Takes place after Captain America: The First Avenger before the series Agent Carter.
A fine day for a fine cup of coffee and fine, doughy, buttery croissant. Oh, how Peggy Carter loved croissants. They didn't come quite near doughnuts, perhaps, but a croissant was still among her favourite pastries. But what complimented her afternoon snack the best was the brilliant sun, the sapphire-blue skies, the heat so warm and thick she felt cocooned in a blanket, and the gentle breeze wafting along city streets like only a Summer breeze can. Such a warm, pleasant day it was, she could almost forget about the injustice of the office (a fact she knew but had just earlier in the work day been displayed, lest she begin to forget).
"Agent Carter," a voice to her left sounded. While the formal title and tone weren't surprising, the unfamiliar woman who spoke was. Peggy tore her gaze from the shop across the street (the owner was having a heated argument with some civilian right outside his store) to regard the dark, slim form of a businesswoman standing behind Peggy's chosen table. The woman wore a black pantsuit and a crisp white shirt underneath. In both hands of hers, an envelope.
"And, you are?" Peggy replied, hooking the leg of her sunglasses and pulling the edge downwards simply so she could see this newcomer better.
"My name is Amaya Jiwe; I work for an independent branch of the government," she said. And to that, Peggy nodded respectfully.
"You found me at my most inconspicuous, I must say," answered the Agent, a subtle glance to her surroundings promoting her point. She wouldn't say she was recognisable sitting here at the cafe, alone and people watching. Well, perhaps the factor of being alone was a slight tip-off, as everyone sitting outside was either a part of a family of four or a couple or three friends occupying a table together.
"It's never that hard," Ms. Jiwe answered with a knowing tone. She ended on a little chuckle. A very professional sound, Peggy noticed.
"Well, please, have a seat." Peggy gestured to the seat opposite her while taking up her mug again. She sipped the rejuvenating liquid.
Miss Jiwe sat in the indicated chair and laid the envelope out on the table before her. There was nothing like seeing the return address to make one pull away from one's coffee mug rather prematurely and splutter a bit to contain all the coffee in her mouth. (Nothing like the British hospitality.) She followed up with, "Apologies," and laughed a little, hoping it might cover up that innocent mistake. How official! And how far above her current job's level! (Yes, even the SSR had its limits.)
"So," began Peggy, settling the mug down with both hands as if nothing has happened, "what's the name of this branch?"
"I'm sorry," Amaya said, and her smile possessed the same sentiment, "but that information is classified. Unless–" She pronounced it with so much promise, Peggy couldn't help but be drawn in further, "–you decide you would like to join us."
Another classified government program, Peggy mused. She's slowly racking them up in her resume.
"Did I say something amusing?" asked Miss Jiwe. She sounded genuinely concerned. Only then did Peggy realise the smirk that had traversed her face.
"No, no," she quickly covered up. "That's not it at all. While this certainly sounds promising, I do currently possess a job–."
"With the SSR."
Peggy eyed the street behind Miss Jiwe, expecting ears to be everywhere. As a spy, she learned one thing: paranoia was tool not a hindrance, and one must channel it even when things seem most unlikely. In this instance, however, it was nothing but a liability… and a necessity.
"No one will know," Miss Jiwe reassured. And she had a point; the families behind the talking women weren't listening to a word they were exchanging. It probably had to do with the fact that the four-year-old was screaming his head off still for the ice cream that fell on the concrete moments prior. "You picked a lovely spot for conversation." Her eyes glinted in such a manner akin to friends sharing an inside joke.
"Thank you. Although, I didn't realise what it was for," Peggy said, albeit pointedly.
The woman sat back in her chair again, and Peggy was tempted to refer to her as 'Amaya' now simply because of the shift from formal to casual.
"How is work going for you so far?" she answered, speaking in such a way that told Peggy this woman was searching for a specific answer, and the one she would get would almost certainly prove her case. Call it instinct (call it whatever you wanted), but Peggy suddenly grew inclined not to give her that satisfaction.
"It's going great," she replied. Well, that was a flat-out lie… "The work I do is very vital to function and organisation."
It was less of a lie… A white lie, or half truth.
"They have you say that, don't they?" she teased. Peggy knit her eyebrows together at the insinuation. In this case, it wasn't completely baseless.
But, still…
"They don't have me saying anything," she objected, but what started as a defiant statement morphed into the rant that had been building in her chest since ever the war ended and she had been sidelined to desk-duty. "In fact, they don't have me doing anything at all! It's positively boring, I must say. The other day, I was put in charge of creating an organisational system while the men went off on the most exciting case yet! It's as if I'm living vicariously through them when I could be helping. I could be a major asset, but do they want that? Of course not!"
