October 1969

It was 1969, and Peggy was 48 years old.

Belinda was 30 years old and, thankfully, still looked it.

Being Belinda was far easier than being Peggy.

For a start, Belinda was just another face in SHIELD, which meant that people didn't notice quite so much when she didn't age. Plus, she was a good decade younger than Peggy, so she had no reason to be showing obvious signs of ageing just yet.

Were it not for the sudden focus on her potential links to Lady Liberty, Peggy would likely have delayed the faking of her death for another ten years or so.

It worked all the same; a few days after her 'funeral', Lady Liberty stepped in to help with a protest march, and all suggestions that her true identity was Peggy Carter stopped immediately.

'Belinda's' true identity required Level Eight security clearance, so only a handful of SHIELD officials knew the truth, along with Howard and the rest of the Howling Commandos.

The years rolled by, and Peggy watched her nearest and dearest begin to grey and wrinkle, ticking closer and closer to the end of their mortal coil.

It was a morbid thought, but one Peggy couldn't quite escape.

Every year, at the Commandos' reunion, she and the boys would sneak off for a photograph, since their families all remained unaware of the truth.

She had an album - a series of photographs, in which they slowly changed around her, and she remained the same.

Operation: Valkyrie remained unsuccessful, but the ghost of Steve Rogers never really left her.

Every so often, Maria insisted on setting 'Belinda' up with one of her male acquaintances, but she never ventured on a second date.

"He was just rather boring," she said of the third, and the excuses just kept coming after that.

"We just didn't click."

"We had nothing in common."

"He didn't tip the waiter."

After the fourteenth try, Maria had greeted her the next day with a sad smile and the words, "You're not going to see him again, are you?"

"How do you know?" Peggy had asked.

"Because he's not Steve," Maria had said simply.

And therein lay the crux of the matter.

Peggy knew that, whether Steve had been in love with her or not, whatever would have or could have happened between them, he wouldn't want her to spend the rest of her life missing him, but she wasn't trying to.

She didn't go on those dates determined to find something wrong with them or to intentionally compare them to Steve, but she couldn't help it.

Maybe one day, she could free her heart from his grip and allow another to share it with him, but not yet.

In any case, anyone she chose to date would need to be made aware of her unique position, so she would need to trust them implicitly.

Right now, she was in London, on a mission that was as much protection detail as it was undercover terrorist hunting.

Peggy's job - or rather, Belinda's job - or, to be technical, since it was an undercover mission, Janine Taggart's job - was to keep watch over an up-and-coming engineer that SHIELD believed had settled on the radar of several organisations.

The engineer (a thoroughly odious man whom Peggy disliked immensely) had protested at a female security detail, but she had ignored him.

If they wanted to prevent a kidnapping attempt, a male agent probably would act as more of a deterrent, but SHIELD didn't want to prevent an attempt - they wanted to apprehend the person responsible and pin down the location of a dangerous terrorist group.

And the easiest way to do that, was to let the attempt happen and catch them in the act.

Two weeks in, and with no sign of anything untoward, Peggy was beginning to wonder if they had been misinformed.

Quite aside from the lack of any action, it was difficult to imagine any terrorist organisation being that desperate to get their hands on the man - he didn't seem any more talented or intelligent than any other young man in the business.

Of course, maybe being close friends with Howard Stark had ruined her for other inventors.

(She stubbornly ignored the fact that she referred to him as a 'young man' in her head, when she was physically the same age as him.)

Her charge had been invited to an art gallery opening, so of course she was obliged to accompany him.

She swanned alongside him, hand tucked into the crook of his arm, swathed in blue silk, acting like she didn't have three different weapons hidden on her person, and hadn't checked out all entry and exit points within moments of entering the room.

For the most part, she was silent, letting his voice wash over her while she scanned the room for any threats. Occasionally his current conversation partner would ask her opinion on whatever artwork they were admiring, and she would provide it with a sweet smile, inwardly taking savage pleasure in the surprise they failed to conceal with they realised she actually knew what she was talking about.

Everyone there had already dismissed her as arm candy, but she didn't mind tonight. That was the effect she was going for, after all.

