Earth-717: Captain America Vol 1
Chapter 1: Miss Carter
As much as she tried to hide it, a wave of grief washed all over Peggy's face. Her austere expression was betrayed by the modest shivers in her hands; the trembling of her mouth. Looking down at her lap, she massaged her hands together as best she could, but eventually relented and just stared into her right palm.
The silver, circular locket in her hand was latched shut. It was four centimetres in diameter, with a set of thin chains attached to a tiny, round hook at the top, wrapping themselves around her fingers. They felt like small strands of silky liquid, flowing and tracing themselves along the rivets of her skin. Cradling the locket with a curved palm, she pressed the inside of her thumb against its smooth surface, rubbing it back and forth. Miniscule splotches of moisture were left behind on the metal surface.
Feeling the edges of her eyes curve downwards, she heard the familiar and yet faded voice in the back of her mind.
"I got something for you."
"Oh, really?"
Her gaze perused the small latch on the side of the locket. With the flick of one of her fingernails, she could easily unlock it and see what was inside.
"What is it?"
"I can't tell you yet. Before I hand it over, you have to make me a promise."
The trembling of her palm grew more pronounced as she stared at the latch.
"Don't open it until we get back."
We. Such a seemingly innocuous word at the time. He had no idea of the implications that one, simple word choice would have. No reason to believe that she would linger on that single two letter word for the rest of her life.
"Promise?"
Peggy closed her eyes and turned her head to the side, as if turning her gaze away from her hand would ease the pain any more. She pressed the muscles of her mouth as hard as she could to keep it from opening, her pursed lips quaking in resistance.
"I told you I don't like to make promises."
She kept her eyes shut as she closed her fingers around the locket, hiding it from view. The chain was thin enough to escape through the slits of her fingers.
"Please. Just this once."
Lowering her fist beneath the table, she took her free left hand and placed the index finger and thumb on her forehead, resting her skull against the place between them. She let her elbow fall onto the edge of the metal table in front of her, which was otherwise clear. It had the same empty metal sheen as the locket. While she kept her eyes closed, she felt her mind drift back to the room she was in, drinking in the details she remembered in an attempt to cloud her thoughts, even if just for a moment.
The room was small, dark, and had only one entrance: the door which was directly opposite where she was. The walls were made of cyan painted bricks, with no windows. The chair Peggy was sitting on was identical to the one on the opposite side of the table, which seemed to be made of the same type of metal. A single security camera was affixed in the top left ceiling corner, pointing directly at her.
She snapped her eyes open upon hearing the doorknob turn. Looking up, she saw the figure of a woman in her forties walking through the door. She was wearing a long, grey business dress, and was holding a beige file folder in her free hand. Her dark blonde hair was in a bob cut, and it was freshly attended to; a contrast with the set of wrinkles pressing around her eyelids and cheeks.
Coldly gazing upon Peggy for a moment, the woman then closed the door behind her before dropping the folder on the table. As it slapped down on the surface, some of the papers and files jostled their way out of it. Peggy put down her left hand and looked away from them as the woman sat down, pulling her chair in behind her. The woman stared at her for a minute before speaking.
"Miss Carter?"
Peggy sighed and looked over at her, but otherwise didn't respond.
"My name is . . . ."
"Catherine Whitford," said Peggy. "I know who you are."
"Then you know why I'm here."
"Yes."
Whitford sat back in her chair, kicking up one of her feet so she could cross her legs. Placing her hands together and interlocking her fingers, she tilted her head as she continued to try and read Peggy.
"Trying to be difficult on purpose isn't going to help your case, Miss Carter."
"Trying to be intimidating on purpose isn't going to help yours."
Whitford didn't chuckle.
"Miss Carter, I represent the administrative board of the Strategic Scientific Reserve. I have to co-ordinate agents and operations across three separate continents, so how about we cut the bullshit right here?"
Peggy scowled at Whitford.
"I'm here on behalf of the administrative board, no more, no less. Trust me, I don't find this pleasant either, but considering how many hands were in the pot on this, there are many with invested interest in learning exactly what happened."
"Did they read my report?"
"Yes."
"Then I fail to see why this meeting is necessary."
Whitford pushed herself out of her chair and stood up, putting her hands behind her back. She started pacing back and forth around her side of the table.
"This meeting is necessary because you're the only one with the information we need," explained Whitford. "Your report has several instances of murky or possibly even deliberately vague information. Not only are you now the only one alive from Operation Snowfall, but you were also the agent handpicked to chart the progress of Subject Zero for Project Pythagoras from day one. Given certain . . . . disconcerting rumours . . . . we felt it important to learn as many details about your account as we could from you directly."
Clenching her teeth, Peggy listened to Whitford, but did not return her stare.
"And if I don't co-operate?" asked Peggy, her voice strained. "If I quit?"
