So this oneshot takes place in January 1948. I've been really curious to see what things would be like if it turns out that Michael is still alive so I decided to give it a go. Thanks for reading!
It was a rather cold January night, much too cold for MI5 Agent Michael Carter's taste. He pulled his long overcoat tighter against his body and shoved his gloved hands into his pockets. Why anyone would choose such a meeting location was beyond him. He had been waiting for his suspect for a little over an hour behind some crates near the docks, some 50 yards from the scheduled meeting place. His objective was to locate a particular Russian operative and eliminate him before he sold more secrets to the enemy. Of course this particular mission was somewhat outside of his normal jurisdiction, but Dmitri Ivanov had done something to really piss of Michael's employer. They sent him all the way across the Atlantic to make sure that the Russian agent would be permanently eliminated.
He had little doubt that the American's were on Ivanov's case as well. He was a hated man. Unfortunately that posed a problem for Michael. He had to beat the Americans to his suspect. He'd been chasing the Russian for far too long to have the New York SSR muck up his case. If the Americans ever got their hands on Ivanov there would be no way to carry out his mission without getting into a bigger mess. The Russian knew too much to live, and MI5 couldn't have the man spilling all of his secrets to the FBI or the SSR.
Michael watched as a couple of men arrived by the docks. Judging by their appearance he figured them to be Ivanov's hired security. The Russian operative had grown increasingly paranoid in the previous weeks that he had been pursued. Michael had to hand it to the guy, he wasn't as reckless as they all thought. A chill ran up his spine. Ivanov was close. Perhaps he wouldn't have to spend the greater part of his evening in the cold.
He watched patiently as the hired thugs found hiding places. He made note of their locations and waited for his target to arrive. He heard tires crunch against the pavement in the distance. Michael reached into his coat and grabbed his weapon. He kept his eyes on the surroundings as his nimble fingers quickly screwed a silencer to the barrel of his gun. His heart rate picked up in anticipation. Hopefully this was either Ivanov or his contact. Michael was ready to get on with his evening.
Unfortunately for Michael the odds were not in his favor on this particular night. As he soon came to realize, the men in the approaching cars were neither Ivanov, nor his contact. Instead they were none other than the SSR's finest. Michael's already foul mood soured as he watched the agents find their own hiding places. The only reason why he didn't abandon his efforts completely was that he hoped, by some stroke of luck, that the SSR agents might be able to flush his suspect out. His chances were slim, but Michael reasoned that something had to go his way that evening. He was going to try to make the most of his situation.
Approximately five minutes after the SSR agents had settled into their positions Ivanov's contact and his men arrived on the docks. Soon after Ivanov himself arrived. Michael watched in the shadows as the men exchanged a few words and then briefcases. His thumb rested on the safety of his weapon as he prepared for the Americans to make their move.
As soon as the men tried to go their own separate ways four SSR agents jumped out of the shadows. Michael saw the look in his target's eyes and prepared for pursuit. He kept his position and waited for the hired thugs to make an appearance. The SSR agents were outnumbered in this situation. A smile crept across his frozen face as Michael watched the standoff go to hell. Sure enough, the hired guns pounced and Ivanov took his chance to run. Michael prepared to follow the man when a woman's voice stopped him in his tracks. The agent's crisp British accent turned his blood to ice. There was no mistaking who the voice belonged to.
Michael swallowed a stream of curses. Out of all the things he could have anticipated for that evening, this was not one of them. He sank back into the shadows and looked for an exit. Now it was not only his mission that was at stake. He couldn't ruin his cover, not even for this bloody Russian. Peggy could not know that he was alive.
He couldn't believe that he was stupid enough to assume that Peggy wouldn't be in town. Last time he checked Peggy was working for the Los Angeles branch of the SSR. Today was really not his day. Hell, his whole week was going to be shit once headquarters found out he had allowed Ivanov to escape. However, he shelved that problem back into the corner of his mind. He had more important matters to address.
After a quick assessment of the situation, he decided it would be for the best if he remained in his current position until the SSR finished their pursuits. Ivanov had decided to run towards his direction and Peggy was nearly at the man's heels. She could have easily shot the suspect she was pursuing, but it was evident to Michael that the Americans wanted Ivanov in one piece.
