Title: Virtues & Impulses
Author: AoN (bellalinguista)
Word Count: 4000
Summary: During the war, Peggy unexpectedly found herself falling in love with not just a good soldier, but a good man. As she finally begins to let him go, Peggy finds herself falling again with one Angie Martinelli.
Notes: The main plot is set after the events of Agent Carter whilst the flashbacks occur during Captain America: the First Avenger.
Chapter One: Humilitas & Superbia
"In the middle of the journey of life, I came to myself within a dark wood where the straight way was lost." – Dante Alighieri
By the time Peggy returned home from her sentimental trip to the Brooklyn Bridge where she witnessed the day's setting sun, evening had fallen upon the city. Instead of coming straight home, Peggy had found herself wandering, aimlessly at that.
Eventually, she had wandered into her new neighborhood and had convinced herself to continue on. If this is where she would be living, she might as well get to know the area. Taking mental notes as she had gone along, Peggy returned home with a list of establishments she would have to frequent later and see if her dear roommate would be interesting in tagging along.
Speaking of her dear roommate..
"Peg, is that you?"
"Yes, Angie!" Peggy called back.
As soon as Peggy closed the door behind her, she saw Angie peeking her head out from one of the rooms - the library, if her memory served her well.
Most definitely the library, as confirmed as Angie stepped into the hallway with a book in hand.
"Mr. Fancy wasn't kidding about that collection!" Angie gushed. "My reading list's a mile long now."
"It seems you're already decided where to start though," Peggy commented as she undid her coat, gesturing towards the book in Angie's hand.
Angie glanced down at the book and then back at Peggy, nodding. "Yeah, have you heard of it? The Divine Comedy, by Dante Alighieri. Thankfully, it's in English - I can't read Italian to save my life."
As Angie held out the book, Peggy felt the blood in her veins quickly grow ice cold. Her expression, stoic, but Angie, also preoccupied by the title, missed it. By the time she looked up at Peggy again, Peggy was forcing a smile and nodded.
"Why it's called a comedy, though, is beyond me," Angie said, scrunching her nose. "It's a journey through Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven, right?"
"Actually, it was originally called Commedia, but that doesn't really answer the question, does it?" Peggy answered. "It's a comedy based on the medieval sense of the word - a medieval narrative that ends happily. I believe word Divinia was added later, by another Italian author. I don't recall the name."
Angie's eyebrows rose, impressed. "Well, look at you, English. Did they teach you that at your fancy boarding school?"
Peggy forced a laugh, "No, I was told by an old friend - he's an Italian literature enthusiast of sorts."
An old friend from the war - a member of the Howling Commandos, to be exact - Dino Manelli. Whether or not he actually was an enthusiast of any sort of literature, Peggy didn't know.
The two things she did know for certain was that good ol' Dino could quote Dante's Inferno quite well, which he often compared the war to such, and that he had abandoned a promising movie career to join the war effort after the attack on Pearl Harbor ("I could have been Dracula in Hitchcock's new film," he'd often point out).
"Huh, well, Papà's always spitting out quotes from it, I figure I'd give it a shot," Angie said. "Actually, he only quotes this one part: 'Abandon every hope, you who enter.' Sounds kind of menacing, really."
Peggy could still hear Dino, in Italian, reciting the same line, which he would say nearly every time the Howling Commandos would leave for a mission.
Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate.
"It most definitely should - it's engraved on the gates of hell. Or so I'm told," Peggy replied before changing the topic of conversation. "It's been a long day, with the move and all. I think I'm going to head off to bed early."
"Aw, Peg, what about dinner?" Angie asked. "I can whip us up something really quick - won't take too long."
With a generous smile, Peggy shook her head, "That's alright, truly it is. I'm not hungry and I'd much rather go to sleep."
"Okay, but if you change your mind, I'll leave you a plate," Angie insisted.
"That's sweet of you, dear. Enjoy your book."
"Something tells me I'm not gonna like the first third."