"Then you will be held in breach of your terms of service to the SSR. Preemptive termination of duty. You will be considered in contempt of a wartime government, and will be treated as such."
Peggy coughed in surprise, finally looking up at Whitford.
"Treason?! You'll charge me with treason?"
Whitford stopped pacing.
"If I have to. And not just any treason, Miss Carter. The SSR is a coalition across the governments of all major Allied nations. If we charge you with treason, you won't just be held in contempt of England or the United States. This would reach across all our political allies."
Peggy growled and slammed her left fist on the table. Whitford didn't move at all.
"You cheeky cunt!"
Whitford turned away from Peggy, as if to stare out a non-existent window.
"Those are the cards you can play, Miss Carter. Talk to me, and spill everything . . . . or you won't be welcome in any country of the free world."
Spending a few moments to slow down her breathing, Peggy looked down at the table. She still had her fist pressed against it. Her facial muscles vibrated with unadulterated fury, but she slowed her breathing until the passionate rage distilled and drained itself. Closing her eyes and shaking her head, she spent several minutes in silence. Whitford stayed still the entire time, endlessly patient.
After a long while, Peggy spoke, without opening her eyes.
"I'll talk."
"A wise decision."
Peggy opened her eyes as she watched Whitford open the folder. She began picking up some of the papers inside, laying them down in front of her. Peggy's eyes jumped from file to file, skimming the text and images.
"I have brought with me all of the official documentation that the administrative board was privy to about everything you were attached to, since the beginning. Your personal history, documents on both Project Pythagoras and Operation Snowfall, all of the events in between. Personnel records, research notes, private discourse."
Peggy snorted.
"Looks like you have more info than I do."
"They want you to sort through all of this and tell me everything you know. Chronological order. We want to see if there is anything we've missed that might be able to answer the questions that we have."
"And what would those be?"
Whitford contemptuously blinked before reaching into the folder and pulling out a handful of personnel files. Peggy cringed as she watched her place them all side by side, facing her.
"Timothy Dugan."
A stout, portly man with a thick moustache, red tinted hair, and a bowler hat.
"Gabriel Jones."
A dark-skinned man in a military jacket and helmet.
"James Morita."
A smiling, Asian man with slight stubble and casual clothes.
"Montgomery Falsworth."
A thin man with an angular head, which had a red beret atop it.
"Natalie Lorraine."
A blonde woman with a devious smile.
"James Buchanan Barnes."
A confident, tall, laid-back man with short, unkempt black hair and a blue jacket.
"Steven Grant Rogers."
Peggy winced upon hearing the name and looking at the picture. It showed a muscular, well-built man in an iconic white, red and blue uniform. He held a circular shield in his left hand that matched his outfit. He was looking not at the camera, but into the distance. Peggy felt herself take in a breath as she fought back her subconscious inclination to cry.
"Margaret Carter."
Peggy saw herself in the image. She had the same curly brown hair. The same thick, ruby lips. The same brown uniform. As she looked into her own eyes, she remembered everything she felt when that picture was taken.
Honour. Courage. Confidence.
All of those feelings were long gone.
"This is the roster of the special forces unit referred to as the Howling Commandos, sanctioned by the SSR," said Whitford.
Peggy closed her eyes, knowing what Whitford was going to say next.
"They've all been listed as killed in action."
All Peggy could feel was the quickening of her heartbeat.
"Except you."
Peggy slowly looked back up at Whitford.
"Is that a question?"
"We want to know why out of eight of our most decorated soldiers, only you got out of that base alive. Not only that, but also how you managed to get the most important living icon of the free world killed."
Peggy abruptly stood up, her nostrils and eyes flaring with rage.
"You shut your mouth!"
"Miss Carter, your incessant and vulgar outbursts are both unnecessary and unwarranted."
"I'm tired of your bullshit sideways accusations."
"Then tell me the truth."
Whitford glanced down at Peggy's right hand for a moment. That was all she needed to divert Peggy's attention. Looking down, she noticed that both of her fists were on the table, and the set of thin chains from the locket were wrapped around her fingers and wrist.
Peggy sighed again, shaking her head but this time keeping her eyes open.
"It seems the rumours were true," stated Whitford, snidely.
With a frown, Peggy slowly sat back down in her chair. Whitford nodded and moved back to hers. Once they were both seated, Whitford sat forward.
"Start at the beginning. Your file says that you received your assignment for Project Pythagoras in January of 1941. As good of a place to start as any."
Peggy took a long time to think about what she was going to say. Once again, she opened her palm and looked at the locket inside. Her breathing slowed, her muscles softened, and her eyes watered. While she allowed the first two, she fought hard against the third. Wiping her face once, she then forcibly strained her eyes so as to not let any tears leave. She made sure her body was as still as it could be; all of her shivering was gone. When she was ready, she spoke.
"It started in a museum."