And then, at ten minutes to midnight, all hell broke loose.

The skylight of the gallery smashed and, as the screaming crowd scattered to escape the shards of glass, a single figure dropped in to the floor.

In a second, Peggy's gun was in her hand, her charge (apparently no longer concerned about the gender of his protection) hiding behind her.

But the intruder didn't even glance in her direction.

Instead, he reached out with a gloved hand and seized another of the guests, a dignitary whose safety no one had been in any doubt about, his hand wrapping around the man's throat.

"Let him go!" Peggy called, aiming her weapon. "Or I shoot."

The intruder - assassin, it had to be, it was too clean for anything personal - ignored her and she fired, the bullet ripping through his shoulder.

He didn't even flinch, and with a final twist, the man struggling in his grip went still.

There were several cries of horror and, as the security guards and police burst in, the assassin let the man's body fall to the ground and leapt against the wall, using it as leverage to jump back up to the skylight, pulling himself out onto the roof.

"What the …?"

Ignoring the hastily stifled exclamation from one of the officers, Peggy waved her badge at them.

"Watch him," she ordered, gesturing to the engineer. "Potential target; don't let him leave."

As soon as she was out of the building, she saw the man sprinting across the grounds. She could only spare a minute to be grateful that the gallery was isolated, and that there were no civilians outside who could end up as collateral damage. She caught up with him at the perimeter fence, ducking as he turned on her.

They were evenly matched - too evenly matched, given her unique circumstances.

"Who are you?!" She swept his legs out from under him, but he didn't respond.

He sprung back to his feet and knocked her off balance with his next strike; his left hand caught her by the throat and she realised that his entire left arm was an exceptionally effective metal prosthetic, which explained how he had killed his target so easily.

The perimeters had been so closely guarded, thanks to an overly paranoid host (and MI6 and SHIELD's concerns) that smuggling in a weapon would have been more trouble than it was worth.

But this man - whoever he was - was a weapon unto himself.

"Where did you get the serum?" She gasped out, fighting for breath as his fingers tightened. "Who sent you?"

Even as her vision began to turn black, she had the clearest view of his face yet. It was partially obscured by a mask - or was it a muzzle? - but his eyes … his eyes were frighteningly blank, no anger, no fear, not even the sadistic glee at taking a life.

But as her consciousness slipped away, they seemed to soften, almost becoming something recognisable, and as blackness overcame her, his grip disappeared and she was set gently on the ground rather than dropped or tossed aside like his first victim.

The last thing she was aware of was a hoarse whisper: "You are not the mission."

She awoke in a hospital, her MI6 contact sitting beside her, lighting a cigarette.

"Good," he said in greeting. "You're awake."

"I feel like a bus ran me over," she groaned, rubbing her head.

After ten years, Belinda's Southern accent was almost second nature, even as disoriented as she was.

"I'm not surprised," he said, taking a drag before offering her the packet. "Smoke?"

Peggy declined. Since the serum, she had found she couldn't get the pleasure she once could out of a cigarette. The same was true for alcohol, and it only mildly bothered her anymore. "Did anyone get him?"

"Who, the Soldier?" Agent McDonald snorted. "No. You got closer than anyone has before."

"The Soldier?" Peggy repeated.

He nodded. "They call him the Winter Solder. You're lucky to still be here. Guy's like a ghost; never leaves a target alive."

"You are not the mission," Peggy repeated slowly. "That's what he said to me. Just before I passed out."

"Never heard of an assassin with a conscience," McDonald muttered.

Peggy shook her head. "I don't think it was conscience," she said slowly. "His eyes were just … blank. Like he wasn't even human."

"Maybe he isn't. Might explain why no one can find him," McDonald said with a shrug, offering her the packet again. "Sure you don't want one?"

Compared to her run-in with the Winter Soldier, her actual mission ended not so much with a bang, but with a whimper.

The single kidnapper gave up as soon as he was outgunned, the group weren't smart enough to use hired muscle so he sang like a canary, and it turned out not to be one of the groups SHIELD was concerned about after all, so Peggy signed him over to MI6, said her farewells, and returned to the US.

Once her debriefing with Pierce had finished, she turned her attention to the Winter Soldier. "Shouldn't we be looking for him?"

