June 2014, Manhattan

The latest bombshell was somehow worse than all the others, and Peggy found herself unable to sleep, lying awake night after night, utterly despondent.

It wasn't just the idea of HYDRA growing under her watch - it was the people involved that hurt her the most.

Some hadn't been a surprise exactly - she might not have known they were terrorists, but she had known there was something unpleasant about them that she hadn't liked.

Garrett was one of them.

Brock Rumlow made perfect sense - but then she'd been predisposed to dislike him on principle (he had been the other agent that Clint punched in his first week for insulting one of their female colleagues).

So did Obadiah Stane (because of course he'd been tied up with HDYRA).

Peggy had given Darcy the job of finding anything related to Stark Industries, to be absolutely certain that Howard and Maria's accident had, in fact, been an accident.

Not that knowing otherwise would change anything now, but she would rather know and break the news to Tony herself, than let him stumble upon it alone.

She had not really been surprised when JARVIS had chimed in to say that he had already combed through for their names, and not found any correlation (because he had been worried as well).

So, yes, all of that was unpleasant, but it didn't hurt.

Alexander Pierce had been a friend. She went to his wedding, to his daughter's birthday parties. They had inside jokes. She had trusted him with everything she built when she faked her death.

Jasper Sitwell, too, had been a nasty shock. She had never been as close to him as she had to Phil, but she had still trusted him - enough to fall apart on him once or twice in the aftermath of Phil's death.

And now, on top of all of that, there was this.

She told herself it wasn't her fault, that she had no way of knowing what they had done, what had been taken from her, but it wasn't working.

Night after night, all she could see when she closed her eyes was a dusty warehouse - why her subconscious had chosen that setting for a HYDRA base, she didn't know - and a baby, unclothed and crying, but too weak from malnourishment to really make any noise.

Steve shifted beside her and pulled her a little closer, roused from slumber by her obvious tension. "Alright?"

"Can't sleep," she murmured, somewhat pointlessly.

"Thinking about the baby?"

"Can we not call her that?" Peggy asked. "It sounds so … cold."

"We can give her a name," Steve said easily.

Peggy craned her neck to kiss his jaw. "Thank you."

She was fairly sure that Steve wasn't taking the whole baby thing as badly as her, or maybe he just didn't want to overload her.

Either way, he had been a rock since they found out, giving her the space to grieve as though she had lost a pregnancy, and not a baby thirty years ago that she'd never even laid eyes on.

"What do you want to name her?"

She didn't want to think about her daughter suffering, didn't want to imagine every way they could have killed her. She wanted to picture a happy child, one who had been raised away from HYDRA and war and pain.

The best image she could muster was one from her own childhood - hazy summer Sundays in Hyde Park; Daddy in his morning suit, reading the newspaper; Mama in her church dress, her knitting needles clacking away; both of them sat in the deckchairs that lined the bank of the Serpentine while Peggy played at their feet, making daisy chains for them all to wear home, just in time for Sunday tea.

"Daisy," Peggy said. "Her name's Daisy."

Steve - bless him - didn't ask, pressing a kiss to her temple and holding her close. "Alright."

The bedroom lights brightened, warning them a split-second before JARVIS spoke: "Miss Carter, you have a call coming through from Agent Ward."

Peggy groaned, rubbing her face. "Can you answer it for me without me having to get up?"

A second later, Ward's voice filled the room, quiet but urgent. "Can't talk; he's pulled me out. Need someone out to the middle of the Atlantic; just had to drop an escape pod with two agents in it to avoid killing them."

Peggy was awake in a split-second. "Send me the coordinates."

"Yes ma'am."

The line went dead as Peggy began to get dressed. "JARVIS, please wake Clint and Natasha; UI need a pilot."

Clint had only just arrived back from Tokyo with Pepper the day before, so thank goodness he was used to running on empty.

"What if it's a trap?" Steve asked.

"That's why I'm taking Clint and Natasha," Peggy said. "You stay; I might need you to get Banner up if we need a medic."

Steve nodded, also rolling out of bed, but he didn't question her, just pulled her into a kiss before she could stride out of the room.

"Coordinates have been received and loaded into the quinjet," JARVIS announced.

"Thank you," she said. "We may require medical equipment; I know Tony was working on an infirmary - what's the progress on that."

