Mr. Agent Carter
(Shot One)
Bullets whizzed past, pelting deadly indentions into the snow. Peggy fired rapidly back at the enemy, ducking behind a large tree just as quickly. A buckshot sounded to her right as Dugan fired from behind a large rock. Between the two of them, three or four enemy soldiers fell, but there were still plenty left.
"Blast it, Timothy, where's our ride?!" Peggy shouted, reloading her gun.
"Should be along any time now," he replied, firing another couple rounds.
"Well sooner rather than later would be preferable." She clicked the trigger of her empty gun. "I'm out."
"Not to worry," he said, pulling out a spare pistol. He tossed it to her and kept firing. "We can last a bit longer."
Peggy smiled a kept firing as well.
At last, a helicopter came for them, hovering just above the icy ground and providing them with some cover fire. All that was left was to make a run for it. Snow crunched underfoot as they ran, shots ringing out after them. But they were almost there. Peggy turned to get off one final shot before they boarded.
The whizz of a bullet rang in her ears as she felt it make searing contact with her skin. All of a sudden, there was blood running—or rather gushing—down her face. It stunned her for a moment and she stopped, her free hand flying to her forehead, pressing the wound. She looked at the blood dripping onto the snow beneath her. She was hit. She was hit in the head. Was she dying? What was dying supposed to feel like? She wasn't sure.
But just as suddenly, she felt herself being grabbed up and all but thrown into the helicopter. They ascended very quickly, and they were safe. Peggy still felt arms around her, but only numbly. She couldn't quite comprehend all the blood springing forth from her head. She couldn't tell whether she was dying, but she knew at any rate that she was probably going into shock.
And then she was lying on her back. Dugan was looking down at her. He was speaking to her. She tried to focus on his face, his voice. Goodness, she had never seen him look so scared.
"Peggy! Say somethin'. You gotta stay with me, alright? Peggy!"
She did little more than blink in response, still clutching her head, still trying to deal with the blood.
"God dammit!" he muttered, opening a canteen. He spilled its contents over her forehead, momentarily prying her hand away and pouring the water directly onto the wound, finally getting a look at it.
The cold water only seemed to awaken the pain further as it finally began to set in properly. It felt like some awful venomous creature had bitten a chunk out of her head. Sputtering, she shakily wiped her eyes with her less bloody hand. When she looked at Dugan again, he seemed much less frightened. In fact, he looked relieved. Did that mean she wasn't dying? Had the bullet only grazed her? Was she that lucky?
Dugan gave her a smile. "Cutting it kinda close there, Peg." As he spoke, he pressed a cloth to the wound, doing his best to stop the bleeding.
She winced, but gave him a weak smile, his friendly tone calming her. "Is my hair entirely ruined?" she joked, her voice a bit unsteady.
He chuckled. "Nothing a comb couldn't fix."
When they arrived at base, the bleeding was mostly staunched, and Dugan had wrapped her head in gauze. Nevertheless, she was in line to see the medic. He carried her straight from the helicopter to the doctor's tent. Despite her insistence that she was capable of walking, she gave a weak resistance. She had lost a lot of blood and was more than a little woozy.
In hindsight, Peggy knew she must have looked positively gruesome as Dugan carried her in, her head bandaged and her hair matted with drying blood. Doubtless it had been a startling image. But the doctor had stitched her up in no time, and soon enough she was in her own tent, resting.
Dugan looked in on her after he had gotten himself settled. "Knock knock," he said, coming in, "You still alive in here?"
Peggy smiled slightly. "Afraid so. Though I feel like a bloody mummy."
"A mummy?" he chuckled, "Only your head is wrapped up, Peggy?"
"Well, the morticians are on a lunch break." She managed a weak laugh, though it made her head throb.
He laughed again and pulled up a chair. "Did they feed you?"
"Oh yes. The finest rations money could buy. They just want me to stay off my feet now."
"Well, I agree."
"Hm. I wonder if you'd be so quick to agree if I were a big, tough man like yourself."
He rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Nobody's tougher than you, Peggy. But nobody can shoot a gun right after they lose a quart of blood either."
She smirked a bit. "Well, just between us, I am rather worn out. Only it smarts a bit too much to go to sleep."
"We could see about some morphine, you know. That's some good stuff."
"Yes I know, and I already told the doctor I won't have any. Do you think I'd take a drop away from the poor souls out there who really need it? Please, it's only a flesh wound. A minor graze to the temple and nothing more."
"Suit yourself."
"You know I always do."
He laughed. "Oh I know. Anyway, at least try to get some rest. We'll need you on your feet tomorrow." He stood to leave. "Oh, and Peggy," he said before exiting, "for the love of God, don't ever scare me like that again."
