In Bloom
7.

It's times like these when Howard wishes he didn't cower before strong women. Despite appearances, Angie has a sharp tongue, and he regrets letting her get away with the only weapon. Because, right now, he could really use one. After trying to discover Peggy's whereabouts, he stumbles upon five men in uniform, all speaking in quick, hushed Russian.

The occasional sentence he is able to catch. None of the men notice him as he walks past, a panicked skip in his step. Then he hears his name; "Margaret Carter" soon following afterwards. Howard lingers, pretending to inspect the walls, all the while his ears alert to the conversation behind him. Another voice soon joins. Howard peers over his shoulder. A hefty man has shown, his voice deep and rattly, cutting through the conversation.

Clearly, he is a commanding officer of some sort, because all the men have turned to attention.

Once again, Howard is subjected to Russian, but he widens his eyes when he hears one name in particular––Dorothy. The hefty man then clicks his tongue, and uses a Russian name instead, one Howard can't pronounce. It begins with Y, regardless, and Howard realises the name Dorothy isn't in fact Dorothy's name at all––it's the name beginning with Y which has already slipped his mind.

What they say about the name beginning with Y leaves Howard gawping at the crowd like a fool.

Because the name beginning with Y is in possession of Mister Stark's weapon, and that wasn't the plan.

Because the name beginning with Y tried to kill Agent Carter before she ran away, and that wasn't the plan.

Because the name beginning with Y isn't their ally, after all.

It's the name beginning with Y they're seeking. They had hoped she might be in this hospital, intending to finish Peggy off. Unfortunately, that doesn't seem the case. Now they want Peggy, so she can answer their questions, and then finish her off themselves.

Howard can't believe his ears. So, all this time, none of this had anything to do with Dorothy Underwood?

The commanding officer spots him staring, and then the group turn to Howard Stark with a look which can only mean bad news. Howard realises he's in trouble, and straightens his shoulders, clicking his heels together. The hefty man walks over to Howard, eyes small, summing him up. Then his eyes land on his face, and there's an uncomfortable amount of time while the man studies his appearance.

One of the men behind him has unclipped his holster.

The commanding officer grabs at Howard's name tag attached to his breast pocket. 'Ackermann.' His English is slurred and slow. 'How very funny. I don't remember Ackermann wearing a moustache.'

'No?' Howard returns to his accent from before. 'I thought I'd try out a new style,' he strokes his moustache, 'Not too bad, right?'

The man glares at him. 'You're not Ackermann.'

'Oh, yes, I am!'

'Oh, no, you're not!'

'Oh, yes I––' Howard stops, realising this is getting him nowhere. When he looks over the man's shoulder, he's rather horrified to discover four guns are now staring at him. That damn Angela had better be using her gun to good to use. Thanks to her need to be Miss Heroine, he'll probably die here. And there could not be a more humiliating death.

Especially for the brilliant and infamous Howard Stark.

The disguise has been foiled.

'Listen,' Howard says carefully, 'I mean no harm. Please, go about your business and I'll stay out of your––' The commanding officer yanks off his cap. '––way.'

'Ah-ah. Well, if it isn't Mister Stark,' he grins slyly. 'That saves us a trip around the world in order to find you.'

'Mister Stark?' He plays dumb, 'Who's that?'

'How about you tell us where your lovely lady is. I thought you were smart, Stark. Didn't you know ladies like her always have ulterior motives? You must have been quite useful to her.'

'I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about,' Howard laughs. 'And even if I did, you wouldn't hear a damn thing from me.'

'No problem.' Another gun is pressed to his forehead. 'You're useless to me anyway.'

'I wouldn't do that, if I were you.'

'Yeah?'

'Yes.' Howard nods, unnerved. 'You should know, sir, that help is on its way. You are terribly outnumbered, not that I sympathise. Also, killing me? I am Howard Stark. The greatest inventor to have ever lived, although I do hate to brag. Do you honestly believe you can shoot me and live harmoniously for the rest of your life?' He cocks a brow. 'You're not the only one who's after me. If others find out you have my head on your desk, bullets will rain in through your window.'

The gun wavers a little, but the man doesn't lower it. Not yet.

He eyes Howard suspiciously, processing what he has said. Howard grins crookedly. 'Dare I mention the wrath of Agent Carter?' He shakes his head, tutting. 'Oh, dear, oh dear. You haven't heard the stories? They say she can destroy an entire battalion with her own bare hands.'

This causes an uproar of laughter.

'You don't believe me? Well, why not find out for yourself?' He steps closer to the gun. 'I'll join you in Hell, regardless, and you can tell me all about it. They say her eyes turn red in her fury.' As a matter of fact, these stories are partially true, but for the sake of exaggeration, Howard has, indeed, exaggerated. Peggy had better be grateful he's speaking of her in such a high manner seconds before his own death. 'I'm sure you've met great soldiers, but none quite like she.'