"Good night, Angie," Peggy chuckled.
xxxx
Peggy clutched the cold metal of her Sten submachine-gun which she held close to her body, ready to quickly aim and fire at a moments notice, should the need arise. Each step she took forward was slow, calculated. As she walked, Peggy tried to make as little noise as possible against the uneven cobblestone road made narrow by the conjoined homes, often two stories, on each side.
The windows and doors were boarded up. Flower beds and pots empty, or what little evidence of plants or floral remained withered into decay.
There was no sign of life, none at all. The small Italian village was empty. Void and colorless - even the blue sky was grey. The entire town was a shadow of its former self, turned into nothing, ravaged by war. These streets were once home to hard working families, people who would stroll down to the bakery for a loaf of bread, to the local bar for a cup of coffee, or the communale piazza for social gatherings.
But now? Now, it was completely empty, occupied by no one but ghosts who watched as help arrived too late.
And it was eerily silent. For as silent as it was, there was no peace. This was not a place familiar with the concept of peace.
All she could hear was the loud beating of her heart, pounding painfully in her chest as anxiety threatened to suffocate her.
This place… this place void of all color and all life… no, this place did not know peace. This place knew death.
This place was too quiet for her own liking. It was the type of silence which caused one's ears to ring.
And the ringing was only getting louder.
How could silence be so deafening?
She felt a light gust brush past the side of her head, as though someone had leaned in close and whispered into her ear. Peggy shivered, but did not falter, even when an disembodied voice croaked.
'Per me si va ne la città dolente.'
With chills running down her spine and the hair on the back of her neck standing on end, Peggy immediately whirled around. The silencer of her submachine-gun collided against an invisible solid object. The jolt of the impact caused the weapon to fire on its own accord. The bullet ricocheted against a metal sign at the end of the street.
There was no one there.
But that was not possible.
No, she distinctly felt her gun collided with whoever - whatever - had standing behind her. If that wasn't enough evidence, that she, herself, felt the collision, the damn jolt had also caused the gun to fire for Peggy did not pull the trigger.
Whether the blast or the collision surprised her, Peggy could not say.
It was a fault of these damned Sten submachine-guns. They were incredibly cheap to produce, but sometimes even the tiniest of accidental bumps would cause the damn thing to go off unexpectedly.
Just as it had.
And it would have hit its mark. It would have hit whoever, whatever, had been standing behind her - or come pretty damn close.
But there was no one there.
Her eyes darted back and forth, trying to pick up any form of movement Peggy could have earlier missed. Perhaps a swinging door? Or a window pane? But she did not find a trace of anything. There wasn't anything to find, for that matter. Everything was still.
Everything was frozen, abandoned, and untouched.
Lifeless.
And yet.
'Per me si va ne l'etterno dolore.'
That voice again! This time, however, it was more of a hushed whisper, once more behind her. Pivoting off her left foot, Peggy swung herself around on her heel. This time, her weapon did not hit anything. It did not fire.
But that did not stop Peggy from being surprised once again.
The narrow cobblestone street lined with its clustered buildings and home was no more. The town had disappeared.
Now standing on a dirt, uphill path, Peggy felt herself stop breathing as her eyes landed on the gated cemetery on top of the small hill. She'd much rather still be on in futile search for God knows what, slowly proceeding through the ghost town, which now rested at the bottom of the hill. Instead, Peggy found herself here, alone, standing close to evidence that demonstrated how much evil man was capable of committing.
The high walls of the cemetery and its massive doors, bolted shut, kept its secrets hidden, but Peggy knew what laid on the other side.
She remembered.
As much as she didn't want it to be so, she remembered it quite vividly.
The inhuman silence was now replaced by the shaking and screeching of the metal door hinges, the scratching of fingernails against rotting wood. The door pushed forward with a loud bang, but the bolt kept it in locked firmly in place.
Peggy held on to her weapon tighter, as though that were at all possible.