"No," Pierce answered. "We've got nowhere to start. No one knows who he is, who he works for, or where he goes when he's not working."

Peggy shuddered. "Surely we should be doing something."

"We've got no way of knowing who's handling him or where he'll turn up next," Pierce said firmly. "And Mr and Mrs Stark want to speak with you."

The power balance between her and Pierce was uncomfortable.

Officially, he was the Director and therefore her superior.

At the same time however, she had been his Director since he joined SHIELD, and the temptation was still there to step in when she disagreed with his decisions.

She bit her tongue and left headquarters, taking a taxi to the Starks' mansion.

At the front door, she met Obadiah Stane, Howard's second-in-command, who greeted her with a pleasant smile and a hearty handshake.

Obadiah was another of the few people who knew the truth about who she was - because it would be difficult to explain away her and Howard's friendship otherwise - but she would be lying if she said she liked the man.

He was nice enough, she supposed, and he was definitely a good friend to Howard, a perfect balance in the business, but there was just something about him that made her skin crawl.

A lot of businessmen made her skin crawl though - it wasn't anything personal.

In any case, he seemed to be in a hurry today, so she was spared the small talk in favour of finding Howard and Maria in the living room.

"I'm home!"

"Peggy!" Maria leapt to her feet and embraced her tightly. "Oh, Peggy, we've got the most wonderful news!"

"Oh?" Peggy looked from her to Howard, who came forward to hug her as well.

Whatever it was, it had to be big.

Howard was usually in his workshop at this time of day, and she hadn't seen either of them this happy in a long while.

For one heart-stopping moment, she wondered if Steve had been found, but surely Pierce would have told her that at SHIELD.

Maria nodded eagerly. "We're having a baby!"

If Peggy had already accepted the scotch Howard was trying to foist on her, she would probably have either dropped it or sprayed it across the room, so all in all, she was happy she hadn't.

Once the news sank in, she did take it, and took a large gulp before responding. "Wow … I was not expecting that."

"Neither were we," Howard admitted, looking at his wife with such love in his eyes that Peggy almost felt like she should leave the room and give them some privacy. "But the doctors say that everything's alright, although they want to keep an eye on things."

Peggy wasn't surprised. Maria was a few years older than her, in her early fifties now, and it was almost unheard of for women to bear children at that age.

Now the initial shock had worn off, the joy in the room was palpable, and she set the scotch down to embrace Maria again. "I'm so happy for you."

"You'll be godmother, won't you?" Maria asked, clinging to her.

"I'd be honoured," Peggy said, "but I don't know the first thing about children."

"Who among us does?" Howard asked with a bark of laughter. "It'll be a learning curve all around! Join us for dinner?"

Peggy did - she knew better than to argue with Howard in that mood - and it was accompanied by great discussion about the baby, her time in London, and - of course - the Winter Soldier.

"Weren't you scared?" Maria asked. "At least a little?"

"I didn't really have time to be scared," Peggy admitted. "In hindsight, it's a little scary. I'd got used to having the edge; to have someone get the better of me like that … At the time, I didn't really have time for it to scare me."

"And SHIELD has no idea who he is?" Maria demanded, turning to her husband. "They must have some idea."

Howard shook his head. "If anyone does, they never shared it with me. Peggy, did you recognise him from any files?"

Peggy frowned. "It was dark and most of his face was covered with some kind of … muzzle, almost. I could only see his eyes, a little, and …" she trailed off, something poking at the back of her mind, just out of reach. She shook her head. "He had a metal arm, Howard. That's the sort of thing that would be in someone's file, and I definitely would have remembered that."

"Yes, I suppose you would," Howard said.

Peggy reached for her wine. "I think it might be time for me to leave SHIELD actually. Not for good, but for now at least."

Howard looked surprised. "Really?"

"I've been thinking about it for a while," Peggy said. "SHIELD still feels like my agency. It's stuck in a kind of limbo because I feel like everyone at the top is watching me. And now … in ten years or so, I'll need to reinvent myself again, which means faking my death, and I'm not putting my godchild through that."

Maria smiled at her, close to tears. "You don't have to."