Amaya watched Peggy carefully, and little by little, a smile stretched across her face.
"Yes, we do believe you have what it takes," she spoke knowingly. "And you are most definitely allowed in the field with us."
Peggy was skeptical of many things, but the smile Amaya gave her just then seemed to quench any worry. That smile provided more truth than anything else Peggy might have encountered before. One woman to another, each with an eerily similar mindset. Why would lies happen there?
Paranoia is a tool.
Amaya handed out the envelope, inching to the end of her chair in anticipation of conversation's end.
Peggy accepted the thick, rectangular paper.
"I will read your letter," she confirmed, "and I will seriously consider your offer. After all," she paused only a split-second to review the writing on the envelope one last time (to ensure she wasn't mistaken), "the return address is quite something."
"We hope you do, Agent Carter. It was a pleasure meeting you."
"The pleasure was all mine, Miss Jiwe."
The corner of Miss Jiwe's lips twitched upwards into a fleeting grin – one second's break from formality before it all came flooding back, as in the steady expression, the intuitive gaze.
"Call me Amaya."
It was then that the mysterious woman started walking down the sidewalk. After an uninterrupted minute, Peggy watched a possible colleague disappear around the corner. If the envelope hadn't been left in her grasp, Peggy would have thought her desperate imagination had cooked it all up: the perfect promotion. Her heart swelled with pride, with disbelief, with happiness and several more emotions she knew no name for.
Her fingers slid underneath the envelope flap. She flicked it up and turned the carrier upside down so the letter jutted out and dropped into her outstretched palm. It was all unceremonious, but she was much to exhilarated to care. He unfurled the three flaps, held the letter taut between her two hands (one placed at the top and one tugging down the bottom), and began to read:
Dear Agent Margaret Elizabeth Carter,
Due to recordings of your time in Germany as well as several more accounts of your work both in the SSR and elsewhere, we have–
A car horn, louder than artillery craft, snapped her out of the reading.
"Hey, Peg, fancy a ride?"
What an idiot, she thought (but endearingly, of course). She folded the two outside flaps into the third, middle section and shoved the letter back into the envelope. She'd read it, eventually, just not now; there was pressing business to attend to with Howard. A project of sorts. An idea that had been brewing in the back of their minds ever since a certain man had sacrificed himself at the end of a war.
"No, I don't think I quite fancy it," replied Peggy as she came over, her expected sarcastic quip, opened the car door (pastel yellow, of all colours, she thought with a mental eyeroll), and settled onto the leather seat of Howard's convertible.
"What have you got there?" he asked and inclined his head towards her lap. The envelope containing the promotion sat on her lap.
"An envelope."
He raised his brows.
"It seems people want me much more than you and your so-called inventions."
"I'll have you know," Howard said, shoulders squaring and voice growing indignant. Of course, it was all in good, mocking fun, "my inventions are the pride of America."
"Are you ever going to not quote the president?" challenged Peggy. "That was years ago. I think you might have peaked."
"Me? Peaked?" he said. As he steered out of his horrible parallel parking job, a smirk came over his face; "Looking forward towards another all-nighter?"
Peggy was glad she wore sunglasses, as it made her look much more disinterested in whatever thing came next out of Howard's unstoppable and surprisingly large mouth. She knew how his words came across to the other women on the street, and she wasted no time correcting him.
"I'm looking forward towards, at least, a few hours of sleeping on my own, yes, after the copious amount of paperwork we're about to do. Is that what you mean?"
"You ruin my fun, Peg," the Stark said as he, in his obnoxious car of yellow, raced straight passed a stop sign with no indication whatsoever. A millionaire could probably handle a few tickets for traffic violations. "Never change."
And, she didn't. She didn't even change jobs. In the bountiful research of hers and Stark's little side-project, the letter got swept under the rug, so to speak. In reality, her foot accidentally caught the edge when she jumped up to show Howard something very, very promising and kicked it under his couch. That "night" (having stayed up until the crack of darn), they were too tired to remember anything as trivial as a mysterious envelope, and at nine in the morning – after awaking from a few hours of deserved rest – neither bothered to check under the couch as they were cleaning up their mess of papers in the living room. After all, according to their project filing system, they had collected everything. With a sleep deprived mind, not even a caffeine boost could make her remember the letter for the rest of the day.
That night, she lay awake pondering where she lost it. In the morning, at the SSR's secluded office, she shuffled the papers on her desk around in a last-minute act of desperation; it could have fallen out of her handbag and integrated with her other paperwork – busywork, she heard Amaya's voice huff in her head. She couldn't find it.