Michael felt a swell of pride as he watched his younger sister run past his hiding spot and tackle Ivanov to the ground some thirty yards from his position. That pride quickly turned to anxiety as his target decided that he was not going down without a fight. The Russian disarmed Peggy with ease as she tried to shackle his wrists. Michael found it hard to sit there as he watched Ivanov sent his elbow towards Peggy's face. His sister was faster than her assailant and she quickly dodged the blow. He anticipated her move and tried to drag her to the ground but Peggy used his weight against him and sent him flying. Michael felt another swell of pride and slight tug at the corners of his mouth. He remembered teaching her that technique many years before.
The brief moment of pride vanished as quickly as it came as Michael watched Ivanov recover and launch another series of punches at his sister. Michael tried his best to fight his natural instincts as he watched the Russian exchange blows with Peggy. His sister held her own quite well, she didn't even show signs of exhaustion, but neither did Ivanov. Michael was beginning to worry. Peggy was separated from the rest of the group, at least 100 yards away from the closest SSR agent.
Michael didn't know why he was still there. If he were smart he would have been long gone by this point. Instead, he risked exposure to watch his sister fight with his target. Michael knew better, but for some reason he couldn't look away. As much as he wanted to do something about it, he knew he couldn't. It was forbidden. His grip on his weapon tightened as Ivanov landed a solid blow to his sister's jaw. She went flying back and hit the ground hard. Instead of continuing his escape, Ivanov picked up an old piece of pipe off of the ground. Peggy struggled back to her feet to continue the fight. She was determined to stop the Russian's escape. Ivanov, however, had a different idea.
He watched in horror as Dmitri Ivanov charged at his sister with the rusty pipe. Peggy managed to dodge the first few blows, but eventually her luck ran out. Michael's blood froze as her heard a hideous crack as the pipe collide with his sister's forehead, followed by a terrifying splash as she plunged into the Hudson. He had not realized how close she had been to the ledge.
Ivanov wasted no time with continuing his escape. It took everything Michael had not to pursue the man himself, but there were more pressing matters at hand. His heart sank to his stomach as he watched the inky black surface of the water go still and his greatest fears were realized. Peggy wasn't coming back up.
Fear shot through his veins as he glanced over at his sister's coworkers. None of the agents seemed to have noticed that she had fallen in the river. It was then in that split second his instincts took over and he went after Peggy. At this point he didn't care about the rules or his bloody cover anymore. He was not going to watch helplessly as Peggy drowned.
Michael had enough of his wits about him to shed his coat and shoes as he sprinted towards the river. He did not need them to hinder his efforts as he searched for Peggy in the murky water.
The frigid water was paralyzing as he dived in, but Michael didn't let that stop him. He was determined. He had to save Peggy. Nothing else in the world mattered more than his sister's survival. Their mother was not going to bury another child if he had anything to say about it. His body screamed in protest as he felt around in the inky water for any sign of Peggy. His frantic efforts were quickly rewarded as he managed to grab one of her arms. She was much heavier than he had anticipated. Her thick coat was weighing her down in the water. He ripped her out of the thick garment before making the journey back to the surface.
Nevertheless, the cold water began to take its toll on his body. Michael's strokes became impossibly hard as he tried to claw his way out of the frigid river. It seemed like an eternity had passed before he was able to break the surface. His lungs filled with pain as he gasped for air.
Michael paddled over to the ledge of the dock and heaved Peggy over the side. It took almost every ounce of strength he had left to pull himself back on to solid ground. There was not much time to catch his breath. The nightmare was not over, as he soon came to realize. Peggy was not breathing. Michael couldn't tell whether she had a pulse or not. His frozen fingers refused to cooperate as he tried to press them against her neck.
Instinct took over once more and Michael rolled Peggy onto her back. He wasted no time and began chest compressions.
One. Two. Three. One. Two. Three. One. Two. Three. One. Two. Three. One. Two. Three.
C'mon Peggy.
C'mon.
Don't die.
Please.
Michael had never been more scared out of his wits in his life as he tried to bring his little sister back to life. Tears were beginning to form in his eyes. Peggy was beginning to turn blue. He was beginning to doubt her prospect of survival when Peggy started to cough up water. Michael felt a small wave of relief as Peggy expelled the water from her lungs, but they weren't out of the woods quite yet.
Once he was positive she was breathing again, Michael turned his attention to the gash on her forehead. She was still coughing as he scooped her into his arms and carried her over to where he had deposited his coat and shoes. Immediately, he wrapped his sister up in his dry coat to prevent her from turning a darker shade of blue.
Michael ignored the biting cold that was beginning to tear through his own limbs as he dug through the pockets of his jacket in search of something to stop the bleeding. He grabbed his handkerchief and pressed firmly on his sister's forehead. Peggy winced as he tried to stop the bleeding. He held her close; sharing whatever body heat he had left.