Peggy reached across the table to take her hand. "Yes, I do, Maria. This mission proved that I'm not infallible, or immortal, even if I'm not ageing. Like I said, this won't be permanent, and I think it needs to happen, in order for SHIELD to move on."

"Belinda has a brother," Howard said.

Peggy raised an eyebrow. "Does she?"

"Of course," Howard said. "Or she will by the time I'm done. By the time you're ready to go back in, he'll have a daughter. Whoever you were up until then can just disappear."

"Another car accident will be a bit suspicious, won't it?" Maria asked.

Peggy grimaced. "Probably. I'll take one last mission and … Well, something can always go wrong."

"That's risky, Peggy," Howard warned. "Be careful."

Peggy smiled at him. "I always am."

Seven months later, in May 1970, Director Pierce received the news that Agent Belinda Carter, although she had completed her objective, had been killed by the arms dealer she had been tracking.

Her grieving colleagues had no way of knowing that Sharon Rogers (because Howard had a sense of humour) was stepping off the plane at LaGuardia International Airport, her blonde hair cropped to just above her shoulders, greeting Howard Stark's driver with a soft Brooklyn accent.

To her surprise, the driver took her, not to Stark Mansion, but to the hospital.

"Sharon," Howard greeted, opening the door for her, "how was your flight?"

"Fine thank you, Mr Stark," Peggy greeted, shaking his hand. "It's good to be back in New York. I was under the impression that I was meeting you at your home."

In time, Sharon Carter would become part of the Stark family by virtue of Howard's continued affection for her late great-aunt, but for now, Sharon Rogers would, as far as the public were aware, be Howard Stark's personal assistant - a role Peggy should dislike immensely, but since it would be mainly making sure Howard didn't live in his workshop and got to meetings on time, she didn't mind it so much.

"A complication, my dear," Howard said, ushering her into the hospital. "Nothing to worry about, everything's alright."

They stepped into the elevator and he embraced her as soon as the doors were closed. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Peggy said. "Everything went perfectly to plan. Why are we at the hospital unless … Unless Maria's having the baby?"

"Had the baby," Howard corrected, beaming. "An hour ago. We've got a private room, nowhere near the nurse's station, and the media are in the dark so far, so we can drop the act."

"You should have let me know," Peggy said. "I would have brought her flowers."

"You've brought yourself home safely," Howard said. "That's all Maria will want."

The doors opened on to the recovery ward, and Howard led her to the far end, where security were set up, tapping lightly on the door before letting them both in.

Maria was sitting up in bed, looking pale and tired, but beaming from ear to ear. "You're home!"

Peggy hurried across the room to hug her carefully, kissing her cheek. "Congratulations! Boy or girl?"

"A gorgeous little boy," Maria said, practically glowing. "Howard, would you get him, love?"

"Of course." Howard reached into the bassinet in the corner of the room and lifted out a bundle of blankets, carrying it over to deposit it into Peggy's arms.

Peggy had never actually held a baby - the various children of the Commandos had all been quite a bit older by the time she met them - but she cradled him instinctively, peeling back the blankets to see his face. He was awake, much to her surprise (she had assumed that babies were either crying or sleeping), blinking up at her like she was some kind of alien.

Which, she supposed, she was.

"Hi there," she whispered, brushing a finger against his cheek. "What's his name?"

"Tony."

"Anthony," Howard corrected. "Anthony Edward Stark."

"He wanted Steve," Maria admitted softly. "But Anthony Steve Stark would …"

"… lead to some unfortunate initials," Peggy finished, smiling as the infant wiggled in her arms, one tiny hand flailing free of the blankets and catching hold of her finger. "Good move. And he'll end up a Tony, Howard."

"I know," Howard said. "Let me fool myself, would you?"

Maria chuckled tiredly, settling back against the pillows. "How are you, Peggy? Did everything go according to plan?"

"Like a dream," Peggy assured her. "Belinda Carter is officially dead and I am officially no longer a SHIELD agent."

"You haven't been out of service since you joined up," Maria said softly. "Is it worth it?"

Peggy smiled, her eyes fixed on her godson. "Yes. Yes, he is."