'She's a woman,' he spits. 'What's she gonna do?'

'And that, sir, is exactly why you should be very cautious about what you intend to do next.' He glances at the gun, then back at the man again.

The gun is withdrawn, as are the others.

'I'll let you go, but, first, you will take us to her. Where's she hiding?'

'If I had found her, do you honestly think I'd still be mingling with you lovely gentlemen?'

The man flushes a little, because he has a point.

But Howard has embarrassed him which has, in turn, spoiled his ego. 'Get him. Lock him up somewhere.'

'Hold on a sec––' A fist meets his jaw, blood exploding from his lower lip, 'Ow! Ow.' Three men hurry over and grab his arms, yanking them painfully behind him. 'This is entirely unnecessary!' Howard insists, only to receive another punch to the face. He could really use that gun right now.

'And I couldn't be less frightened by your daft whore––'

They hear it before they see it.

A bullet rips through the commanding officer's skull. Blood showers across the men, and they watch helplessly as their commanding officer sinks to his knees and collapses to the side. Howard stiffens when the man next to him is knocked back from a bullet. The man to his left yells out as his knee is bitten by metal, and from the corner of Howard's eye, it looks as if his head explodes.

One of the remaining men rushes forward, and flips backward when a bullet stabs his heart.

Howard turns his head away when the two last men let him go and try to shoot at what is shooting them.

A blaze of bullets escape their guns.

Their target ducks for cover. When the men reload, Howard dashes forwards and elbows one in the temple, knocking him down. The other man turns to shoot him, but Howard kicks him in the groin, causing him to double over. Howard is left stunned when a small figure comes up from behind and drags the man down by his collar. He splatters onto the floor, winded.

Before Howard addresses the small figure, he comes over and slams his heel into the man's face. He falls back, unconscious.

'Phew.' He turns to Angie, who's slightly out of breath, pale in the face and wide eyed at what she's just done. 'I sincerely hope it wasn't you who shot all of those men, sweetheart.'

'Leave her be.'

Howard's eyebrows shoot up his forehead when he hears Peggy's voice. Whipping around, he sees his friend balanced on a crutch, leaning most of her weight to her right. In her hand is the handgun she has been using to shoot down the men who tried to attack her.

One: Howard is relieved Angie hasn't turned into a bloodthirsty devil.

Two: Howard is relieved and horrified to witness Peggy alive, on her feet, idly holding a weapon in her hand.

This woman is mad.

'Angie, thank you,' Peggy says, groaning a little from the pain in her back.

The younger woman is surprisingly quiet. In fact, she hasn't uttered a single word. Howard watches as Angie hurries over to Peggy's side again, taking one arm and slinging it around her shoulders in order to take most of her weight. Peggy is clearly in a great deal of agony.

Howard snatches the weapons from the men, and tucks one into the waist of his trousers.

'My dear Peg, I'm so happy to see you alive!' Howard remarks, placing a hand on Peggy's shoulder. 'I'm guessing your lovely friend found you?' He glances at Angie for confirmation, but she still doesn't say a word. In fact, her eyes are glazed over with something close to fear. Howard can't read her. He looks at Peggy, who's flushed in the face, bags under her eyes, her dog tags hanging from her neck.

It doesn't take him long to realise the issue. Poor Angie has committed something she really should not have committed. Howard decides to quickly change the subject.

'What's the plan?'

'I suppose it was naive of me to believe you would have one.'

'Whenever I do suggest a plan, you always snap at me because my plans never work. Apparently. So, I ask you: what's the plan?'

Peggy repositions herself, her hand gripping onto her clutch tighter than before. Angie watches her with that same disturbing silence, and Howard has never felt so compelled to hold a woman before. In fact, the last time he felt this compelled was when Steve was about to be injected with the serum. Thank God he restrained himself then, and he will restrain himself now.

It's that innocence, that fear––that shattering decency, waiting to be dispelled. Peggy is very much aware of Angie's condition. She protectively clings to her coat, eyeing Howard with a suspicious look which isn't needed. Howard has no intention of acting on impulse, even if he appears that way.

'I've contacted the SSR,' Peggy finally says. 'They should be with us shortly. In the meantime, I suggest we stay out of sight. Unfortunately, due to my physical state, I can't move around as fast as I'd like to. You'll either have to bear with me, or run ahead of me. The latter is probably wisest.'

'No,' Angie's voice startles Howard. Her voice is still very much the same, but it trembles. Holding back something awfully heavy. 'D'you think we went all this way just to leave y'behind?'