Peggy's body shook in his arms. Michael was not much better off himself now that the adrenaline was beginning to wear off. There was no doubt that he too was going to be hypothermic if he didn't get out of the cold night, but that was not his priority. His only concern was Peggy. Peggy had to live.
Michael scanned the area and searched for the nearest SSR agent. The agents, for the most part, had seemed to have most of the men in custody but they had yet to notice that Peggy was missing. The bloody fools should have started worrying by now.
He slipped his feet back into his shoes and picked Peggy up off of the ground. At this point he didn't care about exposing himself to the SSR. Peggy needed to get to a hospital and the fastest way was by a SSR car.
Peggy fidgeted in his arms. Michael struggled to keep his hold of her as she made her best attempt to squirm out of his grip. She opened her eyes for a moment and weakly murmured his name.
"Michael?"
She wasn't as alarmed as he thought she'd be. He counted it as a blessing, fully knowing that if Peggy were in her normal state he'd probably have a broken nose by now.
"Michael?" She coughed. Peggy's voice was nothing but a hoarse whisper. She sounded somewhat panicked. "What are you doing here? Am I…?"
"No Darling," he cut her off, "You're going to be just fine. I need you to stay awake. Can you do that?"
"If I'm not dead then why are you here?" Her voice was soft and innocent but there was a quizzical edge to her tone. It seemed as if she hadn't put the pieces together yet. Not that he blamed her. He barley had his own wits about him and he wasn't the one who nearly drowned. "Michael, I don't understand."
He did not know how to answer that question at the moment, but he had to keep her talking. "You gave me quite a scare back there Peg, you know that."
She made a sound that was almost like she was trying to laugh, "Keeps you on your toes."
Michael wasn't sure he was going to have toes after this. He smiled fondly and couldn't help but chuckle briefly. He really missed Peggy. "I appreciate that, but don't go trying that again anytime soon."
Peggy closed her eyes and coughed. "No promises," she managed to choke out.
"You really need to be more careful Peggy," he warned. He knew she was more than capable of taking care of herself, but he couldn't help but scold her slightly. He was still her older brother after all, whether she believed him to be alive or not. "Chasing a dangerous suspect like that. Do you want to get yourself killed?"
"That's rich coming from you," she murmured. Michael noticed her speech was beginning to slur.
He raised an eyebrow, "And what do you mean by that?"
"You were the one who went off to war and got yourself killed."
Michael rolled his eyes and gave her a wry smile to cover up the knot of guilt that tightened in his chest. "My apologies."
It seemed like she still hadn't registered that he was there in the flesh. Again, he counted it as a blessing. Neither of them were in any condition to face those hard questions at the moment.
She coughed again. The sickening hack sent chills down Michael's spine and he picked up the pace. He was about fifty yards from the nearest alley. Hopefully the SSR agents were close. Peggy was still talking, but he feared she was fading fast. The wound on her head was quite concerning.
This time she gave no response. "Peggy?" Still no answer. "Peggy! I need you to talk to me."
"You're still here?" She eventually mumbled.
"I'm still here," he confirmed as he rounded the corner and finally spotted a man he believed to be an SSR agent. "I need you to stay awake a little bit longer."
Peggy murmured something unintelligible in response. She was slipping back into unconsciousness.
Michael moved as fast as his frozen legs would carry him in the direction of the agent. Thankfully, it did not take long for the man to notice Michael and Peggy.
The American's concern was immediate as soon as he noticed Peggy. "What happened?!"
"She needs to go to a hospital immediately!" Michael was breathless by the time he reached the agent. The cold was really starting to take a toll on him. He was not sure how much longer his arms would allow him to hold Peggy.
"What happened!?" the agent demanded again. "And who the hell are you?"
"She was hit in the head and fell in the water." Michael handed his sister over to the tall blonde man, but kept his hand with the handkerchief on her forehead.
The agent accepted her without complaint. He glanced over his shoulder and began to bark out orders to the rest of the men. "Ramirez, Wallace! Get the car. Carter's hurt."
Out of the corner of his eye Michael could see the agents running in all directions at the mention of Peggy. They all wore similar masks of concern as they scrambled over to one of the vehicles.
Peggy began to cough again and the agent picked up speed in the direction of the street. Michael kept his hand firmly pressed to the gash on her forehead. He kept pace with the agent as they headed towards the cars. Neither of them said a word to each other, now was not the time for conversation. It didn't take them long to maneuver Peggy into the arms of another agent backseat of the car.
