Disclaimer: I don't own Agent Carter. It's fanfiction.

A/N: When it takes you half a year to remember you actually had this somewhere on your computer… Yup, story of my life. (And I apologize for any inaccuracies beforehand).

Peggy was on her way to meet Steve when they first ran into each other. Literally.

She had just left the infirmary tent, two nurses in tow (and firmly insistent that they treat her cuts), when something hard crashed into her, taking her and the two women down to the muddy ground along with him.

Admittedly, her initial thought had jumped to siege and she had been a split second from throttling the offender to a pulp when the large mass scrambled up and blurted out the most discordant meld of apology and excuse to ever fall upon her ears.

Her head spun from the vertigo and it was then she sighted a group of men running toward them, cussing this way and that, and from beside her, the nurses were moaning from the impact but were otherwise unhurt. She looked at the newly acquired mess on her uniform, one she was not looking forward to explain, then at the wayward baseball lying three feet from them and shot the man a glare so fierce, his voice choked to a startling halt.

For a second, he stood there, caught in a state of limbo, hair like a hedgehog and week old scruff on his face, as the other men caught up to them. They immediately assisted the ladies, muttering apologies and babying their wounds, which only served to incite breathy whispers and shy giggles from the nurses.

Peggy rolled her eyes (not a minute earlier they had been ready to strap her to the cot!) when a hand appeared in front of her face. She looked up to see the perpetrator in question, sheepish smile in place and eyebrows raised in earnest. She resigned with a small sigh and took his hand.

He deftly pulled her up. "I'm sorry, ma'am."

He was tall. He wore a tank top like the rest of his friends, having taken off the top jacket to avoid getting it dirty, and was sweaty from the pick-up game despite the brisk weather. A worn baseball mitt hung from his left hand.

She smoothed her hair back, tucked her lapels tight, and replied in a clipped voice. "Yes, well, be more careful next time, soldier." She eyed the darkening sky and swore under her breath. She was beyond late for dinner with Steve and the team.

"You alright?" the man asked, wiping his face with a towel from his neck. It made his hair look even more ridiculous if it was possible. "You took a hard hit there."

"I'm fine," she snapped. "I've taken worse." Forgive her if she sounded sharp but her uniform was dirtied, her body ached from the skirmish this morning, and she was late. Timothy was no doubt going to blurt something inane about the quality of her appearance.

She whirled on her feet to leave. "Good night!"

A frown flitted across his face but he gave her a mock salute, the corner of his mouth tugged up in a smug grin. "Have a good night, ma'am. Be careful out there."

Peggy caught the condescending lilt in his tone but pointedly ignored him. She had met more than her fair share of cocky, chauvinistic men like him during her time of service; one more wasn't going to rankle her heels.

She could feel his eyes on her as she strutted away but didn't dare look back. The soldier was a new face in the camp. His buddies were new faces. As much as she tried to make it a priority to learn the names of the men, there was never enough time between her duties at the SSR and with the Howling Commandos.

And as much as it pained her to say it, the faces never stayed the same either.

The first time they were introduced, Jack was riding high on the closure of a big case.

He strode into the bullpen, smug as a bug in a rug, receiving congratulatory handshakes and claps on the back from his coworkers.

He leaned against Dooley's doorway, grinning that winning grin of his as Dooley paged through the stack of reports on his desk. If it had been anyone else but Jack, looking like they didn't have a care in the world on the doorstep of his office, Dooley would've had some choice words that would've sent any mother scrambling for his ears and reaching for a bar of soap.

But this wasn't just anyone. This was golden boy Jack. War hero Jack. His best agent Jack.

Jack knew it and milked it for all it was worth.

"It is true?" Jack began, once Dooley had closed the file. "Captain America's girl is visiting?"

The man shot him a look that would've melted ice. "Yeah. Any minute now." He slammed the reports aside. "I don't know who I managed to piss off to get saddled with her. The last thing we need is a woman poking her nose in our operations. We don't even have a ladies' bathroom, for god's sake!"

