"Agent Carter? Agent Carter?" A soft male voice penetrates the darkness. It feels familiar, but I cannot seem to place it. "She's coming around. Agent Carter, I need you to take a deep breath."
I exhale a breath I was unaware that I had been holding. Inhaling sharply, my throat burns as my lungs feel heavy and full, like they're filled with water. I can't remember drowning.
"That's it. Just keep breathing."
The air catches in my throat, forcing me to choke. Suddenly everything is bright white as I cough and sputter, trying to purge my body from whatever it is that's invading it. I roll to my side and vomit, clear fluid spotted milky white, pours from my stomach and lungs as every muscle in my body contracts in a singular effort to rid it from my body. There is the distinct ring of metal as the liquid splatters to the floor.
I attempt another breath, my lungs finally wanting to comply with the task, and the haze clearing from my mind as it is suddenly flooded with oxygen. The muscle spasms slow as my vision comes together, the lights, colors, and shapes beginning to coalesce into something my brain can process.
"Agent Carter, are you alright?"
Every breath I take feels ragged, as though I've just run a marathon and my body is trying to catch up. Still rolled on my side, I notice the bed I am lying on, white leather with a polished metal frame. The bed is standing on what looks like a giant drain, through which I watch the fluid seep down, disappearing. I raise my head enough to notice the walls are cement, but are so smooth and so shiny I initially think it to be some sort of glass.
"Agent Carter?" That voice…
I pull myself into a seated position, noticing for the first time that I am in a white dress, not unlike those that the nurses wore during the War, though it feels like paper against my skin.
"Agent Carter, are you alright?" The voice echoes through the room, a distinct accent etched into it. Very English. Yet there is no one in the room but me.
I wipe sweat from my brow as my muscles tense once again. My brain rushes to place the voice, both within the room and within my memory.
"I detect extremely high levels of adrenaline, cortisol, and epinephrine."
There is a metal door and a mirror (though I suspect it to be a two-way) directly ahead of me. I muster up every ounce of strength I can find, piercing my gaze at the mirror. If the voice is coming from anywhere, it's there.
"Who are you? Where am I?"
"Agent Carter, my name is Jarvis."
Jarvis.
Suddenly memories come flashing back. Howard, SSR, treason, weapons, Aggie—Jarvis.
"Jarvis?" It comes out in a whisper. I can clearly see the tall, thin, polite butler Howard introduced me to in my mind's eye. It is Jarvis, I am sure of it, yet his voice sounds hollow and not quite right…
"Yes Agent Carter."
"Wha—where are you?" I can feel my resolve slipping, confusion and fear creeping into my consciousness. I struggle to keep myself together, clutching my fists around the edge of the bed, anchoring myself to it. As my head begins to spin, my grip tightens on my anchor.
"Sir, her adrenaline level is becoming dangerously high."
I clench my eyes tightly shut, trying to hold onto something I know is real—the bed beneath me. My fingers curl—"Where am I?" I whisper to myself. "Where am I?" I focus on the way the words seem to form in my mouth and push their way out. "Where am I?"
"Sir, I must insist that-"
But Jarvis' voice is cut off as the metal door smashes open, hammering against the cement wall. I spring to life, my body jumping, startled, with my eyes wide and fearful as my brain tries to register the next few moments. The polished door glints in the cold light as it reverberates off the wall, taking with it a large piece of sparkling cement. A large man steps into the doorframe, silhouetted at first by the much brighter light behind him. I blink and squint, trying to get a better look.
"Who—" But my voice catches in my throat as the man steps into the room. Everything stops—my brain, by heart, my lungs, everything. Time itself seems to have halted as I look at him, his blonde fringe falling into his eyes, his jaw set square and tight. I'd recognize those eyes anywhere.
"Peg?"
I can do nothing but stare as Steve takes a tentative step towards me. "Peg, it's me." I set my jaw, blinking furiously and acutely aware that I am on the verge of tears. Keep your head together, Carter, a voice blares at me. This isn't real. It can't be. Steve is dead.
He takes another hesitant step towards me, staring directly at me, his eyes clear and blue and earnest and just exactly how I remembered them. "Peg, please," he begs for some acknowledgement. "Peggy, please, for the love of God," he inches his way towards me and while my head screams for me to run, to fight back, to escape, my body continues to be frozen to the bed.
"Breathe."
He reaches the bed with that last word, and everything happens all at once, as if time suddenly realizes how long it has been stopped and is trying to make up for it. I inhale a deep, sharp, and ragged breath, my whole body shaking with the effort and my lungs burning from their lack of use. And it is with the exhale that I realize that I am actually sobbing. The shaking is every sob wracking its way through my body. Understanding floods through me, forcing my mouth open to release itself in a horrific, sobbing, scream. In the same moment, my body disengages from its anchor, falling forward into hard muscle.
Into Steve.
Acceptance rushes through me as his scent engulfs me and I find myself consumed by his presence. His strength, his voice, his feel is all the proof I need. His warm lips graze my forehead, his breathe hot on my skin. As I fold myself into him, his soft, nimble finger tips dance across my back, attempting to quiet my sobs.
"It's OK, Peg. I'm here, I've got you. It's gonna be alright."