Before their project's next late night brainstorm session, which was the following weekend, Peggy checked under Howard's couch. It wasn't there. It wasn't there! She crawled on her hands and knees to check the low table in front of the sofa when the genius himself stopped short at the sight and questioned Peggy's intent. His embarrassing joke, two wine glasses, and a promise to help search later drove the thought from her immediate attention.
Yet...
They became so swept up in actual, tangible progress that both parties forgot all about the letter lost under the couch.
Of course, a hassle of a misunderstanding later and the resulting manhunt drove such thoughts even further from Peggy's priorities.
In the struggle of trying to prove her friend's innocence, the thought of the lost letter faded away as more immediately urgent thoughts took the limelight. It was simple, really: her friend was in trouble. It wasn't until years later, after her adventures had petered out and were replaced by the office setting of a S.H.I.E.L.D. director, that he schedule and mind cleared enough to consider the lost opportunity again. Howard Stark was in the process of emptying out his current mansion in order to move to Malibu, California ("closer to Maria's family," he reasoned aloud), and Peggy resigned herself to help with the duties of moving. She was one of Howard's only friends and on excellent terms with his newly wed, Maria. Not to mention, she got along famously with their aging butler, Jarvis.
Peggy entered the living room, the last room to be emptied. She eyed the couch, the thief of opportunity, and placed both hands on one of the two armrests. Shelifted her end of the couch, a little too impatient to wait for Jarvis even though he promised they'd help together, when a pair of moving men promptly shoved her out of the way and hefted the couch out the door. Peggy held her expression when all she wished to do was sneer or snap at their backs receding ungracefully around the corner. She stared after them, praying that there would be a time in which women would actually be respected, when a beige corner registered in the bottom of her vision. Taking a step forward, she crouched to pick it up. She pulled it out, saving an envelope from over halfway underneath the rug's edge. She chortled, knowing just how little Howard's head was screwed on. Howard nearly lost– She straightened. And turned it over in her hands. The back read,
To Agent Carter
She instantly knew what it was, and a pang of regret pierced her heart. She never read it. Not in full. She had gotten some sentences in before Howard's car horn shook the thoughts from her mind. What would her life had been, she thought, had she read it all the way through, had she taken this so promising promotion to a better division?
Peggy slid the letter out of its sheath once more.
Peggy unfurled the trifold.
The bottom of the letter was signed in loopy cursive, but she managed to make it out as 'Amaya Jiwe', underneath it was printed 'second in command of the JLA'.
The JLA? Peggy only had heard rumours from her time in the SSR, and she thought this organisation was either a dead branch – a failed experiment – or completely mythological. She had never thought it might be real, the lack of evidence – both scientific and documented – simply could not prove anything. Everything about them must had been more classified than the Manhattan Project! she reasoned.
The whole offer threw Peggy's head through a loop. So much potential she had missed, all because the SSR and then S.H.I.E.L.D. had been more time and energy consuming! She had to sit down, but the entire mansion was bare. The couch had been the last seat in the room before it had been whisked away by the two, rude men. Peggy resigned herself to the floor.
Jarvis found her five minutes later. He found her reduced to nothing but a stunned pair of eyes reading and rereading the offer laid out in typewriter ink before her. Although no words were exchanged, he settled down beside his old friend and basked in the silence, adding only comfort and support to the atmosphere. Despite having missed the window entirely, Peggy continued to stare in wide-eyed fascination. It had been her dream to do something of that caliber; the Justice League branch would have been perfect for her capabilities and desires.
Had been.
That was exactly it.
It had been her dream.
Long ago, Margaret Elizabeth Carter had learned the importance of letting go. Of seeing the good that came out loss. By missing this grand opportunity, she founded something that would last a century with the only person who truly understood her, who challenged her, and who saw what the world needed same as she. Amazing opportunities? Well, they were amazing, awe-inducing, and left a sour taste in the mouth when such untappened potential was allowed to skip by. Yes, they made even the toughest weep. Yes, no one was immune to the anger which would follow. But in the end, Peggy had defined her life without it, and if she were given a chance to, would she redo it all?
Peggy had a family now, not with the Super Soldier that fell into the ice in 1945, but with the sweet man who had once been her boss, who got engaged to a nurse, who fell apart upon losing that nurse, and who was helped by an ex-spy recover and claw back at life. Peggy had a massive corporation in her name, and like tentacles it was reaching out under the radar, influencing everyday society but safely out of sight.
From the untapped potential she had loved and lost, Peggy made something extraordinary from the ashes. Something like a phoenix personified.