"I thought we were getting a new Agent?" Jack frowned.

"We are!"

Jack straightened. "You mean Cap's girl is the new Agent we're getting? I thought she was giving a motivational speech or something."

Dooley tapped a file on the other end of his desk. "It says 'Agent' right there! 'Agent' Margaret Carter!"

Jack stared wide eyed for second then laughed. "Come off it, Boss. You're pulling my leg."

"I wish I was, kid." He handed the file to him.

Jack flipped it opened, and sure enough, clear as day, the print marked Cap's girl as one of their very own agents and had been longer than him and the majority of his coworkers.

Jack shook his head. "But—but she's a girl!"

"Thank you for that, Agent," he growled quietly. "As established by myself not just a second ago."

Jack skimmed through the rest of the file, skipping over the brief need-to-know bio, background, and health and physical to see what meager duties she managed to rack up during the war.

"Alright, so she's a liaison and advisor of sorts under Colonel Phillips, and there's some field work listed as well but don't you think there's something funny going on with this file?" Jack asked. He thumbed through her numerous stations, taking note of the erratic time gaps and the frequent blank descriptions that didn't even bother to describe her role after the fact.

Dooley shrugged. "If she was schmoozing with the Colonel of all people, she was probably privy to some sensitive information. Even he needs a clerk, am I right?"

Jack frowned but perked up when he found a familiar station. "Hey, I was stationed here the same time she was working there."

"Yeah, you meet her?" His chief looked wholly uninterested in that bit of information.

He backtracked to the front page to check the photograph. "Uh, I don't know. She looks familiar but I can't recall ever meeting her." He snapped the file shut in resignation and slapped it onto the desk. "I do remember Captain America though. And his team of Howling Commandos."

Dooley rolled his eyes and stood up to stretch. "You star-struck boys are all the same. The way I see it, Captain America and his friends are glorified war mascots for the young."

Jack crossed his arms. "That's because you never seen him. Didn't I tell you about that time he saved my life? He saved over a thousand of us. We were sitting ducks for months and he came and took out Hydra like they were nothing. I owe him."

Dooley grasped his shoulder. "Look, I'm not doubting he was a mighty fine soldier. He's just one lucky enough to beat the odds over and over again and make the front page news. There are heroes all over, Thompson. You're one too."

Jack smiled, feeling like his mouth had gone plastic. "Right."

Dooley looked over Jack's shoulder. "Look like she's here."

Jack turned to see a few of the men craning their heads to peer past the double doors. He didn't understand why until Dooley opened the door to his office and the soft clacks of feminine heels resonated from the hallway. Jack wasn't sure what to expect after reading through her file but when a dressed up gal strutted into the bullpen with more confidence than the burning summer sun, he was certainly floored.

"Margaret Carter, I presume?" His chief greeted, voice neutral.

"Yes, sir," she answered, clean and sharp. Her brown eyes scanned the office space with the kind of diligence important people practiced, and not the nervous flitting of a worker on her first day or the demure gaze of a bashful girl.

Jack stepped behind his Chief. He hadn't realized she was English. If he thought hard now, he would remember the rumors about an uptight, bossy British lady dressed in a uniform among his barracks, one with bold lipstick and dark, fiery eyes.

Looking at her now, Jack could see how all that might be true.

Dressed in a smart suit of navy over a white dress shirt and paired with matching low heels, she had her curls half pulled away from her face and sported light makeup, the bright red of her lips making quite a statement against the stern, serious nature of her features.

Jack couldn't help feeling like they had met before; he just couldn't put his finger on it.

"—and this is Jack Thompson, one of my top agents. He runs the office when I'm not in."

Jack slid on a grin, hoping he hadn't looked like a zoned out idiot for a second there. "Pleasure to meet you, Marge." He held out a hand for her to shake.

She pursed her lips slightly. "It's Peggy." She went to shake his hand anyway.

