In Bloom
9.
At SSR headquarters, Peggy is welcomed back as an equal, but, due to the circumstances of such acceptance, she feels bitter. They know the amount of pain she's gone through, what Dottie had done to her, what happened to her at the hospital. Out of sympathy, out of their own wounded pride, they congratulate her for surviving, but their opinion of her has little weight in her true value.
The crutch remains at home. She has no intention to walk into SSR with a crutch––her gender is already used against her; the last thing she needs is to be taunted for her physical disability. So, throughout the day, she endures the agony bursting through her spine, the difficult to sit and not wince, maintaining a stoic composure when she's standing for long periods of time while colleagues talk and discuss over such trivial matters.
Dottie Underwood's case is avoided; or, at least, hidden from Peggy. Eventually, Peggy grows tired of her own ignorance and approaches the Chief about the situation. Have they found any leads on Underwood? Who were the men who invaded the hospital? What happens next? She hardens her voice when he challenges her, but all words are lost when he mentions Captain America, referring to her as nothing more than his little heart throb.
The woman has proved her worth; they have no need for her.
Bed rest is what she requires, apparently. Bed rest, a blanket––because Peggy can't handle further commitments. She can barely handle paperwork, apparently. She is too weak, apparently. She does not even amount to one, single agent, apparently. She lost Dottie. The trail has gone cold. Now Howard Stark's weapon is in the hands of a dangerous criminal.
And Peggy is to blame.
She is dismissed, and he even suggests she go home early. Clearly her "womanly issues" are disturbing her. Peggy glares at him.
Leaving his office, gathering her documents, Peggy doesn't cry. She doesn't cry when she exits headquarters, a few colleagues staring after her with either puzzled or pitying expressions. She takes the bus home. Skims through her reports, studies Dottie's photographic identification, as if clues might suddenly jump out at her.
Stepping off the bus, she proceeds home, trying not to limp. She fails. Peggy doesn't know if she should be grateful that she's been dismissed early, because the moment she steps in through the door, Peggy bursts into tears.
The folders helplessly slip from her arms and she makes no effort to pick them up.
Sometimes, sometimes, she just wants to give up. What's the point? Every day they scowl and laugh at her, even when she survives a fatal gunshot wound––multiple gunshot wounds, and even escapes a Japanese camp alone. But Peggy is used to that: her isolation. Wherever she goes, she's either bullied, shot or rejected.
'Rough day, Agent Carter?'
Peggy gasps in horror, tear-stained, and instantly reaches for her gun. She's too slow; her wounds hinder her. A thin, yet heavy woman pushes into her, crushing Peggy up against the wall. Peggy exclaims at the scorching pain in her back, and her intruder slaps her across the face.
'You'll alert your flatmates,' Dottie whispers, 'And this is a private conversation, just between us two ladies.' She twitches a smile, 'My God,' a frown, and she reaches over to wipe away Peggy's stray tears. Peggy flinches at her touch, and growls at her. 'What has happened to you? Has the great Miss Carter finally been pushed to her limits? Oh, what am I to do now?'
'What do you want?' Peggy snaps, eyes burning. 'You stole Stark's weapon; your job is complete.'
'Oh? You mean this?' Dottie holds up the tiny weapon. Peggy's heart skips a beat. 'I shouldn't worry…' Dottie lets the weapon slip between her fingers, and it clatters to the floor. 'It's yours if you want it so bad. I have no further use of it. Maybe you should walk back to your SSR agents, show them what you found, all by yourself. They shall be panting over you in no time.'
Peggy grabs Dottie's wrist and twists it in an unnatural angle. Dottie yelps in surprise, and tries to kick her, but Peggy's rage wins and she knocks the blonde over. Straddling the back of her hips, Peggy pins Dottie down. 'What the Devil are you playing at, Underwood? My patience is minimal, so, please, speak up! Now before I do what I should have done the moment I laid eyes on you.'
Laughter. Cackling laughter. Dottie is amused. 'Oh, you are full of surprises, Agent Carter!' Then, her laughter disappears completely and she stiffens beneath Peggy. 'How many times do I have to kill you before you die?'
'A Russian man tried to murder me in my bed. You were mentioned, as was Stark's weapon.'
'Fascinating.'
'Who was he?'