The soft cries for help amplified as voices filled with sheer panic rang out. Instinct told her to run forward, to unbolt the door, and to help, but Peggy found herself unable to move. Her legs would not - refused - to carry her forward.
As the bullets from automatic enemy weapons rang out, the panicked voices and cries turned to curtly screams. Moans threatened to keep the silence at bay, but it soon made its returned after precise single gun shots fired out.
She released a shaking breath. When Peggy inhaled again, she wished she hadn't: gunpowder and coppery iron - blood, all coming from the confined cemetery.
'Per me si va tra la perduta gente.'
Peggy nearly jumped out of her skin. The voice was booming, coming from behind the walls. Pounding against the wooden gate caused it to jerk forward with great vigor, stressing away the locked bolts until they ripped away from the aging wood.
She lifted her weapon, steadied her aim.
For a moment, the now unlocked gate stood still.
Peggy knew better than to let her guard down.
One final blow from behind caused the gates to swing open, revealing a single man - no, he wasn't old enough to be a man. An adolescent, at best. His dark hair was matted and blood trickled down his face, over his cold and vacant eyes. It continued down and stained his once white shirt. The bottom of which was torn apart, ripped away by enemy bullets that had also mangled his abdomen. Muscle, guts, and intestines spewed forth as he took a step forward, towards Peggy.
The trigger, Peggy told herself. Pull the damn trigger.
He lifted his hand slowly, reaching for her. As he approached, he opened his mouth, releasing the voice that had whispered into her ear, the voice that had boomed from behind the gate - his voice - screeched.
'Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate.'
"Peggy?"
Another voice - this was much softer, gentler than the foreign whispers and screams - shook her away from her dream. With a jolt, Peggy awoke and in one swift movement, she was sitting upright in her bed, her loaded colt revolver aimed and ready to fire.
Hands immediately in the air, Angie froze at the sight of the handgun that had emerged from under her roommate's pillow, her eyes wide with fright.
It took Peggy a moment to register the scene. "Oh, God, Angie," she exhaled when she finally realized that, no, she was most definitely not in a war ridden Europe. The war, she remembered herself, was over. She was back in New York. Peggy was home, in bed, in the middle of the night.
And she could have nearly shot her housemate.
She lowered the gun.
"Angie, I'm so sorry."
xxxx
"Where's this pilot? He's late. Are you sure he'll show?"
As soon as they had gotten out of earshot of the camp, Steve fired off question after question.
"Howard will show," Peggy insisted.
"But what if he doesn't? I'll take that motorbike-"
"He will show."
They spoke in hushed whispered, standing alone in the dark of the rather chilly Italian evening, away from the allied station camp and, hopefully, from overhearing ears.
The mission Agent Carter was leading Captain America into wasn't sanctioned.
There was a good chance Colonel Phillips would have their neck for this - perhaps not Steve's. He was America's golden poster boy, afterall. They would not dare discharge their only super soldier. But Carter? Colonel Phillips would hang her out to dry in a second.
Steve would probably be sent back to the States to sing and dance about war bonds on a second tour.
Which probably would serve as his own form of punishment.
Although she could barely make him out, Peggy could feel him shifting about. He was antsy. He couldn't stand still. Peggy couldn't blame him - this would be the first time he would be out in the field. And he would also be alone, at that.
"How are you feeling?" she asked, concerned. Throughout the war so far, she had seen nerves defeat soldiers time and time again. Heaven forbid that nerves would do the same to Steve.
"Great," he automatically responded.
"How are you really feeling?"
"This is what I wanted. This is why I signed up in the first place - to serve my country and help my fellow soldiers out. I want to stop the bullies," Steve explained.
She knew Steve couldn't see her - or maybe he could, she wasn't entirely aware of the effects of the serum - but Peggy nodded. She remembered reading something similar in his file: 'I don't like bullies.' Among the piles of 'I want to kill those Nazis' from Project Rebirth, it indeed stuck out from the rest.
"And I made a promise to a friend," Steve added after a moment.
"Sergeant Barnes? He must be a really good friend."
