and talk with her secretly in the automat? I'd be willing to bet she doesn't know where you really are during those times. She don't even know who Peggy is, does she?"

He did not answer her. Angie looked back up at Jarvis' face. She was somewhat pleased to see that he had gone pale, eyes widened. She had struck a nerve by bringing up his wife. "Or how about if I just went straight to the police? Tell them how Peggy went out with you, came back like that. I'm sure they'd love to hear."

He swallowed. "Go on then," he said, but his voice wavered.

She gave a bitter smile. "Oh, you're free this time. Only because Peggy doesn't want you to get in trouble, goodness knows why. But next time," she told him, "I won't be so lenient. Do you understand me?"

Jarvis reached up and tugged at his tie. He nodded quickly.

"Good to know." Angie gave him a sweet smile and turned to go. She stopped, and turned back. "Oh, and one more thing." Angie reached up and gave Jarvis a resounding slap right in the face, knocking him off balance. He righted himself, and indignantly opened his mouth to say something; but Angie was gone, walking away through the flowers.

Jarvis watched her go, rubbing his cheek. He wished he could tell her what had really happened, but knew that it would compromise their entire situation; and besides, Miss Carter would likely kill him if he did.

The next day, Peggy was back in the automat for lunch. To her surprise, Angie had not interrogated her the previous evening, and as a result she had judged it safe to go back to the automat. She sat in her usual booth to wait for Mr Jarvis, who arrived a few minutes after she did. He, too, went straight to the usual booth, and sat stiffly with his back to her.

"You were not here yesterday, Miss Carter," he began by saying.

"I know," she replied. "Sorry about that, we were very busy in the office. Even me. I hope you were not too inconvenienced?"

"Not at all, although I wish I had known beforehand."

"Oh?"

"Yes," Jarvis said, "I am afraid I ran into one of your friends yesterday, a Miss Martinelli."

Peggy frowned. "Who, Angie?" She glanced over to the counter, where she could see Angie hovering with a coffee pot, watching her and Jarvis like a hawk.

"The very same," Jarvis affirmed. "She was…concerned about the state in which you returned home two nights ago."

Peggy sighed, beginning to get an inkling of what had happened. "She confronted you? About me? What did she say?"

He coughed delicately. "Miss Martinelli appeared to be under the impression that you and I were, shall we say, involved."

Peggy almost choked on her coffee. "She thought what?" Without waiting for an answer, she continued, "So what did she do?"

"She followed the car back to my house, and we talked in the garden."

She shook her head at the thought of Angie squaring up to Jarvis. Peggy had seen her do similar things with girls at the Griffith, but the image of her telling of the much-taller Jarvis was amusing, to say the least. "I do hope she didn't do anything drastic, Mr Jarvis."

Jarvis rubbed at his cheek, a phantom pain from the previous day making itself known. "Not at all. Although I will say this," he added, "she is certainly a loyal friend. You are lucky to have her."

Peggy smiled, still watching Angie behind the counter. "I know."