'Oh? Oh, you poor thing.' Dottie giggles. 'Oh, you poor, poor thing. You honestly believe I have anything to do with him? Those men who searched the hospital––ah, Pegs, you weren't their prime target. You do know that, right?'
'What?'
'They were searching for me. They have been for over three decades now.' Dottie smirks. 'They wanted the weapon, too. So silly. Thinking I'd show up at your bedside to finish you off. Not my style. You wanna know what is my style, Peggy Carter?' In a flash, Peggy is thrown off Dottie's back, and their positions are switched. Dottie grins wildly. 'Better.'
Peggy struggles against her. If she weren't so severely wounded, she might have managed, but Dottie is unbeatable. Dottie licks her lips, and starts to laugh again when Peggy stops writhing.
'Giving up so soon, my darling?'
Peggy looks up at her, her expression blunt and cold. 'Three decades? Do you truly think I'd believe in such fabrication?'
'You'd be surprised. Maybe you should get to know me?'
'What do you want?'
'Mm.' Dottie straightens, happily spreading her hands down Peggy's stomach. 'A lotta things.'
The agent grabs Dottie's wrists, yanking them away. 'I'm allowing you one minute to explain yourself.'
'Or what? You'll kill me?'
'Do not tempt me.'
'If you wanted to kill me, Agent Carter, you already would have.' Dottie pulls at Peggy's top button. 'You see, you're a rational woman, quite like myself. We are very similar, you and I.' Peggy rolls her eyes. 'You doubt me? How silly. Us women, we're wolves. We hunt alone, use others to our advantage; we save others only to save ourselves. Isn't that right?'
'Get off of me.'
'Try harder,' Dottie inches nearer to her face, and she's beautiful, terrifying and mad. 'How's your ladylove been, recently?' Peggy's eyes widen, and she dares Dottie to go on. But Dottie is a daring soul. 'The way you skip around her. So scared that Daddy will give her a nasty bruise––you know you only hurt her when you try to protect her? You've never been very good at taking what's yours. Until you lose them.'
'Don't you go near her––'
'Aha! And, there it is. I won't go near Angela. I have no interest in such a pathetic, little girl. She bores me. But you? Oh, Peggy.' Dottie cracks an impish grin. 'The things I could do to you.' Her eyelids close slightly, and her smile drops. 'The things we could do to each other.'
Peggy is conscious of Dottie's hands at her waist, dangerously approaching her breasts. She doesn't attempt at beating her away; Dottie has too much strength over her. 'What is it that you want?'
'I want Howard Stark.'
'Ha!' It is Peggy's turn to laugh. 'And what use would he be to you?'
'His weapon did not succeed.'
'You used it?!'
'Oh, don't be ridiculous, Peggy. Of course I did. Mister Stark is all talk, no brains. His weapon did not work. You should do your homework, otherwise you wouldn't have wasted a trip.'
'Apparently, you should do your homework as well.'
Dottie eyes her hungrily. 'I already do.'
Peggy frowns. 'Why Howard? If you want an improved weapon from him, then don't hold your breath. He will be unwilling to cooperate with you, especially after that stunt you pulled. It's over, Underwood. Finished.'
'You're mistaken.' Dottie's expression has softened a considerable amount. Suddenly, she appears normal. Or, at least, she would appear normal if she wasn't straddling Peggy's hips. 'If you wish to consider me your enemy, Peggy, then so be it, but do not blame me for your sensitivity.'
'I have no desire to work with the likes of you ever again.'
'Hm. Stubborn, but stupid.' Dottie cocks a brow. 'Do you want to win the war, or don't you? We both share a common enemy. Have you heard of the saying, Peggy?' She smiles crookedly. 'An enemy of my enemy is my friend? You might want to put that into practice.' Her face hardens. 'I want Germany to run into the dust. I want Germany to burn, as you do.'
Peggy says nothing.
Dottie pauses, studying her, before retreating her hands from Peggy's body. 'Think about it.' She's about to stand and release Peggy from her cage, but stops herself, and adds, 'Chin up, Carter. No use crying over spilt milk. Let the men think they're in charge, and us women will continue with the real work. That's how we've always got things done.'
Finally she rises, but does not help Peggy stand. Peggy wouldn't accept her assistance anyway. Sitting upright, Peggy watches Dottie approach the door, heels clack, clack, clacking. She slides aside a few of her documents, wraps her coat tighter around herself, elegant and powerful.