"He's the only one I got and I ain't giving up on him that easily. He's out there, alive. I know it and I'm not coming back without him, or the rest of the 105th."
"For someone about to head into a lot of uncertainty, you're anything but, Captain Rogers," Peggy pointed out. "A lot of men would be afraid, you know. They wouldn't dare go behind enemy lines alone."
She heard a huff of breath - he was holding back a laugh. She was almost certain that silenced laugh was followed by a lopsided smile, one she would not have minded seeing, but given their current… circumstances, she would have to pass for now.
"I'm not saying I'm not afraid," Steve corrected earnestly. "I am, but… it's how someone confronts that fear and uncertainty that should define them - not the actual fear itself."
"Has anyone told you how humble you are?"
"I can't say that anyone has - do you hear that? Is that an engine?" Steve questioned.
She couldn't hear anything just yet. "That's probably our ride," Peggy assumed. They would be taken to a private hangar where they would meet Howard who would then get them up in the air and where they really needed to be. At least, where Steve really needed to be.
"And if it isn't?" he asked, concerned.
"Well, we do have guns," Peggy reminded.
xxxx
"So you and Captain America," Angie murmured.
Peggy nodded along.
It was late and only getting later as the night progressed, but Peggy promised she would tell Angie everything - as long as it wasn't classified government information.
These late hours of the night, or hours of the early morning… These hours were the someday Peggy promised after being pulled through Angie's window in her room at the Griffith.
Peggy didn't think someday would have came so soon.
"That God-awful radio program-"
"Thrillingly realistic," Peggy commented with just a hint of annoyance before looking down at her lap, still covered by the bedsheets.
"Have I ever told you I auditioned to be a dancer for that tour?" Angie brought up. "Didn't make the cut, but could you imagine if I had? Wonder what it would have been like - us, I mean. Meeting back then."
"It would have been… different," Peggy replied, her voice trailing off.
Indeed, it would have been. The person she had been during the war was not the same person sitting on this bed, doing her best to make things up to her roommate and revealing a side of herself she had barely acknowledged verbally.
Silence overcame the both of them. They sat without saying a word in the poorly lit bedroom. Usually, it was a welcoming silence, peaceful, as they enjoyed each other's company, but this… this was different. This was awkward.
And Peggy did not like it one bit, even though she was the impetus behind it.
Peggy looked up from her lap. Angie was still sitting at the end of the bed, on the edge of the mattress. The light emitting from Peggy's nightstand lamp showed her that Angie was staring off into the distance, perhaps still reeling from what Peggy revealed about the war, but Peggy couldn't be certain.
She wanted to say something, but she wasn't exactly sure what would be appropriate.
"You also fought along side of him," Angie finally spoke up again. She shifted slightly on the bed and turned to face Peggy. "Jesus, Peg, were you on the frontline?"
"I took part in some battles, yes," she answered honestly.
Angie glanced down for a moment and when she met Peggy's gaze again, her expression had changed. Her eyes had grown soft. She was frowning. If she could have, Angie probably would have reached out to hold Peggy's hand, but, well… Peggy assumed Angie was still a bit jumpy herself - something to do with the loaded handgun to Peggy's right.
"Those nightmares - do you get 'em often?" Angie asked. "I don't think I've ever seen someone thrashing about like that before."
After a pause, Peggy shook her head, "No, not often." They occurred with less frequency now. They had been extremely terrible when she first came back to New York City after the end of the war, but she still couldn't bring herself to tell Angie about earlier this evening, about her visit to the Brooklyn Bridge - or how she was actually familiar with Dante's Divine Comedy.
There were still some things Peggy needed to keep private, for the time being. Just one of those events was probably enough to fuel the nightmare, let alone both.
"I'm sorry, I truly am," Peggy apologized once again. She picked up the gun and hid it away in the draw of the nightstand. "Had I know it was you, I wouldn't have-"
"Well, of course you wouldn't have," Angie interrupted. "But, honestly, is it necessary for you to sleep with that thing?"