Bless Angie and her tiny temper. Howard twitches a smile at Peggy's resignation. It takes a lot to win an argument with Peggy, but Angie doesn't have to try. He catches sight of Angie's engagement band, and his heart sinks. Blunting his expression, Howard nods, 'I agree––' Peggy glares at him, so he grins nervously, adding, 'Hey, don't get angry at me! You owe me: I saved your behind.'

'Technically, Angie saved my behind, thank you very much.'

It's the sound of hurried footsteps which interrupt their quarrel. Angie reaches for Peggy's top, pulling her forwards, and all three of them manage to find a room, and hide out of sight. No doubt their gunfire was heard by most of the hospital. Fortunately no one enters the room; for the moment, they're safe.

Howard stays by the door, popping his head up every now and again to peer through the glass.

Peggy is more than grateful to be relieved from standing. Rather ungracefully, she drops the crutch and slides to the floor where Angie meets her, still clinging onto her top. Howard looks away, respecting their privacy.

Agony is contorted in her expression as Peggy presses a hand to the lower part of her back. Angie's hands are on her, on her arms, her shoulders, her waist, as she tries to think of ways to ease the pain. 'D'you need to stretch out? Lie down? D'you wanna lie down?'

'Darling, please. I'm fine.'

'The Hell you are,' Angie growls. 'We ain't moving anywhere until you stop wincing like that.'

Peggy chuckles breathily. Angie frowns. 'You are sweet when you're in one of your moods.'

'Moods?' Angie's fury spikes, but she's so terribly precious, Peggy just thinks she's adorable. 'I'm not moody. You're just impossible.' Her words have lost their American accent. Her Italian influence has started to ooze through, and Peggy's smile broadens. Whenever Angie is angry, stressed and all-around panicky, her Italian accent colours her words.

It's funny. Even after all this time, Peggy is still learning something new about her.

'And you are nonsensical.' Angie cocks a brow at that word. 'Honestly, dear, I need only rest. My legs are a little tired, that's all. Now.' Peggy takes Angie's left hand. Purposefully. 'Are you all right?' She softens her voice to a whisper, 'I understand you're quite shaken, darling. Let me assure you that whatever you did was absolutely necessary. You cannot be blamed.'

However, Angie is too busy focussing on Peggy's hand holding hers. Too busy focussing on the band around her fourth finger. Too busy thinking about her father and Henry and her life. The fact that if she is witnessed coming home with her English lover again, she will be sent to one of those hospitals where they inject you with horrible things and make you do humiliating and horrid things and where it's just so, so, so horrifying and scary.

'We'll get out of here. Think things through from there, all right?'

She recalls that man, the one she shot.

Angie's body shudders. She doesn't feel good. She doesn't feel good at all. Oh, Christ, she's going to be sick. She's going to vomit. Angie retreats her hand from Peggy's, trembling and pale. Peggy widens her eyes and tries to reach for her, but Angie shrugs off her hand.

Why did she come here? Why? Why would she be that stupid? What did she expect to happen? That she'd find Peggy, save her life, and then continue as if everything were normal? How can she? How can she do that?

It's unbearable. This whole thing is torture. Whenever she so much as looks at Peggy, it feels as if pincers are at her heart, nipping away the flesh, slowly; that her lungs are being squeezed, squeezed so tightly her chest burns, and she loses her breath. Angie is suffocating whenever she looks at Peggy, and corroding away into nothing but grey dust whenever Peggy isn't near.

She wants to cry. She wants to hit something. She wants to throw a tantrum. She wants to yell at Peggy, slap her across the face for leaving her like that without a fight. She wants to grab her by her collar, push her into the wall, slap her again for dying on her twice, slap her until her cheeks are inflamed and then she wants to kiss her. Kiss her until she's maddened by her love for this woman, kiss her until her lips are broken and torn, kiss her until she can no longer breathe and Peggy's love eventually drowns her. She wants to kiss her, kiss her, kiss her and love her and be hers.

She wants to throw her ring into the embers of her rage. She wants to grab a knife and stab herself in the heart because death will surely be more pleasurable than this Hell she is in.

Angie decides that last one is ridiculous. She's been reading too much Shakespeare.

But everything else, everything about Peggy, rings true.

Peggy turned away. Peggy looked at her, loved her, touched her, and then she turned away. Peggy walked into the jaws of death, its teeth sinking into her flesh, and Angie was told she died. Angie was sent a telegram, a personal telegram, that Margaret Anne Carter, the woman she is currently facing, is dead. That she is gone, seemingly evaporated into thin air.

Peggy walked away and fooled Angie into believing she was gone forever.

Tears burst from Angie's eyes and she slaps Peggy so hard across the face the entire room echoes.

Howard gapes in horror.