Dottie looks at Peggy over her shoulder. 'Call me.'
A small slip of card escapes her fingertips, and Peggy watches it flutter to the floor. Dottie is gone by the time Peggy looks up.
She exhales slowly, relieved and shaking all over.
The places where Dottie touched her singe. Peggy swallows, runs her hands through her hair, before hugging her knees. She can't quite go over everything that happened just yet. She needs a moment. Peggy needs a moment to collect herself, to calm; she can hear her heartbeat, furious and heavy in her chest, she's afraid it may rip open her ribcage.
Minutes pass.
Peggy manages to find her feet. She walks over to the card, passed Howard's useless weapon. She flips the card over.
Three digits stare at her, written in black ink.
Closing a fist around the card, Peggy shoves it into her jacket pocket.
Any evidence of Dottie's intrusion is absent.
'Hey, sugar. You happy to close shop?' Answering is unnecessary. Before Angie has the opportunity to object, her colleague places a set of keys before her and leaves the diner in a hurry.
Angie pouts at her retreating figure. Rolling her eyes, she finishes wiping the last table, snatches the keys, and does as she's told. She clears away any remaining items, the till, and once she's finished, another hour has gone by. Angie pulls on her coat, flicks off the first light.
Ding.
'We're closed!' Angie calls, caring very little for her rude tone.
To her annoyance, this late customer ignores her, and she can hear him or her approach the front of the diner. Angie places the last mug into the cupboard, turns on her heel, ready to dismiss the idiot.
She widens her eyes.
This customer is not a customer.
Peggy tries to smile, but she's not sure if it appears sincere. Angie softens her expression, but doesn't speak or move towards her. They remain apart, the bar barricading them from one another. Angie doesn't need to ask about Peggy's health; she can tell something is wrong, but this something could be multiple somethings, and she's not keen on knowing.
Not anymore.
Angie gulps, and rushes to fasten her coat. 'You shouldn't be 'round me.'
'I had to see you.'
'Please go away.'
'Angie,' Peggy is stern, and Angie freezes. 'Don't talk to me like that.'
'I'm closin' shop,' Angie's voice peaks. She fights the urge to cry, 'I was gonna write to you when we would meet.'
'I couldn't wait.'
'That ain't my problem, Peggy.'
How she speaks to her––so chillingly. Christ, Angie has never talked to her in this manner. Peggy is hurt. Deeply hurt, and she watches helplessly as Angie tries to avoid her, walking to the door. Peggy grabs her wrist, and she doesn't mean to hurt her, but Angie struggles, and Peggy is so shocked by her response, she only clings harder.
Angie looks at her then, pained and angry. She doesn't fight. 'Don't you know what could happen?' Angie's anger spikes. She's crying. For God's sake! Why does she cry so easily? Why does she always have to cry in front of Peggy? She's sick of crying. Sick of losing herself. 'I don't wanna be taken away!'
There is a bruise, dark and ugly at her collar.
Another, hidden beneath Peggy's hand. Peggy instantly lets go of her, as if she's been burnt.
'Who will take you away?'
'Stop it.' Angie rubs her sore wrist, tears pooling her eyes.
'Who will take you away?'
Angie opens her mouth to retort, but she's stopped when she meets her gaze. The way Peggy looks at her, watches her––so softly, her entire face painted with her emotions, every single emotion ripping through her. All Angie sees is love; love in its multiple forms, and she's never been looked at like this, not by her father, not by Henry––nobody.
Nobody looks at her the way Peggy looks at her.
She can't tell Peggy about Father Tomas, or the fact Dmitri contacted him the moment Angie returned home that day. That day when she foolishly saved Peggy's life, when she put her heart before her mind, and ran straight into a spray of bullets. For her. All for her.
She can't tell Peggy anything.
Not about what was said to her.
One more mistake, one more of your episodes, then you are gone.
'Never––Never mind…' Angie says weakly. She locks with Peggy's eyes for a moment, and then she turns and heads for the door. Peggy has no choice but to follow, and she's guided out. 'I wanna talk,' Angie stutters, hands trembling as she locks the entrance to the diner. 'But, I don't wanna talk right now.'
'Angie, I have much to inform you about.'
She turns to her, tears freezing in the chilly air. 'Like what?'