"You have no idea how dangerous Dottie truly is," Peggy insisted.
Angie looked away again, shaking her head. "Never pegged Iowa to be some super secret assassin," she murmured. "There's never a dull moment with you, is there, English?" she spoke up, glancing over at Peggy with a faint smile.
It was one Peggy matched and returned.
"Coming from the actress who had a getaway car ready for someone who was wanted by federal agents," Peggy shot back.
Good, the bantering was returning.
"What if I had been an actual criminal?" Peggy added. "Do you know what you wouldn't been charged with?"
Angie shrugged her shoulders. "Doesn't matter," she replied. "Mamma and Papà've taught me that we gotta take care of the people we care about - no questions asked."
"That's rather-"
"So, these meatheads you call coworkers," Angie interrupted. "They know what you did during the war and they still treated you like a secretary?"
A bit befuddled, Peggy leaned back, resting herself against the headrest of the bed. Now it was her turn to shrug her shoulders after she had nodded to Angie's question. "During the war, we all felt a sense of purpose - I know I certainly did," she said. "Everything was done with a sense of pride, knowing what we were doing was the right thing to do. We were making a difference. I was making a difference."
Now it was Angie who nodded along.
"After the war ended, after I came back to New York, it wasn't as terrible," Peggy admitted. "Although I wasn't in the field, I was still working on classified code breaking for the other agents. I took pride in myself those first couple moments, but it quickly wore off. It's a rather hard mentality to uphold, you know. Feeling pride in one's work when one's work becomes taking the whole office's lunch orders."
"I hear ya, English.."
Bringing her hand up to cover her mouth, Peggy's eyes grew wide, "I'm sorry! I wasn't thinking! I didn't mean to offend-!"
"Are you kidding me? I ain't offend in the least," Angie quickly replied, waving a hand at her. "I'll soon stop taking lunch orders myself - just you wait and see. Broadway has to come knocking sooner or later. I just hope it's not later."
Peggy's shoulders fell slightly out of relief. After tonight's excitement, the last thing she wanted to do was accidentally insult Angie. It had already been a hell of a night.
"Someone incredibly clever once told me we all have to pay our dues," Peggy pointed out.
"After what I've seen and heard her tonight, you've already paid plenty," Angie remarked, tone incredibly serious. It quickly softened. "You gonna be okay, Pegs?"
"I have been doing quite well."
"I mean, tonight," Angie explained. "For the rest of it, anyway."
"I don't expect to sleep much," Peggy answered truthfully. "But I suspect I will be fine."
Then, the silence returned in all its awkward glory. Perhaps that wasn't the answer Angie had been expecting and, judging by her next question, Peggy believed it probably truly wasn't.
"Would you feel better if I stayed?" Angie offered. "I mean, when I was little and I had nightmares, my oldest brother would stay with me - said he'd protect me from the monsters. I know now monsters don't exist - not those monsters anyway, but it always made me feel safe."
For a moment, Peggy watched her, contemplating her offer. It was absolutely silly, yet laced with a sense of mystery and darkness. Not those monsters anyway. Peggy knew how hard it was to keep her secrets, to carry unrecognizable burdens, in her line of work. So much so that it blinded her from something rather important: she wasn't the only one to do so.
Angie Martinelli had her own secrets, ones that she was slowly revealing in little, short glimpses. If Peggy wasn't completely paying attention, she would miss them.
Not those monsters anyway.
Peggy must have stayed quiet for too long.
"Right, like I can protect a secret agent," Angie said, pushing herself up from the bed.
"No, wait!" Peggy called out before clearing her throat and lowering her voice. "I mean, no, umm. Angie, that actually sounds lovely - you know, not being alone."
Angie hovered and smiled weakly, not having expected the sudden burst or having her ridiculous little proposition be accepted. She made her way to the other side of the bed and crawled right in, making herself at home under the covers.
"It's gonna be okay, Peggy," she said softly.
To Be Continued...