"I have access to most of the items Sir has been working on," JARVIS said. "They are not completed, but I believe they will cope in an emergency."

Peggy grimaced. "That'll have to do."

"I have woken Sir and he is on his way to the workshop," JARVIS said. "He is going to see what more he can do in the meantime."

"Thank you JARVIS," Peggy said fervently. That did make her feel an awful lot better.

Clint and Natasha met her in the hangar, looking like they had been awake for hours - although that was probably more to do with their training than anything else.

Even so, she said nothing as Clint fired up the jet and pulled out of the Tower. He did send a quick message to ATC (more to inform them he was going than to ask permission), but they responded fast enough that he was able to have a brief conference with them about the flight plan.

The American government in general was still upset that the Avengers Initiative was a multi-national agency and therefore not under their control, so were dragging their feet over most things.

Thankfully, the emergency responders in New York had been a lot more understanding (with the exception of one NYPD precinct that was starting to get on everyone's last nerve) and ATC had promised to give them priority at take-off in emergencies.

"What do we know?" Clint asked, once they were in the air.

"Rescue mission," Peggy said. "Two agents loyal to SHIELD dropped in an escape pod from a HYDRA aircraft."

Natasha cursed. "Those things sink."

"Hence the concern."

The escape pods had been brilliant in theory, installed in all of the helicarriers and larger aircrafts, but they had never worked in practice. If dropped over land, they were more or less death traps for the occupants.

Water would at least prevent that particular issue, but caused another - as Natasha had said, they didn't float, and the doors opened outwards; the water pressure made opening them impossible once the pod was underwater.

"Can you break the glass?" Natasha asked, apparently thinking the same thing.

"The shield should be able to," Peggy said. She wasn't in uniform, but she had at least grabbed the shield on the way out.

"You know that's Steve's, right?"

The wrong shield, as it turned out.

Peggy sighed. "No, I didn't, but it doesn't really matter."

"How do you pick up the wrong shield?" Natasha teased. "They're different colours."

"I wasn't paying attention," Peggy said, rolling her eyes. "I was a bit distracted by …"

"Head's up!" Clint called from the cockpit. "Think I see 'em."

Peggy jogged to the front, her eyes sweeping the skyline just in case the HYDRA craft was still hanging around (although Clint's eyesight was second-to-none, so she doubted it was, even if it had the retro-reflective panelling).

Satisfied, she peered down into the ocean.

Sure enough, there was a dark shape just below them, below the surface unfortunately, about the right shape and size to be the pod.

"We okay to hover?"

Clint nodded. "As long as no one starts shooting at us."

"Keep an eye out," Peggy said, returning to Natasha. "Ready?"

Natasha pressed the button to open the hatch. "After you."

Clint brought the jet to hover just low enough that it was a simple matter of jumping down on to the pod, which was suspended just below the surface, sinking slowly enough that she didn't need to tread water yet.

Thankfully, the serum allowed her to hold her breath for a decent amount of time, so - as Natasha landed beside her - Peggy dived into the ocean, swimming down to find the porthole window on the door, hoping that the two agents were still conscious after the fall.

They were - but they were not who Peggy expected.

The last she had heard, FitzSimmons were not field agents - or agents at all, really; they were part of SHIELD R&D, so what they were doing on a HYDRA craft, she didn't know.

Now wasn't the time to ask however; she knocked on the window to get their attention.

Their faces lit up with relief, and they immediately began to talk, but between the water and the glass, that just wasn't going to happen.

Peggy shook her head and began to sign instead, her fingers moving slowly through the water.

Can you sign?

Fitz looked confused, but Simmons nodded, signing back. Little bit.

Stand back, Peggy told her. Breaking glass. Face masks?

While Simmons searched, Peggy swam up to catch her breath.

"Okay?" Natasha asked.

"FitzSimmons," Peggy said. "No idea what's going on. They're both conscious, but if I break the glass, that might not last." She ducked under again and returned to the window.

The two scientists were engaged in a heated discussion, and she tapped again.

Simmons held up a mask.

Just one.

Peggy held up a finger and returned to Natasha. "I'll need you too. There's only one mask."

Natasha cursed and slipped into the water beside her. "Tap when you need me down there."

This time, when she reached the window, Simmons was wearing the mask, but looked teary about it.

Apparently Fitz had won that argument.