Peggy is baffled. She had an entire speech ready, an essay of words, but her mind has gone blank, and she can barely stand. She looks at her, desperate for mercy, but Angie has none left to give. If she doesn't return home soon, she'll be in trouble, and the terror which shudders her bones at the thought of him looming over her, belt in hand, raised, ready––
The dog tags flash in her mind, and, for some reason, Angie is tempted to flee.
She shakes her head in response to Peggy's silence.
'I told ya to go home.' Angie walks on ahead, but is conscious of Peggy hesitating, and then following a few steps behind. Her throat narrows, 'Go home!'
'I need to talk to you.'
'You got nothin' left to say!'
Angie turns a corner, and slows her pace as she enters an alleyway, the brick cold around her, the ground hard beneath her shoes.
'You said in your letter that you'd listen to me.'
Finally she stops, heaving a heavy, drained sigh. Angie presses a hand to the wall in order to balance herself. Peggy has already ceased walking, with no intention to follow her further. If Angie doesn't want her, doesn't want anything to do with her, then she will not force anything.
Even if Angie's dismissal will break her heart.
'I––' She turns to Peggy, desperate and pleading. 'I told ya everythin'. You know how I feel. Stop tauntin' me, Pegs, and just come out with it.'
Their fragility is so vulnerable. With the lightest brush, they'd fall into shattering pieces, and they're both hanging onto whatever ounce of strength is left in them. Maybe it would be best to walk away. Walk away and just forget. They cannot be––society, everybody around them, forbids that.
Even death, it seems.
Peggy comes into clear view when she enters the alleyway, stopping before Angie, inches apart. She looks down at her, bags under her eyes, cheeks blemished; her appearance such a huge contrast to when they first met, and Angie doesn't know what to think.
Yet it is Peggy's eyes which remain the same: still full of their own enigma, blanketed in a wave of warmth, something tranquil and honest. Peggy blinks slowly, raises her brows, lost for words. Why is she here?
Stupid, stupid, stupid girl.
Go home.
Go back home.
Peggy shifts her weight onto her right foot, fiddling with her sleeve.
There isn't a home to go back to.
She is looking at home, and home is looking at her, and she doesn't really want to walk away just yet.
A second passes.
Another.
Peggy downcasts her gaze, ruined. She doesn't know what to say; she's too tired, too traumatised, too broken. Angie's engagement ring winks in the night, and Peggy's heart tremors.
They look at each other.
And then Angie's back slams into the wall, and they're kissing ferociously, hands pulling and grabbing and squeezing. Angie moans into her mouth, sliding up the wall, forming tight fists in her hair, pushing Peggy onto her. They tangle themselves, kisses hot, wet and wanton.
Breaths quick and heated across Peggy's skin, Angie touches what she can of her, fingers eventually digging into Peggy's sides. They continue to kiss each other with such wild passion and immodesty, even when Angie drags Peggy closer still, Peggy's hands on her hips, thighs, raising the hem of her skirt.
Angie exclaims when she's lifted off her feet, tightly secured in Peggy's hold. The younger woman wraps her arms around Peggy's neck, her shoulders; legs balanced around her waist. She kisses Peggy's face, her mouth, whatever is in reach, skirt bunching up at her hips––'I need you,' she whispers, lips moving over hers, 'I need you, I need you––'
They both moan, stiffening together when Peggy's fingers lightly dance across her entrance. Marking her. Angie hisses between her teeth, knocking her head back. A pause, a delicate pause is shared, and they take each other in, faces touching. Angie's lips are parted, her eyes gentle, fingertips caressing Peggy's cheek when they lean in for another kiss.
Quiet.
Their consent a brief exchange.
Peggy rests on Angie's shoulder, constrained against her, and she makes love to her softly, slowly. Angie silences herself with kisses; little, urgent whispers, more kisses, and when she comes, she presses her mouth against Peggy's jacket, scrunches her eyes shut, her grip digging into the material.
One of them exhales. Angie turns her head to capture Peggy's lips with her own.
They remain pressed to one another while Peggy helps Angie find her balance. Peggy kisses her, her hands busy smoothing down Angie's skirt, before resting into Angie against the wall. They kiss for what seems like hours, days, weeks, and they kiss until their lips sting and their lungs ache.
'I want to stay with you.'
Angie smiles sadly, kisses her cheek.
'Then stay.'