As soon as they were certain that the agent in the backseat had a good hold of Peggy Michael and the agent released their grips. The agent grabbed the car door and peeked his head inside the car to bark out more orders, "Get her to the nearest hospital. I'll meet you there when I get this mess cleaned up."
"Yes Chief."
The agent nodded and slammed the door. As soon as he stepped back the car sped off down the street with its sirens blazing. The agent did not stand there for long. He paid Michael no more attention and walked back over to the swarm of agents.
As soon as the car turned out of sight a wave of exhaustion hit and Michael found it hard to stand. Before his legs gave out he located a stack of wooden crates a few feet away. He sat down for a brief moment and allowed himself to feel a second of relief before collecting his thoughts and addressing the problem of his likely hypothermia and those bloody SSR agents. He briefly glanced down as his hands. He was sure that if they had not been covered in his sister's blood they would be blue. Now that all of the remnants of adrenaline were out of his system violent and uncontrollable tremors shook his body as it tried to respond to the biting cold.
Michael looked up to see the blond agent walking towards him with a coat in hand. He recognized is as one of the thugs'. "I thought you could use this," the man handed him the large wool coat. Michael took it without much as a second thought. "I'd rather not have you freeze to death."
If his face hadn't been so numb, he would have smiled. "Thank you Agent…"
The man offered an ungloved hand in his direction, "Chief Thompson."
Michael thought that Thompson looked too young to be a chief, but these days who knew? He did his best to wipe the blood off of his palm before he reached out and took the other man's hand.
"Thanks for saving my agent." Thompson's voice was full of gratitude. "Not a lot of people would go plungin' into the Hudson in the dead of winter to save some stranger."
Michael nodded, "I just did what was right."
Chief Thompson studied him for a moment before he shoved his hand into one of his coat pockets and pulled out a business card. He looked at it for a brief second before returning his gaze to Michael. He offered up the card in his hand. "Please, take this. If there's anything that we can ever do for you—"
"That won't be necessary, Chief Thompson." Michael waved the card off. "I appreciate the thought, but I don't require any favors or anything else in return. Just take care of her, alright?" The fact that Peggy was still breathing was reward enough for Michael.
Thompson didn't argue. He simply nodded and returned the card to his coat pocket. "Is there anything else we can do for ya? A ride, maybe?'
Michael shook his head and pulled himself up off of the crate he had been sitting on. His limbs still had no feeling, but the shivering was beginning to subside. He was fully confident that he could make it back to his safe house. "I think I can manage from here."
"Alright." Thompson paused and looked him over once more. It seemed as if he had many more questions for Michael, but something stopped him from pressing on the issue. "Take care of yourself."
Michael gave a final nod in response and went his separate way before Chief Thompson could say anymore. Michael had a feeling that the American knew he wasn't just some random stranger. Well-dressed men usually did not hang around docks at this time of night unless they have a reason to. And Michael also realized that he had made no attempt to disguise his accent. This didn't bother him as much as he though he would. Though his exchange with the Chief was brief, he received the impression that the man would not dive into the matter any further.
Peggy, on the other hand. was going to be as mad as a hornet when she put all of the pieces together. And while she was quite out of sorts, Michael had no doubt that in time she'd draw the correct conclusion. He'd always known she'd find out some day, though he had hoped that it would've happened under much pleasanter circumstances.
Michael knew that he was going to have to face the consequences for his actions in the coming days. He doubted a concussion would slow his sister down. After the events of the evening he decided that when she came for him he would not run. Official Secrets Act be damned. He would not hide from her anymore. In the meantime he still had a rogue Soviet that he had unfinished business with.
Peggy woke up in the hospital the next morning with a blinding headache. Bits and pieces of the previous night swirled around in her mind, but she was not yet cognizant enough to make much sense of them. She was aware that there had been some sort of struggle as she pursued one of their suspects and she remembered the cold but not much else. She didn't remember what was the source of the deathly chill, but it was unlike anything she had ever felt before. And then she could have sworn she had heard her brother's voice somewhere in the mix, but that couldn't have possibly been real. She chalked it up to her probable concussion. It's not like this was the first time she'd dreamt of her brother while unconscious.
She pulled her arm out from under the thick blanket that was wrapped around her body and reached up to her forehead to investigate she source of the throbbing. Just as she suspected her fingers found a thick bandage wrapped around head. The man must have hit her harder than she thought.