Stand back, she signed again. Once they were pressed against the back wall, she began to slam the shield into the glass.

Three hits in, she was wondering if she had underestimated the glass (or overestimated the shield). But after four, the glass began to chip.

At five, a crack appeared, but that was all.

That was a new problem - as soon as the seal was broken, the system that allowed oxygen to flow around the pod would stop working.

Thankfully, six was the lucky number; the glass shattered and water flooded into the pod. Peggy hastily tapped Natasha's ankle and reached in to grab Fitz - he was the one without the mask after all.

It wasn't as easy as she had hoped; the sudden change in water pressure was like fighting against a rip tide on the way out.

By the time she broke the surface, even her lungs were beginning to ache, and her cargo was limp in her arms, his lips beginning to turn blue.

Natasha emerged beside her with Simmons a few moments later, and Peggy silently thanked the fact that she had a variation of the serum; even with that, Natasha didn't look that good either.

Simmons pulled the face mask off. "Does he need this?"

"It's not going to do him much good right now," Peggy said, as kindly as she could.

"You'll need to tread water for a moment," Natasha told Simmons, releasing her in favour of grasping the quinjet hatch to pull herself in.

"Nat …" Peggy began, but her intervention was unnecessary - Natasha took a quick hit of oxygen from one of the emergency canisters before reaching down to grasp Fitz's arm and dragging him on board like a sack of potatoes - this was no time for finesse.

With Peggy's help, Simmons was able to climb aboard too, and Peggy pulled herself up behind her, closing the hatch.

"Take us home, Hawkeye."

"On it."

Natasha had Fitz set up on the pull-down stretcher already, an oxygen mask affixed to his face.

Simmons was frozen, staring at him. "He made me take the mask."

"It's not your fault," Peggy said firmly, urging her to sit down. "Let's get you dried off. Don't worry about talking; we can figure everything out tomorrow."

She got Simmons wrapped as best she could in towels and blankets; as soon as they were home, she needed to get them out of their wet clothes.

Natasha had clearly thought the same, because she was beginning to cut Fitz's shirt off.

"What are you doing?" Simmons asked.

"Hypothermia prevention," Natasha answered. "I'd tell you to as well, but this jet moves fast enough that it can probably wait."

"Why isn't he waking up?" Simmons asked shakily. "He wasn't under longer than you two."

"As soon as the glass cracked, the oxygen stopped," Peggy said gently. "It's not just the water; he was without oxygen entirely. And Nat and I are both enhanced to an extent. Nat …"

"I'm fine," Natasha said. "Little bit light-headed when we surfaced, but I'm alright."

Peggy nodded, sensing that she was telling the truth, and turned back to her patient. Simmons might have had the mask, but she wasn't doing great either; she seemed a little dazed, her eyes not quite tracking Peggy's movement.

"Did you hit your head, doctor?" Natasha asked, apparently noticing the same thing.

"I think so," Simmons said. "I don't remember us hitting the water and Fitz said I was unconscious for about fifteen minutes."

"I'll radio back," Peggy said. "Keep an eye on her."

"How are they?" Clint asked when she reached the cockpit.

"Shaken," she said, taking the co-pilot's seat and donning a headset. She didn't need it to contact the Tower - not in this jet - but the action was as natural as breathing by now. "JARVIS, call Steve please."

Steve picked up immediately. "What do you need?"

"Dr Fitz was deprived of oxygen for several minutes and he hasn't woken up," Peggy said, "and Dr Simmons has taken a blow to the head, so I'd feel better if Bruce met us and made sure she's okay as well. Tell Tony that we'll need a ventilator."

"He's been working on it," Steve said, and she could hear Tony's voice in the background so apparently they were together. "He's ready when you are."

Peggy removed the headset, glancing at Clint. His face was unreadable, as it so often was. "What are you thinking?"

"What were two scientists doing on a HYDRA craft if they're not HYDRA?"

"I don't know," Peggy said. "I'm certain they're not."

"Well, yeah, they nearly got killed," Clint said. "That's a pretty good indicator. What were they doing there?"

It was a good question, and one they would need to wait to answer.

Peggy probably could have asked Ward, but she wanted to keep interaction to a minimum just in case - and it wasn't necessary, just to satisfy her own impatience.

She did send him a message though.

Package acquired. Bit banged up, but contents safe.