'Damn you, Peggy! Just damn you!' Angie grabs Peggy by her collar, and shakes her wildly, enraged and weeping a river of tears, 'How thick is that skull a'yours?! I'd do anything for you, even shootin' a guy where the sun don't shine, and I'd do it for you. That's what you do to me! That's what you've made of me––I came all this way for you. Even though you abandoned me, you didn't want me no more! You tricked me! You made me cry over your corpse again, and I hate, hate you so much right now, Peggy. I really don't like you right now, I––'

Angie retreats, turns away, and violently exclaims with tears, dropping her face into her hands.

Somehow, Peggy finds her feet, her left cheek red and sore from Angie's assault. It throbs with pain, but it is nothing compared to the rip shredding through her body. Peggy's lower lip quivers, and she's lost for words, staring helplessly at the woman she's fallen so deeply for. Peggy has always been a woman of action. She does. She is a doer, but every single trait she is praised for has been snatched from her possession and all that's left is a timid, cowering girl.

That is what Angie's heartbreak reduces her to.

Howard hasn't moved from where he's crouched, and wisely decides to just stare at the door.

Unlike him, though, Peggy cannot decide anything.

She can't decide on whether to let Angie cry. Let her weep. Let her go. She can't decide on whether to apologise, or come up and hold her, like she used to when they were together, when it was all right. When they were encased in each other, wrapped in the shadows of their own sinful love. She can't decide if she has ever loathed herself now more than ever.

And, bizarrely, Steve's face flashes in her mind and hot tears scald her cheeks. It was Steve who led her out of the Japanese camp, and it was Angie who led her to safety. It was those two, together, who saved her life and Angie will never know just how important she is. How crucial she is, how Peggy regrets walking away, how Peggy wishes she could take her hand and belong to her.

Peggy squeezes her eyes shut. She wipes her arm across her eyes, trying her best to rid of any stray tears, but they just keep coming. Her heart is oozing with poison, killing her.

There's too much to say, too little time.

Too little words for such powerful thoughts and emotions which crush her whole.

'Who is he?' Peggy demands, her voice not reflecting her feelings. She's brilliant at that. Masking her voice with the chill of her heart. 'The man you promised to wed.'

Angie turns to her, eyes sore and puffed from crying. Angry tears roll down her cheeks, dripping off her chin, and she hisses at her. 'A good man,' she retorts bitterly, ''Cos not all of us have a choice, Peggy. Not all of us can run free and do whatever they want.' Her Italian accent makes her words more difficult to understand, but Peggy hears each syllable.

'I can't exactly run free,' she snaps.

Angie laughs, because nothing about this is funny. Nothing about this is kind and sweet and memorable. Nothing about this is about them. They're arguing, glaring at each other, and, yet, they cannot withstand the heat, the words they spit at each other. They aren't like this.

Peggy wants to cry harder at that point.

Angie laughs at her.

She laughs at her.

Raking her hands through her hair, Angie jars her teeth, and struggles to breathe. Her voice pours out with her grief, and Peggy stiffens into silence, completely lost and defeated.

'I love you. I love you, Peggy, and I can't ever stop loving you.' Angie gasps, and starts to shake again, clasping her hands together. 'Even when you walked away, I loved you then––I can't stop.'

'I'm sorry.' Peggy wants to slap herself now. Sorry? She's sorry? That's all she can say? I'm sorry? God, if Steve were actually here, he'd be ashamed of what Peggy has turned into. In fact, Steve won't even recognise her. Christ. Peggy can't even recognise herself. 'I'm sorry,' she says again. Stupid, stupid. 'I'm sorry, I am, I'm sorry for everything I've done to you.'

They may as well have shot each other.

Peggy has more to say. To whisper, to tell her.

I love you, too.

You're my life. You're everything that I think about.

Marry me.

Take me.

I want to be yours.

Love me, still.

Don't give us up, my darling. I beg of you.

Peggy says nothing.

It's Howard who hears somebody approaching. He turns away from the two women, sighing out, and rises slightly. Cocking the gun in his hand, he waits for their intruder to appear. Peggy and Angie have fallen into silence, apart and yet so close; he can feel their warmth from where he stands.

Their intruder shows. Almost on instinct, Peggy goes for her weapon.

'Wait,' Howard says, holding up his hand.

Peggy furrows her brows, and glances over to Angie who's concentrating on the door. The agent steps over in her direction, and follows her line of gaze. Howard straightens properly, and exhales in relief, opening the door.

An SSR agent steps into the room.

He glances at Howard, a scowl written on his lips, and then sees Peggy.

The effects of Angie's words have taken a toll. But apparently go unnoticed to those blind from their war.

'Agent Carter,' he grins. 'It's good to see you're still standing.'