Deciding that she needed some answers, and perhaps a glass of water, Peggy propped herself up on her elbow to get a better look of the room. Every inch of her body screamed in protest as she moved, but she managed to get somewhat vertical.
Chief Thompson was fast asleep in a chair in the corner of the room. He looked absolutely ridiculous with his limbs sprawled out and hat over his eyes.
"Jack?" Her voice sounded foreign to her. It was a strange sensation.
Thompson woke with a start, but relief washed over him after he discovered the source of the disturbance. He straightened himself out, stood up and walked over to her bedside.
"God, Carter." He barked out a laugh that sounded more like a sigh of relief than anything else, "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes."
"You don't look that good yourself." Despite the lopsided smile on his face Peggy could see dark bags under his eyes. He looked like he had been up for days.
"How are you feeling?"
"Awful. What happened?" Another wave of pain shot through her body as she adjusted herself once more so she could look him in the eye. "Why am I in the hospital?"
Jack took it upon himself to help her out and obtained another pillow from a cabinet so he could prop her up. "You remember anything from the docks?"
"A little. I was pursuing Mr. Natale's contact and something happened, I'm not sure, I think he hit me with something?" Now that she was thinking about it she began to recall more. Blunt force trauma would defiantly explain the awful headache she had.
He nodded, as if encouraging her to continue. "You remember anything after that?"
Pieces were coming back to her, but it didn't make sense. As the fog began to clear her memory was telling her that Michael had been there somehow. But that was absurd, Michael couldn't have been there. "No, what happened?"
He reached over and grabbed the chair from the corner. He wasn't going anywhere anytime soon "Well after that bastard clocked ya, you decided to take a swim in the Hudson."
Peggy raised an eyebrow. That would explain the cold she remembered. "Who pulled me out?"
Jack paused briefly, as if he was choosing his words. "Didn't catch a name. Some fella in the shipping yard saw you go over and went after you. After fishing you out he found us and then here we are."
"How long have I been unconscious?"
He glanced at his watch, "Couple of hours. Nothing out of the ordinary for this kind of thing. Doc said it's a damn miracle that you don't have pneumonia after all that."
Peggy briefly relaxed and settled back into the pillows. "I guess that's a good thing."
Jack nodded. "Yes it is. I had a lovely conversation with Sousa a few hours ago after we learned that you were gonna be okay."
She frowned. Daniel was not going to be happy about this. She truly hoped he didn't do something rash or unnecessary. "How did that go?"
Jack shrugged, "As well as could be expected." He looked at his watch once more. "Chief should be here in about two hours by my estimates."
Peggy's scowl deepened. Of course Daniel would drop everything to fly out to New York to make sure she was okay. "Did you tell him that I was going to be okay?"
"Well I tried, but you're gonna have to tell him yourself because he didn't believe me."
"Of course." No surprise there.
Jack was indignant. "It wasn't like I couldn't tell him, Carter. You are his agent after all." Among other things as well, but he didn't want to push his luck.
"I doubt Daniel is going to let you borrow me anytime soon, " she said with a wry smile.
He laughed, "No kiddin'." There was no way in hell Sousa was going to allow Peggy anywhere near a mission, let alone the New York office, until her medical leave was up. Though he doubted that Daniel could stop her for long. Carter was as stubborn as they came and not one for following orders.
Peggy began to laugh with him briefly until she began coughing. Her already raw throat stung as her lungs desperately grasped for air. It brought back more unpleasant memories from the night before.
Jack got up out of his chair and sprung into action. "I'll be right back with some water."
She nodded begrudgingly as she watched him exit the room. The irony of the situation did not escape Peggy. Water was the reason she was in this mess in the first place. Well that, and the massive gash on her head. Though she wouldn't even be there at all if it were not for the stranger that pulled her out of the water. That last detail bothered her. While Thompson had told her that the man was a complete stranger her scattered memories told a different story. Now that she was thinking about it her brain was telling her that the man who rescued her was no stranger at all. It was Michael. This made absolutely no sense. It had to have been a dream. There was no other explanation for it.
It all felt so real. She sifted through the fragments once more and came up with the same results. She remembers seeing his face for a brief instant. He was drenched to the bone, his hair plastered to his forehead. Unlike the previous instances where she had a brush with unconsciousness, this time Michael was in civilian garb and in full color.
"The Doc said he'd stop by in a little bit to check on you," Jack announced as he returned to her bedside with a glass of water in his hand.
Peggy flinched in surprise. She had been so deep in though she had not noticed him come in.
"Everything alright, Carter?" He raised an eyebrow in concern.