"Alright then." Jack looked to Dooley but he was already heading for his office. Guess his Chief said all that was needed to be said. He looked back to Peggy who was staring at him expectedly.

"Come on, I'll show you to your desk. You can meet everyone else later, including that doe-eyed Sousa." He gestured toward the man with his thumb, who blushed noticeably and hobbled off on his crutch to the break room. He glanced at Peggy, who did not seem the least bit amused.

Jack sighed. This woman was beginning to seem like she meant all business. She was strict, unapproachable, and not the type to lift men's spirits at all. Having a female agent was going to be more trouble than it was worth and he wondered why the officials above didn't have the right state of mind to place her with the "telephone operators" of the company shell front. It would make both parties happier if the expression on her face was anything to go by.

They stopped before a desk in the back, right by the windows. "Here you go, all nice and ready for you."

Peggy laid down her slim briefcase. "Thank you, Agent Thompson."

"You know, if you don't mind me asking, have we met before? I don't want to sound forward or anything but it really feels like we have," he started. His heart was drumming loudly in his chest and he couldn't fathom why at all. He didn't have trouble talking to ladies—well, unless they were crying.

Peggy looked up at him with cool, calculating eyes and he swore he could see the gears turning in her head with the smoothness and grace of a sharp minded eagle. Her brows furrowed a bit, then smoothed out to make way for a raised eyebrow.

"Hedgehog," was all she said.

"What?"

"You were part of the battalion trapped behind the Germany line during the blizzard."

At his blank stare, she continued. "You ran into me along with two other medics," she sighed. "Playing catch." She said the last word with a bit of distaste.

Jack snapped his fingers, recalling the lady who looked ready to smite him on the spot. "Oh. Wait, why did you say hedgehog?"

She looked up at his hair and Jack sorely remembered his overgrown crew cut. "Did it really look that bad?"

Peggy shrugged. "Did it matter? We had more pressing concerns than the state of our dress."

"And does prim and proper take you hours to get ready in the morning?" he couldn't help but point out. He hardly thought appearances would matter if she was an agent as the file reported but she was attractive in a way that few women possessed and dolling up seemed to work against her line of work.

She gave him a glare that would have put a nanny to shame. "No, it doesn't. Not that it is any of your business."

He held up his hands in a feigned apology. "I can't believe you remember and I didn't. I pride myself in remembering the details. My brain is as sharp as a tack."

Peggy crossed her arms. "I remembered because you were the reason my dinner was ruined. My friends wouldn't stop taking the mickey out of me."

He leaned against the desk. "I'm sure you could've told them that a handsome, young, dashing soldier was at fault. They would've eaten up the gossip, and you know, laughed and giggled."

She raised both her eyebrows. "If I did, they might have found an excuse to play rough with you. Their sense of humor is horrendous. One of them thinks it's especially a riot to pull someone out into the cold in the middle of the night."

"Oh, you meant…" Jack should've known better. He and his buddies hung around the infirmary tent all the time. It was where the ladies were and Peggy certainly wasn't there. "Was Captain America there?"

Peggy glanced away. "He was."

"I really am sorry." He jammed his hands into his pockets. "For the dinner and your loss."

A grim shadow overtook her face, and Jack sorely wondered if he gaffed. When Peggy didn't say anything more, he made a move to leave but she stopped him with a hand on his elbow.

"I exaggerated. At the time, the dinner was ruined but today, I consider it a fond memory. I suppose I have you to thank for it."

Jack's throat went dry. He hadn't expected that. "Right." He roamed his eyes over the desk. "You know what to do?"

"Yes." There was that annoyed look on her face again. He couldn't figure out why, all she had to do was answer the phone. Everyone else had legwork to do.

He pointed to a desk not far from hers. "If you have any questions, feel free to ask me."

"Thank you, Agent Thompson."

He snapped his fingers. "Oh, and as a heads up, I like my coffee with a dash of cream and two sugars." He offered what he thought was a helpful grin. "Just so you know."

Her jaw tightened. "Right. I'll keep that in mind, Thompson."