"Maybe they were there when SHIELD fell," she said, "and they figured going undercover was the best idea rather than try and fight their way out."

Clint snorted. "Yeah, no. I've met Dr Simmons. She's a sweetheart, but she is not a field agent. Neither's Fitz. No way they kept that up this long."

Peggy sighed, because that had been her first thought when she saw them. "Yeah, I know. We can wait."


Steve and Bruce were both waiting for them when the jet came in to land. By this point, Simmons had recovered somewhat and was insisting that she didn't need a doctor.

"I'm going to take your partner to the infirmary," Steve said firmly (like they actually had an infirmary). "You are going to let Dr Banner have a quick look at you before he joins us."

Clint helped Steve remove the stretcher from the quinjet, and they rushed into the elevator.

"Will he be okay?" Simmons asked.

"I'll do some tests," Bruce said kindly. "Tony needs to get him hooked up to the ventilator, so come and take a seat please. The sooner we're begun, the sooner we're done."

Simmons did not look convinced, but conceded, allowing herself to be guided over to the chair Bruce had set up.

"Agent Carter said you hit your head," Bruce said, shining a light into her eyes. "Did you lose consciousness?"

"Yes," she admitted. "Fitz said I was out for about fifteen minutes."

Bruce nodded. "Not too bad, considering."

"He hasn't moved," Simmons said, trying - and failing - to follow Bruce's finger as it moved in front of her.

"I'll get to him," Bruce said. "You do have a concussion, but it's relatively mild. We'll get you some Tylenol and then I suggest you get out of those wet clothes and get some rest; someone will need to wake you every hour or so."

Simmons nodded, then grimaced. "I know the drill."

"Yes, I thought you might," Bruce said. "I know we have unused apartments, but …"

"She can take my spare room," Natasha offered. "You shouldn't be on your own."

"Agent Romanov, you don't have to do that," Simmons protested.

Natasha smiled, a little sadly. "I'm not exactly an agent anymore, Dr Simmons, so please just call me Natasha. And I know I don't have to. I want to."

Simmons didn't look convinced, her gaze following Bruce as he hurried to the elevator.

"You can't help him right now," Natasha said. "I know what you're thinking. But you're a doctor - you know better than I do that you're just going to give them a distraction.

It was harsh, perhaps, but it got through to her. "I know. Thank you for the offer. And it's Jemma."

"Jemma then," Natasha said. "Follow me." She led the scientist to her apartment, showing her to the spare room, nudging her into the ensuite bathroom first.

"JARVIS, dry us off please."

Natasha had come to the same agreement as Clint when it came to JARVIS in her apartment. In another life, she might have balked at his presence altogether, and sometimes she did anyway, but there was something to be said for a shower that always ran at exactly the right temperature and water pressure.

Not to mention the part of the bathroom that acted as one giant hairdryer.

As the two women stood in wt clothes, the air vents in the walls opened and warm air rushed over them.

"How …?" Jemma began.

"Not now," Natasha said firmly. "You can ask all the questions you like tomorrow."

"Fair enough," Jemma said, stifling a yawn.

Once they were dry, Natasha checked that the bathroom was fully stocked, and ushered Jemma back to the bedroom. "Let me just grab you something to sleep in."

Natasha didn't sleep in pyjamas, which limited her options. After a second's hesitation, she grabbed one of Clint's old t-shirts (that he didn't know she'd stolen).

"Thanks," Jemma murmured when she returned. "I'm really sorry about all of this."

"It's not your fault," Natasha said. "JARVIS, can you please wake Dr Simmons every hour? If she doesn't wake up, wake me up?"

"Certainly Ms Romanov."

"Is that an AI?" Jemma asked.

"Tomorrow," Natasha said.

"That's more Fitz's thing than mine," Jemma said, crawling into bed. "Thank you Natasha."

"Of course," Natasha said softly. "Let me or JARVIS know if you need anything, okay?"

Jemma nodded with a yawn. "Someone's going to need to let Agent Coulson know we're alright."

Natasha froze. Was the concussion worse than Bruce had thought? Were her dates mixed up?

But, no, that didn't make sense; Coulson was an asset handler, not a scientist herder. The closest he had come was New Mexico, but she was fairly sure FitzSimmons hadn't been anywhere near that.

And Phil Coulson had been dead for two years, and she would have heard if he wasn't.

Wouldn't she?