Peggy nodded and reached her hand out for the glass. He looked her over for a brief second before giving it to her. It was much heavier than Peggy had anticipated, but she managed to keep her grip as she took a few gulps of water through the straw. After the burning in her throat subsided she returned the glass to Jack and he set it on the nightstand next to her bed.
They sat in silence for a moment as Peggy decided whether or not to ask the question that was on her mind. As much as she tried, she could not stop thinking about her brother. Something in her gut was telling her that all was not as it seemed.
"Jack," she said abruptly. The man in the chair perked up.
"Yes, Carter?"
Peggy pursed her lips in reluctance for a brief moment before deciding to continue. "What did the man—the one that saved me—what did he look like?"
"Well," Jack paused for a moment as he gathered the details from his memory. "He was tall, taller than me I would say. Blue eyes? Soaked to the bone like you. And he had an accent."
"What type of accent?" Peggy demanded more harshly than she had intended. The man that Jack was describing could be anyone, but the accent, that was something that stood out.
"English."
Peggy's blood ran cold. It took her a moment to process his answer. The man could've been anyone, she tried to tell herself. But her memory disagreed.
Thompson noticed her apparent distress. It was unlike her to display this much emotion on the surface. "Everything alright Peggy?"
"Everything's just fine," she lied. "Did the man say anything to you?"
"Nothin' out of the ordinary. You sure you're alright?" He eyed her suspiciously.
"I'm just a little tired, that's all." At least this wasn't much of a lie. The exhaustion was beginning to creep back up on her. Peggy fought the increasing wave of fatigue as she continued to drill Thompson. "Did the man have any visible scars or birthmarks?"
"I think you should get some rest," he pushed back his chair and stood up. "We can talk about the mystery man later."
"I assure you, I'm fine." She barely managed to stifle a yawn. Her eyes were beginning to grow heavy. "Was there anything else you noticed about him?"
"Nothing comes to mind," he shook his head and headed to the door. "And you're not fine. You can barely keep your eyes open."
Peggy would not give up yet. She was desperate for any sort of detail that would put to rest her fears that her memory was right. "Are you sure?"
"Yes I'm sure," Thompson scrunched up his face in annoyance. "Now get some rest, Carter. That's an order."
Peggy frowned and fought back another wave of fatigue. She shot him a defiant glare, "You're not my supervisor."
"I'm still you're superior," he stated plainly.
She closed her eyes and yawned. "If you want to call it that."
"Carter," he warned. "Don't push you're luck. You've already done enough of that for now."
Jack slipped out of the room before she had a chance to make her rebuttal. She decided that there was no point in pressing the matter and the prospect of sleep was beginning to sound like a good idea.
Peggy adjusted her position and tried to get comfortable, but even as tired as she was she could not relax. Thoughts of her brother consumed her mind. Until now she could never have even fathomed the possibility that Michael was still alive. She had never found a reason to questions the validity of his death. Now, however, she had a few of them. Scenarios played out in her head as she tried to wrap her mind around the situation. Her gut filled with fury as she considered all of the possibilities and jumped to an unbearable conclusion. Michael Carter was not dead.
She had little evidence to support this preposterous theory, but she knew it in her heart to be true. Her eyes had not deceived her that evening. Peggy did not know exactly what she was going to do about it, but as soon as they'd let her leave the hospital she was going to go find some proof. Nothing would stop her from getting to the truth, not this time.
She didn't know how to feel or how to react. What does one do in this situation? Cry? Rejoice? Peggy wanted to be happy, but she felt nothing but anger. She felt like she'd been living a lie for the past eight years. Michael wasn't the only reason she went to war, but he was the deciding factor. If he hadn't died, she didn't know where she would be today. Certainly not here.
Peggy settled into the pillows once more and tried her best to shelve her thoughts. She resolved that there was nothing she could do about it in her current state. If Michael was still out there somewhere she would find him and get some answers. First, however, she needed to heal. She couldn't track down her long lost brother from a hospital bed. As far as she was concerned, there was nowhere on earth he could hide. She would find him, no matter what.
While her thoughts still haunted her, they were quieted under the wave of darkness that finally cloaked her mind. This time she didn't fight it and allowed herself to slip into unconsciousness.
So I've had a billion plot bunnies about Michael Carter. I don't think he is who he seems to be. I have a bunch of different ideas on how Peggy figures this out. Unfortunately I'm an idiot taking 19 credits this semester so I'm not sure how many of these plots of mine will make it to this website, but I'll do my best. Thanks for reading!